Sisters of Night and Fog, page 33
“Please, les enfants, come,” Madame Anna says. “We’ve been waiting two days for you. The food’s getting cold.”
* * *
—
THOUGH THEIR WELCOME in Sussac couldn’t have been warmer, though the spirits of the Maquis couldn’t be higher, Violette still feels off, as if the ground under her feet shifts the way the wheat fields had writhed in the moonlight. She doesn’t have time to dwell, however. There’s much to be accomplished.
After a few hours’ sleep, they meet in the dirt courtyard behind the bakery, where Violette helps Jean Claude set up his wireless. By 0700, Jean Claude gets the message to HQ that they landed and made first contact. But the limited view from the courtyard and the obvious lack of security put Jean Claude on edge. Clement insists the Maquis find their pianist a safe house, away from the fray.
“You better find one by noon,” Clement says to the young man charged with the task.
Clement, or Major Charles, has assumed command and begins putting sous-lieutenant Jacques and his legion of bandits in their places by relegating them to errand boys. Being a member of the AS, Jacques bristles when he’s told to fetch the leader of the FTP, Georges Guingouin.
“The Commies can go to hell,” Jacques says. “We have all the manpower you need. Six hundred soldiers, and two hundred more joined after D-Day. Most of them gendarmes.”
“Soldiers?” says Clement. “Not from what I’ve seen. And as for the two hundred who joined yesterday, I don’t think much of those who’ve been hiding in the shadows, watching the fight like a tug-of-war match, waiting to see which side they’ll throw their weight behind once the winner became clear.”
“That’s a hell of a charge to lay at the feet of the brave men who’ve been keeping their people safe while making the enemy think they can be trusted.”
“‘Trust’ is a funny word,” says Clement. “And you’ve not yet earned mine. You have no respect for security or authority. You think because you’ve managed to outsmart the boches thus far we should all be in awe of you. I’ve been battling the enemy since you were in training pants, and once the armies are united under the French Forces of the Interior, as a major, I far outrank you. You haven’t hit the targets that were supposed to be blown up before our arrival, you had no safe house for our wireless operator, and you seem to think this is all a game. The way your men race around town, it’s like they’re training for the Grand Prix, instead of quietly ambushing the enemy and providing protection for the innocent civilians of your region. I’m not impressed. I don’t trust you. And if you don’t have my trust, when General Koenig arrives to command combined forces, you sure as hell won’t have his.”
Jacques appears stunned to be talked to in such a manner, but Clement is on a roll. The angrier he grows, the lower his voice goes, which is more intimidating than if he were shouting.
“One more thing,” Clement says. “Every weapon, every explosive dropped, every franc note delivered, will be under Captain Bob’s armed guard until you comply. He won’t hesitate to shoot any bandit who tries to arm himself without my permission. Do I make myself clear?”
Shoulders and eyes low, Jacques manages a nod and a clumsy salute, before leaving.
Violette cares little for the undisciplined youth before her. Since she heard the name, she’s been in awe.
“Koenig,” she says, placing her hand on Clement’s arm. “Did you say General Koenig?”
“Oui. General Marie-Pierre Koenig. He’ll assume command of the FFI, if we’re ever able to get these fighting factions to form a unit.”
“Koenig was like a second father to my husband. He was at my wedding. He commanded Étienne.”
Clement smiles at her and takes her hands.
“And soon, Lieutenant,” he says, “Koenig will command you, while you help to liberate France. Maybe that guardian angel you mentioned is Étienne.”
Her emotion makes it difficult for Violette to speak, but she’s able to muster a nod. Robert calls her attention with a loud sniff, and she turns to see that his eyes are as glassy as hers. At first, she thinks he’s teasing her, but when he looks up to the sky, trying to keep the tears from spilling over, it’s clear he’s not.
“Enough of you two,” Robert says. “I’m going to go blow up some shit.”
They laugh as Robert leaves them.
Clement and Violette are joined by Jacques’s second, Alain, for a briefing about the SS–Das Reich panzer division they’re charged with harassing. The fierce panzers, twenty-five hundred men strong, are fresh from their slaughters against the Russian army at the eastern front and are now stationed outside Limoges, the largest city with a German garrison in the region. The evils Das Reich committed on both Russian military and civilians are the stuff of horror stories. Fear among the local population has increased knowing that not only will the panzers be rolling through the countryside on their way north, to Normandy, but they’ve been given orders to conduct reprisals on civilians for Maquis attacks.
“The boches call this area la petite Russie,” Alain tells them, with distaste. “Because of all the Communists. And though half of us are not reds, they’ll treat the population as if we all are.”
“We care nothing about regional politics,” says Clement. “Stick to what we need to know.”
“Fine,” Alain continues. “For every Nazi wounded, Das Reich will hang three civilians. For every Nazi killed, they’ll murder ten civilians. They’ll also burn any house harboring a resister. And our people are harboring many resisters and Maquis, and there’s hardly enough food to feed their families, let alone the hundreds of men who’ve taken to the woods.”
“My courier will fund them,” Clement says, nodding at Violette. “Give her the addresses to memorize and she’ll be able to help.”
