1917
WAR NEWS LATEST!
PASSCHENDAELE – ALLIES CAPTURE ALL FIRST OBJECTIVES HAIG’S GREAT BLOW ON WIDE FRONT IN FLANDERS
‘You’ve done well, both of you,’ said Isabelle.
Elinor, now thirteen years of age, watched the woman whom they now welcomed to the house as if she were a family member. During the months since they had aided in the derailing of a German train, the De Witt sisters and their mother continued to observe trains when asked to do so, and reported to Isabelle on anything of note regarding the actions of their country’s occupiers.
Cecily was almost sixteen and Charlotte seemed to be regaining the bearing and energy of a much younger woman, though she had passed her fortieth birthday that year. Elinor saw for the first time that, had it not been for the fatigue, worry and grief for the loss of her husband etched across her forehead and in the lines around her eyes and lips, Charlotte might have been taken for their older sister. She had heard it commented upon by neighbours before the war but had never taken account of her mother as a beauty, nor her sister for that matter. Yet Cecily was indeed like Charlotte, with a more petite frame than Elinor, who still felt like her father’s younger tomboy child. Cecily’s rich chestnut tresses had been drawn back and braided, revealing heavy-lidded, nut-brown almond eyes. Elinor knew she had those same eyes, but her hair was lighter, with strands that became bleached in the summer sun, inspiring her sister to say she had a coat like a brindled dog.
Elinor and Cecily nodded by way of acknowledging Isabelle’s praise, though when Elinor turned to her sister to exchange a brief smile – brief because laurels should never be rested upon – she noticed that her sister seemed to be paying more attention to a hangnail than it deserved, and she could also see that Isabelle too had taken account of Cecily’s indifference.
Charlotte raised an eyebrow as she reached across and pulled her elder daughter’s hands apart. ‘Cecily, it will get infected if you pick at it, and it will kill you. Plus it looks dreadful. Now pay attention.’
‘I am paying attention,’ said Cecily.
Elinor half expected her sister to flounce out of the kitchen. She had become very good at flouncing, according to Charlotte, who commented on the fact to Elinor only the day before. Cecily had rolled her eyes and left the house with a deliberate heavy footfall after her mother asked her daughters to run an errand.
‘I wish your father were here,’ said Charlotte. ‘She could do with a strong telling-off from the head of the house. She doesn’t listen to me any more.’
‘But Mama, you are the head of the house,’ said Elinor, pushing back her chair ready to catch up with her sister. ‘Cecily is just going through that phase. I heard you talking to Papa about it, before he left.’
Charlotte had reached for Elinor and wrapped her arms around her. ‘Thank goodness you’re my same, stalwart Linni. Do try not to go through all this tantrum nonsense.’
Elinor had no idea what the tantrum nonsense might feel like, but whatever it was, she was quite determined to avoid it. She brought her attention back to Isabelle, and became worried, having noticed how much weight the visitor had lost and the extent to which she appeared grey and drawn. Food had become more scarce than ever, and they knew even the German occupiers were hungry. ‘It doesn’t do to leave young men with empty stomachs,’ her mother had commented. ‘They get angry faster than women.’
‘Your reports have been first class, and you’ve been brave, all of you,’ continued Isabelle. ‘But with the Germans pushing hard, we have to up the ante.’
‘What?’ said Cecily.
Elinor ignored her sister and leant forward. ‘What more can we do, Isabelle? Since the nuns and the old man were … were murdered, it’s all become more difficult.’
When Isabelle nodded, Elinor could feel both her sister and mother staring at her, as if their eyes could emit beams that pricked her skin.
‘Good question,’ said Cecily, who was now picking at another hangnail. ‘I was about to ask the very same thing myself.’
‘Isabelle, my girls and I are already taking chances. If we ‘up the ante,’ wouldn’t we be increasing risk to life and limb? I don’t want to see my daughters out in the square, tied and handcuffed, then shot through the head.’
