CHAPTER EIGHT
Road to St. Clair - 20 July 1944
The convoy snaked along the tarred road towards St. Clair. The first jeep was driven by Corporal Kerrigan, with three privates who held their rifles across their laps, their helmets deep over their heads. On constant alert, they were to warn the rest of any suspicious movement ahead.
Captain Miller and Lieutenant Davis sat in the second jeep driven by Corporal Elsevier. Next to Elsevier sat Linklater, promoted to Private First Class. Linklater too sat with his rifle across his lap, ready to fire. It was a further fifty five miles to travel south to St. Clair. Miller had been more than a little annoyed at being sent off their prescribed route to assist a resistance cell.
"When Patton's Third Army is waiting for us!" he'd blustered after recovering from the surprise Colonel Drake had sprung on him. He'd had time only to absorb the fact that the town was named the same as their lake in Detroit before reaction set in. But he was drilled to follow orders. Get in, get out and then advance to Paris. That was what he'd planned.
His company consisted of two platoons, totalling two hundred young infantrymen. They'd lost several of their regiment in the Vidouville combats, but he was determined not to lose a single soldier in combat when they entered St. Clair. Robert Davis commanded Platoon B while he took charge of platoon A. Their strengths were equally divided, though Longman had mumbled all the way to the trucks about not being with Captain Miller.
"That's not to say I don't like Lieutenant Davis, sir," he'd complained, then turned to Davis. "No offence, sir."
"None taken, Longman." Davis had given him a wide grin and slapped his shoulder hard.
The midday sun beat down on them, the heat stinging. The convoy was moving too slowly for Miller's liking. They were sweating in their battle gear, but dared not remove their helmets. Miller caressed the scope on his rifle without looking at Davis who sat next to him.
"So, what's with you and St. Clair?" Miller asked. "I noticed yesterday you looked quite surprised. I reckon your surprise differed from mine. What's up?"
"Hey, Elsevier, keep your eye on the road," Davis barked suddenly, trying to ignore Miller's question.
"Sorry, Lieutenant. Dying to hear your answer, sir."
Davis sat back against the seat and gazed ahead of him.
St. Clair. He'd been happy there. He hadn't wanted to leave.
"After graduating from high school my parents sent me to France. Summer vacation in St. Clair. I'd already decided to enter West Point, much to my father's displeasure. Then I met a girl."
"And you fell in love?"
"Her name was Brigitte. Fiery, dark curly top. I was eighteen, so was she."
"So what happened to Brigitte when you left St. Clair? I know you started at West Point same year I did," Miller said.
"I wanted her to return to America with me, to be safe, see? Lots of things were going on in Europe in '36."
"Nineteen thirty six. While you were trying to get Brigitte to leave her country for you, I was in Berlin, rowing for the United States."
"Leave her country for me, huh?"
"Yeah."
"That was exactly it," Davis said. "My patriotic hubris was greater than my common sense. I could no more encourage her to leave her country than she could order me to stay in France."
"That's it?"
"It was hard leaving, you know? We wrote for a while until the letters dried up."
Charlie thought how his relationship with Lucy failed because they were separated by continents most of the time. Letters didn't work.
"You're married. You fell in love with a nice girl back home."
Davis smiled, looking at Miller for the first time. Then he removed a booklet sealed with plastic and retrieved a photograph, showing it to Miller.
"Beautiful blonde haired, blue-eyed boys. They're twins?" Miller asked as he studied the photo.
"Yes. Andrew and Michael. My pride and joy, my life."
Charlie mulled over Davis's words. Life could treat one harshly, he thought. One had to be tenacious to rise above adversitiy.
"Yes," Miller said, "life happens, life is hard. When you're not near enough to your beloved on a permanent basis, you've got to accept that love dies out eventually, like green leaves in the sun after they fall from the tree."
There was a bitter edge to Miller's words but the feeling was gone quickly.
"You had a bad experience, Miller?" Davis asked as he filed the photo again.
"Maybe."
Which was a sign that the conversation was over. They'd only travelled twenty five miles but with the sun beating down on them, the heat was becoming unbearable.
Miller kept wondering about the resistance in St. Clair. What were their strengths? Did they have the manpower, the guns, the ammunition? Clearly not, if they'd asked for assistance. He supposed he'd probably meet up with Davis's erstwhile girlfriend who could very well be a resistance fighter.
Suddenly the first jeep slowed down dramatically. Elsevier braked hard not to smash into the front vehicle.
"What - ?"
"I see it, Captain."
Davis peered into the distance, as did everyone, it seemed. Like a mirage, the object appeared right in the middle of the road. Girlfriends, resistance and St. Clair were forgotten for the moment.
On the first truck behind their jeep, Compton rose to his full 6ft 6in height, disregarding the safety precautions laid down by the captain, and pointed to the mirage in the distance.