“I’ll also need a bicycle,” Violette says. “With a basket.”
“Of course. Madame Anna can lend you one.”
“I’d be grateful.”
“Would you also be able to deliver explosives?” asks Alain. “Our letterbox is at a bakery near the train station in Magnac-Bourg. If we can get the owner sets of plastic explosives, she can get word to the men so they can blow up the rail line.”
“Yes,” says Clement. “Add it to the list.”
Alain makes a crude map of five locations, including the rail station, lists the contacts at each, and the code phrase that will get cooperation at every stop. Violette takes the list up to the room where she slept and spends the next hour drawing and labeling it over and over until it’s impressed upon her brain. At one point a little head pokes around the door frame, but when she smiles at the boy and tells him to come in and say bonjour, he disappears.
When Violette returns to the courtyard, a satchel covering her chest, a dull ache in her ankle, she sees Jacques has returned with a short man, who’s arguing with Clement. Robert and Alain watch with scowls. When the men see her, they quiet.
Violette walks up to the bicycle that has appeared and lifts the lid of the basket to reveal wrapped bread, cheese, and grapes, a pile of shirts, and underneath, several plastic explosive kits. She puts the shirts back in place and raises her eyebrows.
“Laundress,” says Alain. “Here.”
He passes her a forged work pass showing that she’s allowed to deliver clothing.
“The boches of the region have outlawed most transportation,” says Jacques. “Civilians can only travel by car or bicycle if they have work papers.”
“Then how do you get off zooming around in that truck?” she asks.
“I’m a bandit, remember?”
He grins at her, and she can’t help but return the smile. He’s trouble, but she likes his confidence.
Robert pushes past Jacques and walks up to Violette.
“Are you up for this?” Robert whispers. “We can send one of the Maquis if you’d rather. I need help finding drop fields. You can come with me—”
“Nonsense,” she says. “Where’s my ‘Captain Bob’ and what have you done with him?”
He smiles.
“Stop worrying, or I’ll tell Miss Atkins,” whispers Violette. “She doesn’t like your level of devotion. It can make you do stupid things.”
“All right, all right,” he says. “Just be careful, Tinker Bell. I have a vintage bottle of Pernod I want to share with you tonight.”
“You know I don’t drink in the field.”
“Yes, that’s why you’re the perfect person to share it with.”
She slugs him in the shoulder and climbs on the bike, but remembers she isn’t armed.
“Give me your revolver,” she says, holding out her hand to Robert.
He looks at Clement. When their commander nods, Robert pulls a revolver from his belt and passes it to her. She checks the chamber, tucks it in her satchel, and climbs on the bike.
* * *
—
LONG AS IT was, the trip was good for her.
Pedaling the rustic, green countryside by herself, making contact with hardworking men and women, experiencing the joy of seeing their faces light up when she gave them correct code phrases, money, weapons, and assurances the end was in sight—all while gathering intelligence for her team—made her feel solid again. Even better, she didn’t see a single German. She didn’t let that give her a false sense of security, however. They could pop up around a turn at any moment.
She had much time to think about Tania and all the places she’d show her baby girl after the war, and Madame Anna had packed plenty of food to keep Violette well fed. Her ankle was the only thing that bothered her, but since she cycled, it wasn’t as bad as walking. Tonight, once she’s in her room, she’ll take some aspirin from the dropped medical supplies and prop up her foot. She’ll try not to draw any attention to it so she doesn’t give her team any more unnecessary worry. Especially Robert, who she can tell is becoming smitten.
She smiles at the thought of Robert, but she doesn’t feel an impulse to love him in any way but like a brother. It’s Henri she warms to when she thinks of him. Somehow, in Henri’s absence, the pull she feels to him has grown stronger. The remembrance of his touch and his kiss sends the heat up her neck and, knowing what he had been holding back while they dated, she can’t wait until after the war to fall into his arms, to confess her own exploits, and to thank him for recommending her for service. She can’t explain it, but she feels certain that he’s alive. She’ll be able to ask Jack if he’s heard anything when she meets with him tomorrow.
The sky is pink and lavender as she pedals back toward Sussac. A movement in a field catches her eye, and when she slows, she sees Jean Claude waving to her from a hilltop. She scans the horizon before turning off the main road and pedals up to find her anxious pianist looking as content as she’s yet seen him.
“My very own place,” he says, pointing to the stone cottage hidden behind a tall hedge.
“Jacques even rounded up a radio for me to listen to the BBC broadcasts,” he says.
“It’s perfect,” she says. “An excellent elevation for transmission.”
“With a great view of the countryside. I can keep an eye out for Nazi signal tracers.”
She follows his gaze, and they spot two figures she knows well, walking up the lane.
“The team’s all here,” she says.
When Clement and Robert see Violette on her bicycle, they both pick up their step. Robert is nearly at a run when he reaches her. He almost knocks her off the bike with his hug.
* * *
—
AFTER THE BBC broadcast, Robert places a sugar cube over the slotted spoon balancing on the rim of his cup. He pours the Pernod over the cube, into the glass, and uses a lighter to set the sugar on fire.