Isabelle nodded. ‘Of course. I understand.’ She stopped speaking and regarded both girls again. ‘We have information – intelligence – to indicate that in the near future a train will be using the local route to transport one of the largest and most important shipments of arms, heavy artillery, explosives and men. More significant than any that have passed before. The Germans are losing ground – they want the war to turn towards victory in their favour, and to them it’s crucial the end comes soon, that it is sudden and decisive. It’s gone on too long, so a momentous push is vital for their success before the Americans come over in greater numbers.’
‘Won’t there be more German patrols, more …’ Charlotte rubbed her forehead.
‘Surveillance?’ said Isabelle. ‘Yes, there will. Which is why I want Elinor and Cecily to have some additional training.’
‘What sort of training?’ asked Elinor. ‘We’re in school all day until four, and then we have our homework.’
Elinor heard her mother’s sigh of relief and knew she was encouraged to hear her daughter countering Isabelle’s suggestion.
Isabelle smiled. ‘Saturday afternoon is the best time. Hunters who have retained their rifles will be out, though only for as long as it takes to bag their dinner because they want to be home before the Germans come after them. No one will pay attention if they hear us. And there will be sporadic gunfire from the enemy doing their own shooting practise, whether the target is a dog, a cat, a live human being or just a cross on a wall.’
‘So no one will hear what?’ asked Elinor.
Isabelle paused. ‘Linni, they won’t hear you when you have your first lesson in using a handgun.’
‘A gun?’ said Elinor, her eyes wide.
‘And a couple of other weapons. One you use every single day.’
‘And what might that be?’ said Cecily. ‘Because you won’t get me touching a gun.’
Elinor glanced down at her lap, embarrassed by Cecily’s snippy tone. She was beginning to wish she could just get on and do what Isabelle wanted without any interference from her sister. She sighed, and as she raised her head, it was clear that Isabelle was looking at Cecily as if she were thinking the very same thing.
‘A pencil, Ceci,’ said Isabelle. ‘A simple pencil.’
It was the latter part of the following Saturday afternoon; the sun was low in the sky and dusk not an hour away as they walked along a well-trodden path to an area of woodland known to both girls. Following a detailed introduction to the weapon they would be using, it was time to begin. Isabelle stood at Elinor’s shoulder and pressed the Webley MK V1 into her right hand, then lifted her left hand to meet it.
‘No, don’t touch the trigger yet, whatever you do. Just lay your right forefinger alongside the barrel, like so.’ She lifted Elinor’s forefinger and positioned it to demonstrate her instruction. ‘How does it feel?’
‘It’s heavier than I thought it would be. I don’t know if I can keep my arms up like this and hold the gun,’ said Elinor, looking sideways at her instructor.
Isabelle smiled. ‘You don’t go around holding up your gun all the time – that’s for little boys playing soldiers with toy guns in the street. I’m going to teach you how to take out the pistol at speed, how to focus and to use your weapon to your advantage. Now, look at the target.’
Elinor stared at the first bottle resting on a tree stump some fifteen feet away.
‘Bring down your right arm by your side and do not touch the trigger. When I touch your shoulder, raise it to the point I’ve shown you – but don’t shoot.’
‘I hope you don’t think I’m doing that,’ said Cecily, standing to one side.
‘Quiet please, Ceci – I’m already aware of what you will and won’t do, but for the moment your sister is concentrating.’
Elinor tried to ignore Cecily as she followed the instruction. She felt Isabelle touch her right shoulder. She raised the pistol, her left hand steadying the weapon, the forefinger of her right hand alongside the barrel. The barrel. She would have to learn these new words for something she never in her wildest imagination thought she would ever use.
‘Good, and again,’ said Isabelle.
Five times Elinor repeated the drill at the command of her teacher. Her shoulder ached and her knees had locked.
‘Excellent,’ said Isabelle. ‘Rest your body.’ She reached for the gun and took it from Elinor.
‘You have to remain strong in your legs, but try not to lock your knees – if you have to run and move through trees while keeping focused on a target, you can’t afford to have pins and needles anywhere in your body.’
Elinor nodded while pressing her fingertips into the muscles around her shoulder.
‘Let’s start again. This time you’re going to do that again from a crouched position. Like so.’ She held the Webley revolver and demonstrated the movement.
