Chapter Ten

The bullet had ripped through Emile's shoulder, its force roughly throwing him back to the ground as intense, burning pain, seared through his flesh and muscles like a hot poker. For a few moments, he was lost to everything although dimly aware of the sound of bullets flying through the air and voices shouting in French and German. He had no awareness of how long he had lain still but in spite of the pain something galvanised him to move and he raised his head, trying to roll onto his side and then remembering his comrades he looked towards the fence only to see the group moving away and abandoning him.

He realised what had happened, of course. From the moment he and Sebastian had approached the side door he had known they were in trouble. As they neared it a shot had rung out somewhere ahead of them in the darkness swiftly followed by another and then a full volley of shooting had begun and both he and Sebastian had momentarily frozen.

"Shit," Emile realised at once that something must have gone wrong but there was now no time to waste. They turned the corner and saw the partially open side door. Bernard was crouched at the door, firing outside at something unseen. He heard Emile approaching and looking over his shoulder, yelled, "The guards have returned early. Alain went out but he's been hit."

It was the worst scenario but the clock was ticking and the fuses were set. They had to get out.

"Go now, Bernard. We'll cover you."

Bernard heeded him and made a run for the fence whilst Emile and Sebastian raked the surrounding area with rifle fire. He was aware of shooting from the other side of the fence and knew that George and Hubert would also be there trying to cover their escape. Bernard had stopped to check on Alain but the fact that he had left him and moved on told Emile that their comrade was dead. Bernard had now reached the hole in the fence but was caught on the wire and frantically tugging at his coat until he freed himself and rolled through to the other side.

"You next, Sebastian."

There was only time for a brief nod before Emile's SOE colleague launched himself across the no man's land between the factory buildings and the fence, crouching low and zig-zagging. He reached the relative safety of the fence in a few seconds and now it was Emile's turn. He knew there was little more than five or six minutes left on the fuses they had laid and they all needed to get away as fast as possible. He heard Sebastian yell at him to move and took a deep breath as he launched himself out and across the open ground. He had covered two thirds of the distance before the bullet poleaxed him. In the split second before the pain surged through him Emile wondered what had happened before the shock realisation dawned that he had been hit.

Now, coming back to his senses, desperation took hold and despite the sickening pain that coursed through him each time he moved he started to rise and drag himself after his comrades. It was his only chance. He knew then with clarity of thought he had never experienced before that he'd rather die than be captured like this. Then a voice he knew so well seemed to carry to him through the darkness above the sound of the firefight, "Emile!"

He looked up and identified the unmistakeable shape of George detaching from the group at the fence, pulling away from Bernard on the other side and running back, crouching low and coming through the hole in the wire towards him without seeming to notice or care about the danger. Covering shots into the compound resumed from the other side of the fence and in a moment George was alongside him, having thrown herself onto the ground.

"Come on. You're not staying here."

He heard the urgency in her voice and something else that he realised was relief as her arm came around his waist and she tried to take his weight and use her strength to help him move. He knew she would struggle and forced himself to get to his feet. Together they staggered the last few metres towards the fence where hands reached out to pull him through the hole. The pain in his shoulder intensified and as they dragged him through he blacked out for a short time only to open his eyes again and see George's face hovering above his.

"George." It was no more than a whisper unheard by the others but he saw her smile briefly before two sets of strong arms lifted him to his feet and started to manhandle him away from the fence into the welcome cover of the trees and bushes beyond. Shots continued to fire from behind him whilst Hubert worked to hold the German guards in the compound at bay for as long as he dared before finally charging after them all, knowing that the moment he left they would try to pursue them.

They moved as fast as they could through the trees, anxious that they might be overrun before reaching their van which had been parked out of sight near the rough track that led from the main road into the woods.

The deafening explosion that rended the air a few seconds later shocked them with its intensity and stopped them briefly in their tracks as they turned to catch a glimpse of shooting flames and smoke through the trees.

"That'll keep the bastards busy," Bernard yelled with a vehemence that Emile had never heard before. It was almost as if Bernard felt this strike on the factory was personal and he sensed instinctively that Bernard's anger had much to do with the loss of Alain. Any commander worth his salt would feel the loss of one of his men keenly and there had been no time to pause or pay his respects.