"Holy mackerel! It's a goddam cyclist in the middle of the goddam road!"
"Sit down, Compton!" Davis yelled. The soldier slumped back instantly on his seat.
"Now I can't see!" he complained.
"Don't worry, we'll tell you all about it," Miller shouted.
"Fat chance, Cappy!"
Kerrigan, driving the first jeep, stopped and looked back at Miller. Miller raised his hand, indicating that all vehicles grind to a halt.
"Let's see what happens."
"Curious. The cyclist is also slowing down," Davis remarked with a frown.
"It's our welcome wagon!" Compton shouted from the truck.
"By the looks of it, he's unarmed."
When the cyclist was about fifty yards from them, he raised his arms high above the handlebars, like a winner in a race, cycling slowly until he stopped a few yards from the first jeep.
"Where are you going, mate?" Kerrigan asked.
The cyclist dropped his hands on the handlebars and dismounted.
"Bonjour! Who is your leader?" he asked.
Charlie Miller got out of the jeep and walked past the first vehicle, stopping in front of the cyclist.
"Who wants to know?" Charlie asked, but before the cyclist could respond, Davis also got out and came to stand next to Charlie. The cyclist's eyes widened.
"You!" he gasped. "You foreigner, the one who can't say tricolor with any reasonable accent!"
"Well, I guess you two know each other?" Captain Miller asked.
"Captain," began Davis, "this is Berry Beaumont, Brigitte's cousin."
"Ah, Brigitte!"
"Yes, Brigitte!"
"Leave her out of this, foreigner," Berry spat, then hissed his displeasure at seeing Robert Davis.
"Look, we are Americans in your land, therefore all of us are foreigners. You wanted to speak with me," Captain Miller stated.
"Are you in charge?"
"That I am. Captain Miller of the 5th Infantry Division." While Miller spoke, Berry could have cut Robert Davis with his glare. He clearly had unfinished business with Davis. "Speak to me!" Miller yelled at the unfortunate Berry Beaumont.
Berry jumped at the force of Miller's command, saluting the captain.
"I have a message for you, Capitaine."
"Okay, so let's hear it. I take it it's from your people in St. Clair."
"Alas, Capitaine, I cannot give you the message verbally. I was searched at the roadblock outside St. Clair. I cannot tell you how humiliant that was."
By that time, the soldiers had jumped off the trucks and were studying Beaumont like an insect under a microscope.
"I will need a small knife, Capitaine."
"Longman!"
"Yes, Captain!"
"Your knife."
Longman reluctantly took out his Swiss army knife and handed it to Berry. By now everyone stood around wondering what Berry was going to do next. The Frenchman yanked the chain into the bike's lowest gear.
Miller studied Berry as he busied himself with the gears. If Berry had been strip-searched at the roadblock and the Germans found nothing, here was certainly a very creative way of concealing a message which the young man could not convey by word of mouth. He grinned to himself. The resistance movements all over France had to be congratulated for designing novel ways of carrying intelligence.
"Your face seems familiar," Miller told him. "Have I seen you before?"
"If you did," Berry replied, "it would have been at the Games."
Miller slapped his helmet. "Of course! You rode France to team gold in the 100km cycling event!"
"Brigitte skinned me alive when I got home."
"Is that a fact?"
"Oui. What about you, Capitaine?" Berry asked as he got busy with his bike.
"United States coxed eights. Gold."
"Ah."
Berry fiddled with the chain and rear wheel of the bike.
"This I have got to see," muttered Linklater whose cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. Like Cruikshank, Linklater chain-smoked.
"Yeah, me too," chorused Compton and Longman simultaneously.
Once Berry had the chain down to the lowest gear, he broke open the rear wheel crank all the way to release the wheel.
"What the hell is he doing, dismantling his bike like that?"
"Watch and learn," Davis answered, smiling to himself. He'd dismantled bikes, motor cycles and his father's old Pontiac as a kid, much to the old man's ire!
Once Berry braced the wheel between his legs, he opened the valve, using Longman's knife point to release all the air from the tube. Then he tightened the valve again. Once he'd completed that, it was easy to wedge the tire over the wheel rim using the knife carefully so as not to damage the tube. Berry put the wheel rim to one side while the airless tube was still wedged inside the tire.
Miller held his breath. If there was a message there, it had to be the most impressively creative way to have bypassed the search at the road block. For about half the circumference of the tire Berry prised the tube free from it.
"Holy mackerel!" exclaimed Longman.
Berry carefully pulled out three plastic sheets wrapped around white paper. Once he had the three messages in his hand, he got up.
"What do you know," exclaimed Davis. "I wouldn't have thought of that!"
Berry glared at Davis. "Foreigners! They cannot think of anything!"
"Enough!" barked Miller as he took the three messages from Berry, who had immediately begun to put his bike together again, much to the enjoyment of the soldiers who eagerly helped him.