Three more times Elinor lifted and lowered the weapon on Isabelle’s command. She glanced sideways and saw Isabelle smiling but tempered her excitement at the woman’s approval and waited for the next tap. Seconds later she felt the lightest touch on her left shoulder, lifted the revolver and eyed her target.
‘Now, move your forefinger to the trigger, aim and fire.’ Her teacher did not shout, instead she uttered the command in a soft yet strong tone, as if she were one of the nuns instructing the girls to sit down in church.
Without pause, Elinor brought back her forefinger, rested it on the trigger and pulled.
Flat on her back on the ground, Elinor could hear her sister laughing.
‘I’m sorry, Linni. I had to do that,’ said Isabelle, helping Elinor to her feet. ‘It’s called a recoil, and I have found that I can tell people to prepare for it, but they never listen or they brace so much that they miss the target, so I just save my breath and let them learn the hard way.’ She brushed leaves away from the back of Elinor’s jacket. ‘Everything in one piece? Arms still in their sockets?’ Elinor nodded. ‘Then let’s go again.’
Five times Elinor felt the tap on her shoulder. Five times she lifted the revolver and drew back her forefinger while simultaneously imagining more strength in her shoulders to absorb the shot’s upward kick. She held a vision of roots pulling her feet to the ground because she didn’t want to set her knees and end up with pins and needles. She wanted to be ready to run. Five times she hit one target after the next.
‘Excellent,’ said Isabelle. ‘We shall come again and practise, though I am very pleased with your progress, Linni.’ Elinor watched as she turned to Cecily, who was frowning. ‘Now, Ceci – are you ready?’ Even before Isabelle had finished her question, Cecily was shaking her head. Isabelle nodded. ‘It’s best not to do something if you don’t want to do it, but I think you will both be very good at the next tasks.’
‘What next tasks?’ said Cecily.
‘The blade and the pencil.’
Cecily giggled. ‘Sounds like something out of the handbook for nuns.’
Elinor thought that was a pretty good joke, though most of their nuns were kind, despite the fact that since the executions in the square they had been solemn, and prayers had become more and more intense. Prayers that the war might end and life could go back to being normal before everyone forgot what normal felt like.
‘That’s a funny one, Ceci,’ said Isabelle. ‘Want to know how to use them to protect yourself?’
Elinor thought the pistol was a much easier weapon, as she didn’t really think she could push a pencil straight into the eye of her attacker, or his ear, though with a fast move it could expedite a quick death. The knife was hard too. She learnt that it took a great deal of effort to slide a knife into a man’s heart, or into his side, and she didn’t like the idea of being sprayed with blood as it pumped out of a jugular vein or an artery. But she knew one thing – if their lives were at stake, she would do all of these things to protect her family. There were only the three of them now, and though Cecily was a real pain in the neck at times, Elinor loved her. It was a fleeting thought that came to her as she lay in bed one night, but she suspected her father, mother and sister would remain the great loves of her life until the day she died.
‘Elinor, any questions?’ asked Isabelle.
‘I hope not – I want to go home,’ said Cecily.
Elinor nodded. ‘Why are we doing all this? I mean, I know there’s more risk – but why teach us this now and not before?’
‘It’s simple – because you weren’t ready before. You had to learn the fear inherent in being prey – the fear that would keep you observant, careful and safe. That had to be ingrained before we turned the tables.’
‘What do you mean?’
Isabelle held the revolver and aimed it at Elinor, her finger alongside the barrel. ‘This clever piece of equipment transforms you from prey to predator, though the very best predators are those who understand how the hunted are likely to act. Predators who have felt the fear of prey are those with the best chance of survival.’
Later, after they had returned home and after Charlotte had made tea for Isabelle and her daughters as if they had come from the market and not a lesson in killing, Elinor could not stop thinking about holding the revolver, feeling the tap on her shoulder, raising the gun, and moving her forefinger to the trigger. Aim and fire. Aim and fire again. And again. She fell asleep that night with a smile on her face. She liked the thought of being a predator. She liked it very much indeed, because it made her feel strong, and strength made her feel formidable. Elinor De Witt was a predator who understood what it was to be prey. With that knowledge, she knew she would survive – even if her shoulders hurt.