Even in his weakened state Emile was conscious, however, of a moment of triumph. They had succeeded and hit the target and he prayed that Jacques had been as fortunate with the train derailment before he realised through what seemed like fog before his eyes, that they had finally reached the van. The back doors were opened and he was manhandled inside and was finally, to his relief, able to lie down whilst the others scrambled in alongside him. The last thing he remembered as torchlight flashed over his body and came to rest on his shoulder was George's anxious voice somewhere above him saying, "It looks bad."

X-X-X-X

The expression on Monsieur Moreau's face told George everything she needed to know; he didn't want them here and she couldn't blame him. Who would want a seriously injured man dumped on them and one that the Germans would be searching for to boot? This hadn't been the plan. When George had left the Moreau's cottage earlier that day it hadn't been with the intention of returning at all let alone late at night with a man who had suffered a serious gunshot wound and lost a lot of blood.

"This man needs a hospital." Monsieur Moreau waved his hands in the air in a gesture of desperation.

"I'm sorry," George said quietly realising all the more in what an impossible situation the Moreau's had been placed. "We can't go to a hospital. Is there a doctor here who might help?"

Monsieur Moreau's eyebrows shot up to his hairline at this suggestion, "Who do you think would risk their neck to help?"

George took a deep breath, "You did."

He was silenced for a moment. It was true that, despite misgivings, he had allowed George to hide in his house for a week although it had been more at his wife's pleading than for reasons of his own. However, one person hidden away out of sight was a very different prospect to a wounded man being deposited upon them without warning and one who would need medical help or he might very well die.

Madame Moreau stepped forward. "André, imagine if this was Michel. Wouldn't you have wanted someone to help him?"

George glanced at Monsieur Moreau. She knew that his wife was talking about their son, the one who had been killed during the German invasion in the spring of 1940. She had seen the photograph edged in black ribbon on the dresser, the portrait of a young man in the uniform of the French army. This was their motivation for helping the resistance and George knew it was an emotional appeal to her husband's patriotism. Monsieur Moreau's head dropped and he took a few deep breaths. To involve a doctor would be a great risk but turning his head to look at Emile lying on the bed in the bedroom which had once been his son's, his face deathly pale, his eyes closed and the dark stain of blood on his jacket a stark reminder of what he had done for France, he couldn't help thinking that this man looked a little like his son. They would have been about the same age and his wife was right. How he wished that someone could have helped Michel. He might still be here with them if someone had helped him.

"Alright. I'll try Doctor Lambert in Rommereux. I've heard it said that he's been known to criticise the Germans from time to time. He might be sympathetic but it will have to wait until morning. I can't go out during curfew."

George glanced at the clock. It was already after one in the morning. With luck Monsieur Moreau would be away by dawn to fetch the doctor.

"Thank you." It was heartfelt not only for his promise to find a doctor but also the fact that the Moreau's had taken them in when Bernard had brought them here at George's suggestion. Having a badly wounded man with them had posed many difficulties not least of which was the fact that they couldn't go to a hospital.

The explosion at the armaments factory had been heard for miles around and if Sebastian had done his work well the Germans would be hell-bent on finding the culprits. They would also be sure to know that one of them had been injured and in any case anyone presenting at a hospital with a gunshot wound would be reported to the Germans as a matter of course. They had no choice but to find somewhere out of the way and George had suggested the Moreau's.

Madame Moreau, relieved by her husband's agreement, all at once became practical and motherly.

"Let's clean up the wound and get him out of these clothes. Thankfully, the bleeding has stopped but we should try to dress the wound as best we can for now."

She set about boiling water and finding bandages whilst George and Monsieur Moreau did their best to remove Emile's jacket and shirt. As they raised him from the bed his eyes flew open from the pain but the relief of seeing George was evident although he didn't speak. Once they had removed his shirt they could see that the bullet had entered his shoulder just below his right collar bone but there was no exit wound.