"Davis!"
"Yes, Captain!"
"Over here." Davis joined him where he stood away from the others. Miller didn't look up as he spoke. "We're roughly thirty miles from St. Clair. By my calculation we should reach there around 3 pm."
"The messages, Captain?"
Miller opened the first one, the paper still warm.
"A map of St. Clair," he began as he studied the paper. "She's marked the munitions depot as well as the Headquarters of the Germans, a few buildings like the school and church. Here is a restaurant...it's called Le Coeur de Lion."
"The heart of the Lion," Davis remarked. "I remember it. An old man, Henri du Pléssis, owned it."
Miller glanced up sharply. "Du Plessis?"
"Yes. He was quite old. Must be gone by now. You sound surprised, Captain."
Miller clamped up, frowning as he opened the second note. "The German garrison consists of one hundred soldiers and officers. The officer in charge is Kommandant Jürgen Schult, and his second-in-command is Oberleutnant Heinz Welthagen."
"We cut off the head..." Davis murmured as Miller handed him the second message.
"Indeed," was all he answered as he opened the third note. He frowned again. It was addressed to him. He stepped away from Davis and stood on the verge of the road.
To the captain of the regiment
If you are reading this letter, then Berry Beaumont has successfully passed through the roadblock and reached you. You are to proceed along the Vidouville-St. Clair road until you are a mile outside the town. We have managed to buy you time by disabling the Germans' communications. They have no radio contact at the moment though that could change. I would suggest your regiment enter St. Clair from the entry points I've indicated on the map. I fear by the time you arrive, battle will be imminent. We will try to hold them off as long as we can but it's getting more and more difficult to stay one step ahead of the enemy. Study the entry points. Berry Beaumont will give you able assistance. St. Clair is his home town and he knows it inside out.
Please, hurry.
Katrine du Pléssis
Charlie stared at the name signed at the bottom of the note. Katrine du Pléssis. He remembered his brother's letters, urging him to find Katrine du Pléssis, to find out how she was doing. Could this be the same person? He'd always assumed she'd be based in Paris, which, according to the Harvard scientists, was her last known city of residence. Then, if she was leading the Resistance movement in St. Clair, where were her husband and daughter? Would not a child be at risk if the mother was engaged in subversive activities, however honourable they might be?
He had been primed to expect a woman leading the resistance cell. That it happened to be Katrine du Pléssis came as a surprise. He felt a little put out by the strict orders she'd given in her note, as if his regiment was only going to mop up while the resistance in St. Clair fought off one hundred Germans.
However well prepared the French locals were, they were not infantrymen combating the Germans who would be outnumbered two to one by the time his company arrived. He'd already drawn strategic plans in his head, given Katrine's information, and could practically visualise their battle situations.
But first, he needed to meet with this woman, that is, if they weren't already engaged in combat. It jumped at him suddenly, his late sister's directive to him, "You are under orders to stay alive."
Yes, Winonah, I promise was his thought as he folded the letter and inserted it inside Caesar's Gallic Wars and back in his top pocket.
"Captain?"
As if waking from a dream, he realised Davis was staring at him with a quizzical look on his face.
"Here's what we do, Davis. They need backup right now. We'll break up into our platoons."
They looked at the map again as he began scribbling on the paper, marking key areas while Davis listened intently. For about twenty minutes they plotted and planned in earnest. He waved to Berry to join them. Berry proved informative and very useful in helping plot their entry into St. Clair.
Finally, he stood upright and looked into the blue sky. They would arrive in the area around St. Clair by early afternoon.
Berry joined Compton, Longman and a few infantrymen on the truck while his bike rested against the tow bar of the gun carriage.
"Ready?"
"Yes, Captain!"
"Let's go!"
15h00 Behind the Coeur de Lion
In a cellar beneath the building situated behind the Coeur de Lion, Katrine met with her core team. They pored over a large map on a table, illuminated only by a weak light from a bulb hanging low from the ceiling. She was worried as she hadn't heard yet from the US army regiment supposed to relieve them. Their core team was just that – a core of five members plus six others, despite the fact that they'd tried to recruit more members from among the town's men.
The Germans were becoming restless. Just walking down the Rue Evremonde from the bakery to their current position behind the restaurant earlier on had made her shiver. The soldiers were stopping everyone, interrogating townspeople before they let them go. She'd been stopped too, but they left her alone because the soldier declared bluntly, "Ah, Herr Kommandant Schult's whore. I would not dare touch anything belonging to him."
She'd given the lecherous soldier a self-satisfied smirk and ignored his blatant insult. She'd left feeling the anxiety building up in her, their presence pervasive compared to the days when they just lazed about bored, smoking French cigarettes and drinking French wine. Have they been called to arms? she wondered. Were they to do more than just break open loaves of bread, tear into Bibles and books looking for hidden messages, pour out the wine finding nothing then bemoan the fact that they should have drunk the wine anyway?