I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ said Elinor as they made their way from the convent to their home.
‘Do what?’ said Cecily.
‘Ceci, you must think I’m blind! I saw that German soldier just wink at you, and you smiled back. Mama says we must look away. Don’t meet their eyes, and certainly don’t encourage them. It’s not safe.’
‘Oh, you’re just imagining things,’ said Cecily. ‘I looked down.’
Elinor stopped and pulled on her sister’s arm. ‘Next time you do that, just remember what we saw in the square. He might look like a nice blond boy, but it could just as easily be him tying you up, ready for a gun to be put to your head.’
‘Linni, I didn’t do it. I didn’t smile at him. But even if I accidentally met his eyes, I’ll be careful in future. I promise?’ Cecily stared at Elinor. ‘Don’t tell Mama. She will only fret about it.’
Elinor nodded. ‘Come on. Let’s get home. Mama worries if we’re five minutes late.’
When the sisters entered the house by the kitchen door, their mother was sitting at the table, pouring tea for Isabelle. Both girls stopped. Though they had been to the woods with Isabelle time and again, there had been nothing planned for today. During those lessons, Elinor learnt how to fire the revolver while moving through trees. She learnt how to hide, how to camouflage herself, and how to fight. Isabelle would become both predator and prey, testing Elinor time and again. For her part, Cecily still refused to touch the gun, though Isabelle reviewed her technique with the pencil and knife and considered her dexterity with both more than sufficient for the task of ending the threat of an opponent, should it be necessary. Elinor had been treated to one of Isabelle’s rare smiles for her proficiency with all three weapons.
Now something more was to be asked of the De Witt sisters.
‘I’ll get to the point. It’s time for you to go out into the field again,’ said Isabelle.
Elinor found it almost amusing, how Isabelle would refer to ‘the field,’ as if they were to take an afternoon amble through a meadow filled with buttercups and daisies. But there was nothing amusing about this field at all.
‘Why the girls?’ asked Charlotte.
Elinor noticed her mother’s countenance was greyer than usual, and that Isabelle seemed even more weary, perhaps tired of all she was required to accomplish. They weren’t the only women working on behalf of La Dame Blanche, so Isabelle must go from house-to-house training women young and old in the art of battle, the tasks they must complete if the Allies were to win the war.
‘In the early hours of tomorrow morning, the train we have been anticipating will be passing along the railway line close to town. It’s the same as your first assignment – but now the patrols have increased. It’s crucial that this … this enormous shipment is delayed. Stopping it entirely would be best, but I would settle for simply setting the enemy back by the few days it would take to get the railway track cleared and another train through. The Germans have been moving materiel via different routes to avoid sabotage and to fool the Allies, but our intelligence suggests that this is the line they have chosen for such an important train.’ She paused. ‘You see, they can feel victory slipping through their fingers, but be aware – there is nothing more dangerous than a cornered bully.’
Elinor stepped forward. ‘Tell us what you want us to do.’
Isabelle explained that the plan was almost the same as their first assignment, with a vital difference.
‘The train will go through at four o’clock in the morning. We must expect the time to be exact, because the Germans are always exact. The line will be checked approximately twenty minutes before the train arrives at the crucial point. You have only a very short time after the patrol passes to move the metal slabs. Then you must leave, but beware of other patrols in the area.’
‘Oh God, help me,’ said Charlotte, her head in her hands.
Elinor went to her mother’s side and knelt at her feet. ‘It will be alright, Mama. Ceci and I know what to do. We’re well-practised, well-trained, and we will be home by sunrise. I promise all will be well.’
‘Ceci?’ said Isabelle.
Cecily nodded. ‘I’m not letting my little sister go without me. And she’s right – we know what to do.’
‘Sharpen your pencils then, ladies. Now, let’s go over the plan. I won’t leave here until you can both recite your every move. Is that clear?’ The sisters nodded.
‘I said is that clear?’
‘Yes,’ said Elinor, hearing her sister’s voice echo at her side. She realised later that Ceci had spoken only after she had voiced her own positive response to the question.