"The bullet will have to come out," George said, realising now that it was going to be worse than just a case of dressing a bad wound. If they didn't remove the bullet the situation would only become more serious. Monsieur Moreau nodded but passed no comment.

Once Madame Moreau had cleaned up the wound and placed a clean dressing over it there was nothing more any of them could do until daybreak. The Moreau's retired to their own room to spend what remained of the night in fitful sleep whilst George sat on a chair by Emile's bedside, passing him some water to drink from time to time but trying to make him as comfortable as possible whilst he dozed in and out of consciousness.

George must have fallen asleep at some point, her head lulling at an awkward angle as she awoke with a start and the awareness of a sharp pain in her neck when the bedroom door opened and Monsieur Moreau appeared. It was light outside and he was dressed to go out.

"Just checking," he said needlessly and George wondered if he had thought Emile might have died but she quickly brushed the thought aside. She had suffered agonies in those few seconds last night in which she had believed Emile dead. The certainty with which Bernard had spoken had momentarily floored her but if the sight of Emile raising his head to show her he was still alive had done anything it was to convince her never to give up hope. Nothing would have stopped her from going back for him at that point. She had barely noticed the bullets flying around with her focus so squarely on him and getting him out of there. He didn't look good but he was here, he was breathing and she had hope.

It was a long wait until Monsieur Moreau returned from Rommereux and when he did so it was without the doctor. George had spent the time with Emile, who had been fitful and clearly in pain. It was nearly twelve hours since the assault on the armaments factory and he needed medical attention as soon as possible. Madame Moreau had been on tenterhooks. Despite her assertions that they should help the young man, she was fully aware of how dangerous the situation was and knew she had sent her husband out on a precarious mission. When he returned alone they were both relieved to see him but George was also fearful that he had failed in his purpose.

"Don't worry; the doctor will come here at the end of his rounds this afternoon."

"What did you tell him?" Madame Moreau asked nervous but still curious as to how much her husband had told the doctor to secure his help.

"That I have a nephew staying who has had an accident and hurt his shoulder."

"Just that?" George asked.

Monsieur Moreau shrugged, "He told me to take him to the hospital but I said it wouldn't be possible as he didn't like hospitals."

"And he wasn't suspicious?" Madame Moreau said with no attempt to hide her incredulity.

"Oh, I think he was suspicious or at least he seemed to understand what I meant as he said 'I can sympathise with you on that as I'm not very fond of them either at least not these days.'"

"So you think he will help?" George wasn't convinced by what she had heard. For all they knew the doctor might inform the Germans and it wouldn't be him turning up later that afternoon but the Gestapo to arrest them all. She suddenly appreciated the enormous risk Monsieur Moreau had taken and felt guilty for having involved them, even more so when he reached out to pat her on the arm as if to reassure her, "We must trust that he will."

The two hours that followed were some of the most nerve wracking of George's life. She knew that she might simply be waiting to be arrested but there was nothing she could do. Emile couldn't move and she couldn't and wouldn't run away but she was determined that if the worst happened she wouldn't give up without a fight. From the bedroom window of the Moreau's cottage she had a good view of the road and the gravel track that led down the hill towards it. She set herself up at the window to watch with her loaded rifle at her side. If the Germans arrived she would make sure they didn't take her easily.

Time dragged by and George found herself endlessly scanning the road almost wishing something would happen as it would be better than the tension of waiting. She was so intent on her purpose that she was startled by sudden movement in the bed and glancing to her left she saw Emile trying to get up. She swiftly moved over to him and knelt by the bed.

"Shh, calm down, Emile, and lie back down."

He looked confused by his surroundings. It was hardly surprising as he had been barely conscious for most of the past twelve hours but he did as she asked.

"Where am I?"

George smiled. "With friends. A doctor's coming to sort out your shoulder. It's all going to be alright."

A weak smile played on his lips and even in his present poor state George realised that he didn't entirely believe her. "Not trying to keep my spirits up are you, George?" He spoke in a whisper and it frightened her to see him such a shadow of the man she had known all these weeks here in France.

"No need. It's true. He'll be here soon. Trust me."

He nodded, "More than myself."