Katrine gave a subdued sigh as she looked up from the map to meet Lamine and Solange's gaze. Lamine had been explaining how he, Brigitte and Solange had managed to disconnect the main cable to the Germans' communication system. Solange had been dressed like Veronica Lake with her long blonde hair, an elegant curl over her eye; she even looked a little like the Hollywood actress to distract the foot soldiers.
"Half an hour later I managed to break into the Headquarters by the same side entrance where I put the guard out of his misery," said Lamine. "We made him look like he was sleeping, sitting upright against the wall. Then inside on the ground floor another guard was fast asleep, so I made him sleep forever without making a sound."
"You think it is a joke?" asked Solange.
"No, I am concealing my anxiety with humour," Lamine replied. Solange nodded. They were all anxious and she understood Lamine, who continued, "So I got to the first level where their radio communications system was set up. I was lucky that I could move about undetected. I uhm...destroyed the electrical current of their oscillator. It will take some time and more to look for a fault in the system. I should thank Brigitte."
"Thank me for what?"
"Gaining vital intelligence regarding their communications. They would worry first about fixing things before extending their actions to the streets, although I think there is already a restlessness there."
Katrine nodded. "Thank you, Lamine. Still, we can expect trouble from Kommandant Schult."
"We will be ready for them," said Solange. "I've recalibrated some of our weapons to be more effective. What we have may not be sufficient."'
"Hopefully our back-up should arrive before the day is out," Katrine said. "We could do with their help right now."
"I hear rumbling in the streets. We are at a disadvantage. They outnumber us." Solange offered that information matter-of-factly.
"I can help," Brigitte said.
"No, Lamine will see that you are safe with your grandparents. In your condition the risk to your safety is too great."
Katrine sounded implacable, but Brigitte stood her ground.
"We are outnumbered," she stated doggedly, her eyes blazing. "That is a fact. I can and will assist. I will glory in putting a bullet through Welthagen's head myself."
Katrine nodded, knowing she was losing against Brigitte's stubborn streak. She needed all hands. She hoped Berry had reached the US army regiment in time and that the commander of the regiment had read all the instructions. If he did... She sighed. If he did...
Right at that moment there was a tap on the trap door above them, followed by two more short taps.
Brigitte, Solange and Lamine looked up, then at her, Solange already standing with her pistol in her hand, ready to fire. Lamine's hand caressed his rifle that lay on the table.
"Who is - ?" Brigitte began, but Katrine interrupted her.
"Help has arrived," she replied, her spirits lifting. Lamine slowly lifted the trap door slowly, just enough they could see the newcomer.
"The US army," Lamine announced. He positioned the ladder for them to climb down. "Only two of you?"
Katrine studied the first officer who proceeded to remove his helmet. When the second officer stood next to him, she heard Brigitte give a cry of alarm.
"Bobby!"
Robert Davis recognised Brigitte instantly. His eyes widened when he saw her condition. Still, he smiled at her.
"You owe me a postcard," he said.
The other officer stared into a pair of blue-grey eyes. She stood hands on her hips. He sensed instantly that she was the leader. Her hair shone golden brown, falling in gentle curls about her face and on her neck. Her lips were red, her eyebrows arched. She was beautiful and looked cocky to him, like some women back home who could never keep their mouths shut. He knew her type. She breathed control. She was the one who had signed the letter.
"Katrine du Pléssis, I presume."
"How do you know my name? I could have been Brigitte over there or Solange here."
"I couldn't miss you if I were blindfolded," came his snap reply. "Captain Charles Miller, 5th Armoured Infantry. You called for help."
Katrine glared at him a second then extended a hand which he gripped tightly before releasing the handshake. She bristled at the way he barked out "called for help" as if they were all helpless in St. Clair and needed saving. Still, she had said in her note that they should come as soon as they could.
Katrine studied Charles for a few moments. Raven black hair combed sleekly with a side parting and tanned skin. A scar above his left brow looked red and in the process of healing, obviously he'd been injured recently. His eyes were as black as his hair, and he exuded such strength and confidence that she blanched at the force of it.
Charlie Miller gazed at the woman he had to contact while in France, the leader of a resistance cell. She was in St. Clair instead of Paris as he'd always presumed. He was glad she couldn't hear his inward gasp. She wore a blue dress that hugged her narrow waist and swished about her calves.
"H-how did you get here?" Katrine asked, knowing that all the information she'd given him did not include whatever way he and Davis had devised in seeing the group before any hostilities had begun.
"Your good friend Berry Beaumont gave us the necessary information to reach the town from a back road hardly ever used by the German regiment stationed here. Our driver parked the jeep behind some thick bushes just outside the perimeter of the town square."
"The rest?"