At three o’clock in the morning, Elinor and Cecily left the house. Charlotte had wrapped her arms around each daughter, while Isabelle stood to one side. She had arrived half an hour before the stated departure time to listen to their recitation of the plan once more. Cecily had written the note to her fictional beau, ready to throw into the river and claim his love forever, should it be necessary. Both girls had string to hitch their skirts as soon as they were on the path, and they had kept underskirts to a minimum so that, if necessary, they could run with greater ease.
‘Now you must go,’ said Isabelle, standing by the kitchen door. ‘Ceci, you’re the eldest, lead the way.’
Elinor stepped forward to follow her sister, but as she moved, she felt Isabelle push something into her pocket. She knew what it was.
‘It’s loaded,’ whispered Isabelle, as she reached towards Elinor’s other pocket and slipped in more ammunition.
Elinor said nothing but gave a brief nod. She pushed down the wave of nausea that seemed to rise from her core and followed her sister.
The girls did not speak as they made their way along the path, though they reached out to one another and held hands as they walked. The river was to their left, with the railway line beyond the woods to their right. With her free hand, Elinor began to finger the tip of the sharpened pencil, but stopped, realising that if it were indeed a weapon, she would need to keep the point as fierce as possible. She had tucked a sheathed knife into her belt, and as they set a determined yet almost silent pace, she was glad to feel the prickly sensation against her hip with every step.
With night vision established, they entered the wood on a route towards the tree with exposed roots. Earlier, in the strange comfort of the kitchen – which she now thought of as a kind of womb to which she wanted to return – she had asked Isabelle why they would choose the same place to hide the metal plates, because surely the Germans would search the area, given what had happened before. Isabelle explained that the invading army now expected an attack on a different section of railway line – this area had been dismissed as too dangerous for repeat resistance activity. They would still patrol it, though.
Having reached the tree, the girls rested. Cecily took out a packet of matches and touched Elinor on the arm. Elinor pulled up her sleeve. Together they sheltered the flame while they checked the time on the wristwatch Isabelle had provided, having synchronised the hour with her own timepiece. Elinor pulled down her sleeve, making sure the watch was secure. They sat for ten minutes more before Elinor cupped a hand around her sister’s ear.
‘Ceci, I can hear the patrol.’
She felt Cecily nod. Elinor knew she was hardly taking a breath as they watched two German soldiers walk along the railway line, their torches flashing from side to side. Elinor tapped Ceci’s shoulder again. The hour and minute were checked. It was time.
While practise had not made perfect since their first assignment, it had rendered them faster and more dexterous in their movements. They were quieter, knew how to move their bodies, how to bear weight and how to position a metal plate so that it was difficult to see, even with a torch. Ten heavy metal plates were placed along the track. Five times they went back and forth to the tree. Time and again they stopped to listen, hoping their luck would hold. Then it was done.
Without conferring, Elinor and Cecily entered the forest again, their footfall as light as fawns as they stepped out onto the path alongside the river. Elinor wanted only to get home, anxious to be cocooned in the kitchen watching Charlotte while she made breakfast. Would there be a special treat – an egg, perhaps, or a special pancake with fruit from the garden? Then she stopped, pulling Cecily to one side, into the lee of an ancient beech, a grandmother tree with a broad trunk and heavy branches sweeping close to the ground.
‘What?’ Cecily whispered.
Elinor touched her sister’s ear, signifying that she had heard something.
‘Halt! Who goes there?’
Elinor now knew what it meant when people said their knees had turned to jelly. She wanted to just fall down, but she couldn’t. She wanted to run, but she couldn’t. She wanted to be home, in the kitchen sipping weak tea. But she wasn’t.
‘Step out onto the path.’ The order was firm, aggressive.
Elinor wondered if the soldier was afraid, and then came another voice.
‘Do as we say, or we shall shoot you dead.’
Cecily began to move, but Elinor grabbed her arm.
‘Linni, I’m not going to die,’ said Cecily. ‘I can talk us out of this – I have my letter, remember?’ Elinor marvelled at her sister’s aplomb as she stepped out onto the path and called out. ‘It’s only us – two girls from the town.’