“I thought absinthe was illegal,” says Violette.
“Yes, anything over sixteen percent alcohol.”
“And this is forty percent?” Jean Claude says. “I regret, I must pass.”
“Come on, pussycat,” says Robert. “We need to put some hair on that chest.”
“I don’t think HQ would appreciate a drunken, passed-out wireless operator. Nor would our network here, for that matter.”
“What network?” says Clement, exhaling his cigarette in disgust.
The man Jacques brought him today was not the leader, Georges Guingouin, Clement had asked for. The man was his liaison, said Guingouin had to change location frequently, and mumbled something about there being important matters to attend to. But Violette, knowing Guingouin’s description from their briefing at HQ, thinks she spotted him on her travels. He was wearing civilian clothes and ducked into the back room of the bakery at the railway station in Magnac-Bourg. She told Madame there to please pass a message to her contacts that her commander awaits Colonel Guingouin and can be trusted far more than the Maquis. Clement had been thrilled with Violette’s success, and all of them impressed by her particular talent for getting others to trust her so quickly.
“I have hope,” Violette says. “If for no other reason, the Maquis need us and all we’ll provide. They can fall in line because of either duty or blackmail. Does it really matter which?”
“I like loyalty for loyalty’s sake,” says Clement. “But, yes, I’ll take either one.”
The sugar dissolved, Robert holds out the drink to Clement, who shakes his head. Robert frowns and holds it out to Violette, who does the same.
“What a bunch of wet blankets you all are,” Robert says, before taking a large swill of the drink himself. He can’t hide the wince that results.
“Oh, and give me back my gun,” he says to Violette.
She pulls it from her satchel and slides it across the table, where Clement has laid his piece. Packs of cigarettes also litter the surface, and the ritual pieces of absinthe service glisten in the lantern light, making a tableau of debauchery.
“I’ll take one of those cigarettes,” says Violette.
“In occupied France?” asks Clement. “That doesn’t fit the identity of a virginal secretary.”
“Ah, but I made HQ change it. I’m a widow now. No acting there, I’m afraid.”
She holds up her hand, flashing her emerald-and-diamond ring. Jean Claude looks at her with a creased forehead of concern, but she doesn’t elaborate. No need to divulge any more personal information than necessary when the smell of German diesel fuel is in the air.
Robert pushes his pack to Violette, and she slides out a cigarette. He lights it for her and watches her take her first long drag. He stares at her so intently she has to look away. His growing attention is starting to feel burdensome.
“Can I ask you all,” Jean Claude says, “did you take the L pill Miss Atkins offered?”
“Oui,” says Clement.
“Wouldn’t travel without it,” says Robert.
“No,” says Violette. “There are people who need me when this is over. And I’m confident, if I get snagged, I can withstand anything the boches throw at me. What about you?”
Jean Claude shakes his head.
“No,” he says. “I hope it’s not naive, but in spite of the wireless operator life expectancy of six weeks, I feel certain I’m going to make it. And suicide is a sin. Even in the face of certain death.”
“And capture doesn’t mean certain death. You can attest to that,” Violette says, nodding toward Clement.
“True,” Clement says. “I’m glad I didn’t have an L pill when I was in prison. I might have taken it. And I am most certainly glad I did not.”
“Then why’d you accept it this time?”
“It’s a different France.”
Silence falls over the table.
Violette has the sudden desire to be alone. To try to sleep well before her journey tomorrow to contact Jack, to begin the work of uniting the Maquis across the region. In some ways, it was easier when she was on mission by herself in Rouen. She doesn’t know if it’s because she’s a mother or because she’s always sought some level of male approval and attention, but she can feel the needs and desires and worries these men carry, especially because of how close they’ve grown. Her team is special because of their care and awareness of one another, and she loves them all fiercely, but sensing the currents of their moods is like hearing three different radio frequencies at once. She longs to switch them all off.
Violette finishes her cigarette and pushes back from the table.
“Well, boys,” she says, standing. “I need to retire. I have a hundred forty kilometers to cover tomorrow, and maps to memorize before I go to sleep. Bonne nuit.”
Robert rises from his chair, as if tethered to her.
“I’ll walk you back,” he says.
Clement joins them in standing.
“We should all go,” he says. “Give Jean Claude a chance to get to work.”
Violette sighs, inwardly consoling herself that she’ll be alone soon enough. Jean Claude jumps up to kiss Violette good night, but knocks his chair over in the process. He turns three shades of red as the men laugh at him. She smiles, gives him kisses on both cheeks, and once more on the first for good luck.
The three of them leave, Violette walking her bike back with the men on either side of her. She keeps the bike on her right side for support, leaning away from her left ankle, which is now throbbing. It doesn’t escape Clement’s notice.
“That ankle still bothering you?” he asks.
“It’s nothing,” she says.
“Is it the one you sprained at parachute school?” asks Robert.
“Oui.”
“Do you think you should take a day off it tomorrow?” asks Clement.
“No, there have already been too many delays. Jack is expecting me.”
“We can have Jean Claude get a message through to him to wait for one more day.”