He didn't tell her that they'd taken out a few Germans, surprising them from behind and then breaking their necks. He had a few men in his regiment who would probably be boxers and wrestlers come peace time.
"They are stationed at various strategic points. From here on I'll be giving orders - "
"Captain Miller, I am the head of our unit here - " Katrine began, instantly bristling at the captain's imperious manner. "They - and you - will do as I have planned."
"You listen to me, miss smarty-pants, I risked seven of my men to take out German soldiers stationed near the back end of the square. Did you hear any gunfire? Silent killers I call them. I do not plan on losing my men, Mme du Pléssis."
"This is my town, these are my team members. They are under my command. I do not - " she began with heated indignation.
"And dare I say," he cut in, "with your handful of resistance members - oh, yes, Berry gave as much information as I needed - you want to take on one hundred Germans with insufficient weaponry. You think you're going to manage with a few rifles, grenades and pistols?"
Lamine and Solange gaped at the exchange between Katrine and Miller. He looked at Solange and indicated with his fingers splayed, he'd bet her five bottles of wine that Miller would win the exchange. Solange was gamely on Katrine's side. She was in the women's corner and had to stand up for her sex. So she and Lamine folded their arms and waited. Robert Davis and Brigitte stood to one side quietly conducting their own conversation.
Meanwhile, Katrine and Miller faced off like two growling dogs baring their teeth. Katrine realised the truth of Miller's words. She tried to focus on their dire situation and not on the dimples that formed in his cheeks or jet black hair that was brushed and looked sleek. She gave a sigh. They had only six extra members, woefully inadequate to engage in a skirmish with the superior might of the Germans. But she was not going to let the captain know that. She needed the advantage over Miller who appeared, strangely enough, so calm she felt she could kick him. She stood hands on her hips. Miller stood with his hands on his hips. Who was going to budge?
Lamine looked at Solange. He sensed he'd be winning five bottles of Chateau Latour in this skirmish between two hardened fighters.
Katrine didn't want to budge. For two years she'd led the resistance in St. Clair. The town had become her home. Paris was half a dream away; a lost husband and child who crept into her nights so that she couldn't sleep. She'd fought hard to build a reliable team and had made sacrifices to keep them all concealed. Jürgen Schult's face flashed before her causing her to groan. She was not going to acquiesce to being subordinate again. To have her team submit to another's leadership galled her.
"I still say -" she began, the fight against this man beginning to leave her. She was losing the battle in those split seconds as she took in his attractive features - his rugged good looks, his implacable stance, and the fact that he was so damnably right. "I still say I know the town better than you. I should - "
"What, Mme du Pléssis? Tell us all to leave the war outside and remain closeted in the Coeur de Lion? Tell the Germans they can smoke your cigarettes, drink your estate wines, exhibit confiscated art work on their walls and claim them as their own?"
"How dare - "
"I am the war you called in to help you, Katrine du Pléssis," Miller bit out. "Let me and my men do what we trained for - to engage the enemy and liberate this town once and for all."
Katrine glared at him. She could kill him with that look. Damn, she was beautiful, especially when she shot daggers at him with those eyes. But he knew his work; he knew how to draw the enemy into battle. It was what he'd trained for, what he'd dreamed about for more than ten years. It was vital that he take charge of battling the Germans. Very slowly her eyes changed. They softened. He knew the moment she ceded leadership to him. Then Katrine nodded.
"Fine, Captain Miller. You have made your point. I take it you have studied the intelligence I sent you."
Lamine looked askance at Solange.
"You owe me," he said drily.
Meanwhile, Robert Davis, shocked by seeing Brigitte pregnant, could just gape at her.
"Sorry," he said. "The father?"
"A German," she answered in an unemotional tone, yet her hand stole to caress her swollen belly. "I'd like to kill him soon," she added. He rocked back at the hatred he heard in her voice.
"Why did you stop writing?"
"Why? My country needed me, Bobby. You forget that as much as you are American and would die for your country, so am I French and willing to lay down my life for the liberation of France."
"I realised that very belatedly. It was an arrogant assumption on my part and unfair of me to expect you to leave your homeland."
"Then I got busy helping in the Movement."
Brigitte looked deeply into Bobby's startling blue eyes. She remembered how Berry always told her he hated that imbecile foreigner. She could see the curiosity in his eyes, yet uncertainty whether to voice his suspicion openly.
"I...see."
"What is it that you see, Bobby?" she asked harshly. "I bedded a German. Nobody forced me into his bed. Sorry if that comes as a shock to you. But life...goes on..."
Brigitte experienced a twinge of regret. They'd fallen out of love. It was bound to happen. Handsome Robert Davis with whom she spent a memorable summer in 1936. She shook herself mentally. Some might have asked her why she would give up one of the most attractive men around, and one who was a good person too. Yet, time and distance could inflict great damage on a relationship that depended on sporadic letters across two continents.