He drifted off again and was lost to her and she reached out to stroke his face. He didn't respond but she continued to do so until she heard the sound of a car engine in the distance, the first vehicle to approach in the past hour.

She moved rapidly to the window and saw the small black Citroen turning off the main road onto the track, heading towards the cottage. The Gestapo sometimes used cars like these. She had seen the security services moving around using these inconspicuous cars. She concentrated on the car trying to see how many occupants there might be. Her hand reached towards the rifle. If two men got out she would know immediately if they were Germans. She looked back to the road behind and the surrounding countryside trying to see if anyone else was around but she spotted nothing out of the ordinary. Her heart was in her mouth as the car drew up outside. The driver's door opened and a single, tall, middle-aged man with a balding head and a slight stoop got out and then to her relief opened the rear door and reached in to take out a large black medical bag.

Monsieur Moreau has opened the front door by now and George saw him walk towards the car and greet the doctor with a handshake confirming it was the man he had met this morning. She put down the rifle and took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves. All that remained now was to ensure that Emile was cared for and that they were right about the doctor and he would be sympathetic to their predicament. At the last moment she realised that it might be wise to hide the rifle and hastily stashed it under the bed out of sight just as the bedroom door swung open to reveal Monsieur Moreau and Doctor Lambert.

The doctor was evidently surprised to see George but Monsieur Moreau introduced her as "My niece, Marie-Claire." The doctor looked her up and down and she knew at once that he didn't believe any of the story he had been told but had obviously decided to help nonetheless and keeping up the pretence he turned to Emile lying in the bed, looking almost as pale as the sheets and said, "And this must be your brother?"

George nodded, "Thank you for coming here to see him."

The doctor approached the bed and bent down to look at Emile, noting the dressing on his shoulder.

"What sort of accident was it, Mademoiselle?"

George glanced nervously at Monsieur Moreau but he merely shrugged in response. She knew there was no point in denying what was wrong with Emile but she didn't need to tell the doctor everything, "His rifle misfired when he was out shooting pigeons in the wood and he caught a bullet in the shoulder."

The doctor gave her a long searching look but merely replied, "Yes, I can see that."

He took out his stethoscope and listened to Emile's heart before checking his pulse and his pupils. Emile stirred as the doctor lifted each eyelid and George realised he was regaining consciousness. She immediately spoke to him.

"Phillipe, the doctor's here. Don't speak. Try to save your energy."

It was enough to silence Emile. The doctor stood up and regarded George and Monsieur Moreau.

"I'll do what I can but I'm not a surgeon and that's what he needs."

"We appreciate whatever you can do," George said.

"Well, I'll also need your help, Mademoiselle, if that's alright."

George nodded. "Of course."

"Is there somewhere I can wash up?" the doctor asked.

Monsieur Moreau accompanied him downstairs where his wife had boiled some water in readiness and as he left the room, George shut her eyes in a moment of relief. Everything had worked out after all.

There was a noise from the bed and she turned to see Emile looking directly at her. She crossed to him and to her surprise he reached for her hand and grasped it, squeezing it tightly to get her attention. His voice was hoarse, little more than a whisper and she could hear that he was fighting the pain, "You have to go while you still can. It's not safe to stay here for long."

She shook her head, "I'm not going without you."

"You've still got a chance, George. You have to leave."

His voice was fading fast and George could tell he was slipping into unconsciousness again. Seeing his eyes closing, she bent her head and placed her lips close to his ear, "You didn't leave me and I won't leave you. I'm getting you out of here, whatever it takes." She didn't know whether he had heard her. He had fallen silent, his face drained of colour and his breathing shallow.

Doctor Lambert came back into the room. His sleeves were rolled up and he had put on an apron to protect his trousers and shirt. He started to lay out sterile instruments on a cloth and the expression on his face was grim. George felt anxious.

"Will he be alright, doctor?"

The doctor shrugged, "Are you religious, Mademoiselle?"

George shook her head, unnerved by the inference.

"Well, if you were I'd tell you to start praying."

She was definitely alarmed now. "Is it that bad? I thought it was just his shoulder."

