Chapter 8 (Francis Bonnefoy)
Francis was lying in an uncomfortable, incredibly cold bed in the garrison that had been installed at the Maginot line where his company was stationed when he was woken up by yelling.
"Out, everyone! Assemble in the briefing room!"
"..What is it, now?" Théo muttered who was forcing himself to open his eyes.
"I mean, I am not briefed on anything, but, probably, the western offensive of the Germans has begun" Francis muttered, grabbed his jacket, put on his shoes and got out of their room. The hallway was filled with soldiers of all ranks, sergeants, captains, regular soldiers, officers. No one really knew what was going on, but they all knew that it wasn't a test.
"Sergeants, to the briefing room, now!"
Francis lifted an eyebrow when looking at the chaotic scene unfolding before him. But had heard the order and made his way to the briefing room. He looked at the captain of his company and the leaders of the different platoons. Surrounded by other sergeants, Francis asked: "What is happening outside?"
"Luxembourg has de facto surrendered, and Holland won't hold them up for long. The Germans are on rapid advance to our north, and we can't enter Belgium until they declare war on Germany, it would break international law. So we are caught up here, and we will have to bear the first wave of assault" the captain said dryly, "The Luftwaffe is moving rapidly, but we don't know where they're headed. It's possible though that they will bomb cities again, just as they have in Poland. Most likely, we have some days until they reach Belgium and we can move north, but I want you all on your positions. Any advances have to be coordinated with the BEF and our other divisions. Your commanding lieutenant will hand you out a map where you can see your position that you will take now, and where you will be going once Belgium enters the war. Any questions?"
It was an eerie silence in the room, everyone preoccupied with their own thoughts. No one asked anything. There was nothing to ask, too. They all knew that this was the thing they had prepared for, even though most of them had believed that the conflict would be resolved by diplomatic ways. Francis looked at his fellow sergeants. Now it was their time where they weren't allowed to be weak, to fail.
Francis, with his orders in his hands, walked back to his squad.
"The Germans, right?" one of them asked.
"Get your weapons, we're moving out. I'll brief you on the way" Francis commanded.
When he was alone, waiting for his men to return, thoughts were running through his heads. What would it be like? Standing on a field, lying in a foxhole, probably being shot at, trying to kill fellow humans? But then he remembered the lesson that they had learned when the prospect of a war against the third Reich had become a realistic possibility. Germans aren't humans. They're the enemy disguising as one.
"We will be the French squad that is next to the British Force. Our position is behind a hilltop, an artillery squad will be stationed in front of us as soon as they arrive, let's just hope that's before the Germans are there. They've attacked Luxembourg and are sweeping west now through the Netherlands and presumably through Belgium. The number of tank divisions is unknown right now, but apparently, it's a huge number. Furthermore, the Luftwaffe serves as a support of their ground forces and form, together with their tank divisions, the spearhead of the assault" Francis told his men when they walked through the dark over the fields of northern France.
From their garrison, it was a four-hour march to their position. The stars could easily be seen in the dead of night.
"Why are you staring at the stars, Francis? Don't you have a compass?" one of his men, Louis, asked.
"Oh, of course I do" Francis replied and smiled: "But I just want them to remain there. Remember the stories of Poland? When the Luftwaffe's planes clouded the skies and let bombs rain down? As long as I can see the stars, we won't be blown to pieces."
"How do you think life is like there?" Louis asked quietly.
"In Poland? God, I don't want to know. It's been almost eight months now… I don't know much Poland, honestly. What I know is that they have many Jews – that's probably a bad thing if you consider what the Nazis want" Francis replied dryly.
"I couldn't imagine living like that… I wonder how many tried to escape to the west or east" Jules muttered.
"Probably many. I wouldn't want to run, though" Francis replied.
"What? Why? You could join the exile army or something" Louis said.
"True, but when the world is at war, you have to ask yourself: When my country is under the rule of monsters, where do people need a man more: At the front line where, to be fair, he works for the liberation, or back at home to give people hope? What does a liberated country represent if there are no people left?" Francis replied and smiled: "If you compare the number of soldiers to resistance fighters, it's clear to me where you have to go."
They set up their tents behind the hilltop.
"See that hill to the west? You can see a tiny light over there" Francis said and pointed on a dim light in the distance.
"Yeah, what is that?" Louis asked.
"That's a squad of the BEF, a part of E company of the 3rd infantry division" Francis replied and looked at the light: "They've reached their position some hours ago."
Francis wondered what went through their heads. Were they excited? Or were they afraid? He knew that this was war, this was the thing he had waited for. But now, standing on a seemingly endless field, he wasn't so sure if he really knew what war meant. Or if he was ready for it. Was he really ready to pull the trigger and to blow someone's head to pieces? 'It doesn't matter if I'm ready or not. I have to be' Francis thought and looked at the stars again. They were still there. And as long as they were there, hope remained intact, too.