Now she wished Cecily hadn’t said that – ‘two girls from the town’ could be an invitation for bigger trouble. Was Ceci so stupid? In the distance Elinor could hear the muffled clickety-clack of the train approaching. They were as good as dead.
‘Girls from the town, eh? Show yourselves now!’
Elinor followed her sister. Two German soldiers approached, their rifles held pointed downward. ‘What are you doing here? It’s not the hour to be out walking – explain yourselves.’
Elinor gave silent thanks that they had not yet asked for papers. Perhaps they wouldn’t – after all, it was hard to read in the grainy light.
‘It’s an old tradition,’ said Elinor. ‘When a young woman is apart from her … her intended and is missing him, she writes a letter to him and floats it down the river under a darkened sky filled with stars. Of course she also posts a copy of the letter, but she’s telling the river gods to take her love to him and bring him home.’
The two soldiers began to laugh. ‘Well, if your intended is in the army, you can be sure he won’t be coming home.’ There was more sniggering laughter, then the soldier who had spoken first held out his hand. ‘Come on, show us this letter. It’ll be good for a laugh.’
Elinor thought it strange that neither soldier had commented on the fact that both she and her sister were answering them in German. ‘You can translate – read it for us.’
‘I can’t see in the dark,’ said Cecily.
Elinor watched as the soldier holding the torch came alongside Cecily and directed the beam to the envelope she held in her hands.
‘Come on, read it to us, sweet little lady who misses her boy.’ The soldier put his arm around Cecily’s shoulder. ‘Hah! I recognise you – you’re the pretty girl who smiled at me.’
Elinor watched as her sister flinched away, but the soldier held her firm.
‘I said read!’
‘Please,’ said Elinor. ‘You’re scaring my sister. Please don’t.’
The second soldier grabbed Elinor’s arm. ‘Shut up, little girl!’ Cecily’s voice quavered as she began to read her letter aloud.
‘How I long to hold you in my arms again. How I long to run in the long grass with you, to go on picnics and to be your wife.’
To go on picnics and to be your wife? Elinor could not believe what she was hearing. She was three years younger, but she could have done a better job of writing a love letter to float along the river towards river gods who didn’t exist.
‘You want to run in the long grass, eh?’ The soldier looked towards his friend.
Elinor could hear the train coming closer. How far away was it? Sound was distorted through woodland. German trains heavily laden with arms moved at a slow chug towards the bridge, so perhaps … perhaps they had about ten minutes to get away. Fifteen at the outside.
‘We shouldn’t disappoint this young lady, should we?’ said the second soldier.
‘No, Hans, we shouldn’t.’
‘But—’
Elinor felt the soldier’s grasp tighten as she moved towards Cecily, who was now being dragged across the path by the soldier who had winked at her in town.
‘No – leave her! Leave my sister—’
Elinor felt a sharp pain at the back of her head and fell to the ground.
‘She won’t get up in a hurry. Come on, Hans – be quick. We haven’t got all night.’
Elinor came to her knees, squinting to see the soldier who had hit her with his rifle shining a beam of light upon the other soldier – who was bracing Cecily so her face was buried against the tree trunk. He lifted her skirts and began to pull her underwear down.
‘Come on – get on with it,’ yelled the second soldier, already unbuttoning his trousers. ‘I don’t want to make do with this one.’
Elinor stood up, pulling the pistol from her pocket. Move your forefinger to the trigger, both hands … both hands, Linni. Tighten your core, Linni … you are a predator, and there is your prey. Shoot. Shoot, Linni. In the beam of light, Elinor focused on the soldier who was pinning Cecily to the tree and hit her target in the neck and back. And as the second soldier began to turn, still illuminated by his own torch, she aimed and fired, her eyes wide as blood erupted from his skull. ‘Elinor …’
‘Ceci, we must be quick. Help me drag these two into the woods. We don’t have much time. I can hear the train. And please, please try to stop crying. We can do that later.’ Elinor felt herself becoming colder, a chill that seeped into her body, freezing limb, muscle and bone as her strength ebbed. ‘Come on, Ceci – pull yourself together. I need your help right now – he’s heavy.’
Cecily followed instructions, emitting a moaning as if her soul had been torn in two. And perhaps it had.