"Yes, life goes on," he agreed.
"You?" she asked. "What about you? I notice you are wearing a wedding band."
"After I left France, I entered West Point Academy. Then I met Lynne."
"Your wife?"
"Well, she wasn't my wife then. I was hoping to marry you, Brigitte. But the letters dried up. The miles between us... It was hard keeping the flames burning, you know. Then when I met Lynne, I - "
"Realised you didn't really love me."
"Je suis tellement désolée..." he said in the best French he could muster.
"Don't ever be sorry, Bobby. What we had, our own little St. Clair, was good. But it wasn't strong enough. I realise that now."
"Your baby?" he asked.
"I - " she started. In that moment Brigitte looked up, straight at Katrine and Captain Miller, hearing their conversation. She heard Katrine - hard as nails, tough negotiator Katrine caving in to Miller. Brigitte became instantly angry. "Excusez-moi- " she started, pushing Davis out of the way, her eyes flashing daggers.
She pressed herself between Katrine and Captain Miller.
"What the hell are you doing, Katrine? Who is he to be making these decisions for all of us?"
Katrine gave Brigitte a quelling look.
"C'est le capitaine."
She expressed her response so decisively that Brigitte shut up immediately. There were times no one dared challenge Katrine's decisions. This was one of them. When she turned to face Captain Miller to challenge him, she was met with the same determined gaze. She sighed.
"Oh, good. Now we have two of them."
"Okay," Charlie began, "right now your townspeople are entering the cathedral, the school and another public building structurally sound enough to keep those inside at least protected. The stained glass windows of the church are high. It makes targeting those inside a little more difficult."
Katrine could only gape. This was indeed no longer war games. It was war. They simply didn't have the manpower to round up everyone in town and organise their safety. With blinding clarity, she realised that Miller's platoons were already busy in St. Clair with covert operations. He was right. She should remember to ask him how big his company was.
"Others have been told by word of mouth to remain in their homes in their basements," Davis added.
Before Davis and Miller climbed up the ladder again, he turned to stare speculatively at Katrine.
"Anything else?" she asked.
"Just this - I need to speak with you privately on another, unrelated matter."
"You can tell me now - "
"Sorry. No time. You have your orders. Better get moving."
Outside, some German soldiers were congregating near the fountain. They didn't know that a few of their comrades who guarded the south end of the town were already dead.
People were walking towards St. Agnes Cathedral, down Rue St. Agnes, Rue La Rochelle and Rue Evremonde. Others came up from the northern end of the town and joined those who walked towards the main road..
"Why are they going to church on a Thursday?" asked one soldier. He stood smoking a cigarette, lazily blowing little puffs in the air.
"Ich weiß es nicht," replied another. "Perhaps to confess their sins before they die."
"Should we shoot them now?"
"Sei kein Trottel, Heinrich. I said before they die, idiot! Let them pray first."
"Then, Matthias, they will all gather im Himmel and curse us all from up there."
"Even so, what then if an entire army of enemy forces come plonking down St. Agnes Strasse? Hmmm? What then?"
"We give them all a Heil Hitler salute before we kill them too."
The first soldier - Heinrich - shook his head, drew another puff from his cigarette and blew the smoke through his nostrils. He was bored. He wanted to go home and sleep with his girlfriend. He was tired of being given the skunk-eye every time he passed the townspeople.
Matthias shifted his helmet, relaxed against the wall of the fountain and appeared oblivious of the spray of water on them. It was a hot afternoon. Perhaps if they had been more observant, they might have seen the soldiers of the United States Army moving stealthily along the back roads, darting from building to building. They might have seen them giving signals to townsfolk who just as silently went into their homes and into their basements. Men, women and children were taken care of by the enemy who had entered St. Clair with surprising ease.
Perhaps it was the apathy that had begun to set in in the hearts and minds of the young Germans who had been stationed in St. Clair for four years. They had become less focused. Only sporadically did they have occasion to search some of the townspeople, especially those who came riding through the town on their bicycles. They were tired, these young soldiers, listless, disinterested, for their only duty in the town as in other towns along the northern and central bands of France, was to rule with their presence. They walked the streets, met young French women, fell in love with some of them and proceeded to keep a watch over the town.
That was all.
Perhaps, if they engaged against anyone who sought to fight them, their spirits, their honour, their celebrated discipline as Prussians and Aryans and former Hitler Jugend might kick in. Then they could show the enemy what they were made of. They had the firepower and who could in der ganzen weiten Schöpfungwithstand the might of the German Army?
Who, indeed?
16h30 German Headquarters
"Verdammt noch mal! Verdammt!" Schult banged the desk hard with both fists.
Welthagen rocked back on his heels at the ferocity in Kommandant Schult's voice.
"I do not need to think who killed two of our guards or who disabled our communications," he blustered. "Townspeople of St. Clair!"