The doctor sighed, "He's young and strong and has as good a chance as anyone but you'd better start praying that he recovers before the Germans find him because from what I've heard they won't leave any stone unturned to find the 'terrorists' responsible for blowing up the factory and the train from Granville."

X-X-X-X

The colour had returned to Emile's face and he was breathing easily in his sleep. In the twenty four hours since Doctor Lambert had operated to remove the bullet from his shoulder he had improved a great deal. He had been given something to take for the pain but supplies were low and Emile was determined not to use the tablets unless he was desperate. She had stayed here by his side, keeping an eye on him, making sure he drank water when he was awake and cajoling him into eating some soup at lunchtime the first food he had eaten in a few days. It wasn't much but it was vital that he recovered his strength as soon as possible.

George had assisted the doctor as he had directed and although she hadn't enjoyed watching him go about his work she had coped. The doctor had returned that evening to check on Emile and had been satisfied with his progress but said that he needed to rest up for at least a week before thinking of leaving. This was unwelcome news to all of them, the Moreau's included, but the doctor had been adamant that he wouldn't be fit or pain-free enough to move around easily before then. He had then left them, refusing any payment and saying that as far as he was concerned he had never met any of them or visited the smallholding before and would deny all knowledge if ever asked.

George was grateful beyond measure to him. The doctor had put himself at considerable risk by agreeing to visit Emile. It could have been a trap for all he had known but he had not been prepared to leave someone who needed his help and Emile now stood a real chance of recovering his health before long. However, the doctor's news about the effect of their operation had made her realise that someone like Emile would be a prized target for the Germans and they would be determined to catch any of those involved. Her instincts were telling her that they needed to get away from here as soon as they could but Emile was still weak. The Moreau's hadn't made any comment about the doctor's prognosis but she knew it must be weighing heavily upon them just as the guilt of the danger in which she had placed them weighed upon her.

The sound of a van approaching drew George's attention and she crept to the window. She recognised the van at once and as it drew near she also recognised the driver. It was Jacques. She was surprised that he had come here so openly in broad daylight and that he was parking up outside the front door in full view of the road. She saw him get out rapidly and then heard the bang of his fist on the front door. There was something urgent about the way he knocked that alarmed her.

She left the room and hurried downstairs just as Madame Moreau opened the door.

"Excuse me, Madame," he gazed beyond her to where George was standing. "I need to speak with Madeleine at once."

George was very alarmed now. She gestured to Jacques to follow her and they went upstairs to the bedroom. Emile stirred as they both entered the room and blinked at the sight of his comrade. He was a little groggy from sleep but otherwise in full command of himself.

"Jacques, it's good to see you, my friend. You did very well, I hear."

Jacques nodded, "Yes, it worked like a dream but we've got a problem. Bernard was arrested this morning."

George was shocked, "How? Was he caught at a checkpoint or something?"

Jacques shook his head, "No. He was arrested at home. Someone's informed on him."

It was the worst news. Not only was one of their key commanders now in German hands but someone had deliberately betrayed him.

"The whole circuit is at risk. Bernard knows a lot of people."

George felt the cold hand of fear grasp at her heart. They were all in grave danger.

Jacques was insistent, "Both of you have got to go now. Bernard has been here. When he talks they'll get you and he will talk eventually, make no mistake."

They all knew it was true that everyone would eventually talk under enough rough persuasion. Bernard would try to hold out for twenty-four hours. That was the agreement. Each of them knew that if arrested by the Germans they must try to give their comrades long enough to get away but after that who could blame anyone for talking in such circumstances. George looked at Emile wondering how on earth they were going to make their escape.

"He's not strong enough to leave. The doctor said he should rest for a week."

Jacques shook his head, "Perhaps you don't understand, Madeleine. You may not have more than a few hours. I'll take you as far as I can but you can't stay here. All of you have to get out now. You've no other choice."

George was shocked by what she had heard. She was determined to stay with Emile, nothing would persuade her to leave the man she loved but it was going to be very difficult. It was risky travelling on covert business even at normal times but now, in the aftermath of the operation, with the Germans actively looking for anyone involved, getting away was going to be nothing short of a miracle.