"Do you think your lovely Katrine is behind this?" Welthagen asked. He wanted to guide the Kommandant's attention to the restaurant owner whom he never really trusted and whom he thought turned the Kommandant's head to mush.
"I would put nothing past Katrine du Pléssis," Schult replied stiffly. "She hates me enough."
He stood hands behind his back, imperiously gazing at the painting above the mantelpiece. The painting was flanked by two huge German flags. He stared at it quite long before he turned to face Oberleutnant Welthagen again.
"Then I declare she is a conniving little bitch, more devious than anyone I know," said Welthagen. "We should execute her." Welthagen paused. "Right now."
"Perhaps not. Perhaps we are looking under the wrong rocks. Korporal Lindt and Korporal Kreisler were murdered, but I do not think Katrine would murder. I know her," Schult said, challenging Welthagen.
"Forgive me, Kommandant Schult, but you are getting soft in the head. Do you not think a woman could lead subversive activities here in St. Clair?"
"Frenchwomen are good for one thing only, Welthagen, and you should know that!"
Welthagen shook his head. Trust the Kommandant to home in on their sexual lusts, as if that was the only reason they had been sent to St. Clair. The danger was clear, as clear as he could ever see it. Not for nothing did he sleep with Brigitte who seemed in love with him at the time. What little secrets could be revealed when talking in one's sleep? He sensed Katrine and her cohorts were up to something. They were always up to something! Yet Kommandant Schult appeared either oblivious of the danger or he dismissed them as unimportant.
They had just lost two of their best guards and vital communication with German High Command. It had taken them the better part of the day to do repairs, for the damage had been far more serious than they realised. Now Schult was telling him to back down on Katrine du Pléssis. Welthagen had suspected the owner of the Coeur de Lion since he and Schult had arrived in St. Clair. They had been sent from Berlin with a strict mandate to keep a watch on any suspected subversive activities. Schult had been unhappy being sent away from life in the German capital, from his wife Helga whom he'd poached from that freiherr Baron Konrad von Wangenheim, the hero of Deutschland at the Berlin Olympics. Von Wangenheim was going up while Schult made no progress in the Nazi hierarchy. He, Heinz, was himself of Prussian stock, but Schult was near aristocracy who failed to impress der Führer. Perhaps bedding Katrine du Pléssis was more out of anger or, holy horror of horrors, he had fallen in love with the feisty owner of the restaurant. Schult had no qualms about bedding a Frenchwoman while Helga was languishing in the capital.
Schult looked commanding against the backdrop of a Matisse hanging above the mantelpiece. He had called it post-impressionist, a still life with oranges, one of the artist's earlier works. What did he, Welthagen, know of art? Schult had arrived via Paris where the painting had been sold to him.
"Do not ask where the seller obtained the still life, Welthagen," Schult had said at the time.
Now it didn't matter much whatever the worth was or where he got it. What he knew was that they were in trouble and that Katrine du Pléssis lay behind it all.
"It will take another hour before the lines are repaired," Schult continued. "Meanwhile I will see Katrine. I am tired of this business. I do not mind telling you that. Wir sollten verhandeln - "
Welthagen gaped in his outrage.
"Negotiate? I do not believe what I am hearing now, Herr Kommandant Schult! We cannot renege on our honour, on our task here. We know who the perpetrators are! All we need to do is kill them all. Kill everyone in this town! Remember what happened in Oradour-sur-Glane? Every man, woman and child was killed! They were hiding Resistance members after killing one of our senior officers!"
"Do not tell me what I know, Welthagen! Once we have established communication we can call for extra regiments to be sent to St. Clair . Only, I must speak with Katrine first - "
"Do you not realise, Herr Kommandant, that the honour of the Reich is at stake here? Katrine du Pléssis should be shot dead, a bullet put through her head! That whole bunch who congregate night after night in the Coeur de Lion... that was always an ill omen. There have been acts of sabotage which we never really condemned as such nor have we openly accused a sleazy bunch of worthless Frenchmen and -women. We should have blown up the town, Herr Kommandant. This latest problem is another act of sabotage! Why do we tolerate this?
"We are a chosen people, Kommandant. Our race is pure and it can never, ever be tainted by those not of Aryan stock. That is what is bred into every young German! That we are set apart - no, not apart, but above every other impurity! We honour our enlightened Führer who has claimed a Reich that should last a thousand years. A thousand years! We cannot relent or accept anything less, or beneath us, for then we are equal to the Jews and Gypsies and these worthless French who should be exterminated, wiped from the face of the earth. We extend the Reich to include only what is pure, and subjugate what is not. We have thrown off the shackles of commonness and are unique. Therefore we honour our beloved flag, we honour the cross of iron, to reach the corners of the earth and enshrine our superiority upon the common peoples. That is our purpose. I cannot understand - forgive me for saying this, Kommandant - that you could take such a tolerant view of our crucial role here."
Schult looked at Welthagen with stunned surprise, suddenly filled with renewed drive at his colleague's impassioned entreaty to remain faithful to their cause. He experienced a twinge of shame that his subordinate had to remind him of his duty to the Reich. Welthagen's eyes remained on him, waiting for a reaction, for leadership.
Jürgen began to tremble with patriotic pride, with a belated anger that Katrine was responsible in whatever creative manner she did so, for the destruction of their communications. Welthagen's words hit him hard, its arrows of truth penetrating the apathy that had settled in his heart since he arrived in St. Clair. Now the patriotic fervour made way for action.
Jürgen Schult banged both fists so hard on the desk that Welthagen jumped in surprise.
"You are right, Welthagen. Forgive me that I have forgotten for a while that this flag of ours must be our reminder for all time of our duty to the Reich. Prepare the troops. I will find Katrine and kill her myself."
Welthagen stood on attention, clicked his heels and saluted Heil Hitler!
"Heil Hitler!"
Just as Schult saluted, they heard booming gunfire in the distance.
17h00 The Battle for St. Clair
Berry Beaumont waited for the signal from Longman. They were on opposite sides of the main road into St. Clair. He grinned when he saw how little attention the Germans had given to the outer perimeter of the town. Very few checkpoints, sandbags stacked haphazardly over half a street or the entrance to the alleys. He'd reached the south end of the square, where the last of the nearby inhabitants were making their way to the cathedral and the school building. Word of mouth had worked its magic. Monseigneur Girardeau knew what he had to do once the old stone building was filled to capacity.
He rode past the first checkpoint.
"Halt!" screamed a German soldier.
Berry stopped. He knew Longman and Davis had him covered.
"Bonjour, gentlemen. What can I do for you?"
"Your cycle. We shall take it. You are trouble! We have been warned!"
The next moment two shots rang out simultaneously. Berry watched the two soldiers sink to the ground dead.
"Merci beaucoup, Messieurs!"
He rode away as fast as he could to the Coeur de Lion. Once there he saw Katrine, Lamine, Brigitte and Solange already dressed in the black attire of the Resistance. They were also armed, Solange wielding a rifle and a waistband bag filled with grenades.
"Quickly," Katrine ordered as she threw him a rifle, "we have woken the Germans!"
"This is it!"
Then a swarm of German soldiers appeared seemingly from nowhere, starting to shoot. Berry trapped two of them in quick succession, using their own sandbags to shield himself. He saw Katrine and the others do the same. He worried about Brigitte, but she was holding her own. By that time he watched as back-up firing came from the American platoon under Davis. Some of them managed to work their way down Rue St. Agnes en route to the munitions depot.
His eyes widened when he noticed how expertly they dispatched the German soldiers. Some of the Americans were to keep guard along the cathedral, shooting any German coming within ten yards of the building. Others from the platoon made their way to the German headquarters. A loud boom! Solange took out five Germans who approached them from the unprotected left flank, Solange who loved big bang grenades. It was messy, it was necessary, it was war. His ears buzzed painfully from the noise of rapid gunfire.
"Thanks!" he shouted, falling flat behind the sandbags as German bullets rained against the bags.
Then Berry saw Katrine and Lamine move from behind their protective sandbags, running across the square. He glanced in the direction they were running and saw a child cowering at the fountain.
"Katrine! Katrine! Mon Dieu!"
"Ready?" Miller asked as he and Compton perched on the jeep two hundred yards from the roadblock through which Berry had come earlier that day. After Miller had been to see Katrine du Pléssis, they had driven right around the back roads of St. Clair to reach the main entry to the town again.
Only two Germans were on duty. They looked scared but ready to fire. They could all hear gunfire in St. Clair.
"Yes, sir."
"Fire!"
The two Germans at the road block fell down dead.
"Now!" Miller commanded. The rest of Platoon A followed, beginning to spread out. Some remained directly behind the jeep and artillery wagon up the Rue St. Agnes, reaching the munitions depot minutes later. The building was a facade as Katrine had warned them.
Miller indicated with a swing of his arm for the long cannon on its gun carriage.
"Fire!"
Some German soldiers who were running towards the building died instantly, their bodies thrust in the air, plunging like broken puppets to the ground. But it was the long cannon that came rolling behind the platoon that was causing the damage as a massive single boom destroyed half the building.
Like stealth objects flying in the dark, several men selected by Miller closed in and lobbed grenades in the open space and ran back as fast as they could, diving to the ground when they were safely out of the way. The building flared up like a fireworks display in a continuous blast of bombs and grenades going off.
Then they made their way up Rue St. Agnes, ducking between buildings. Miller was glad that they'd sent ahead warnings for the townspeople to evacuate their homes, especially around the munitions depot. He wanted no civilians killed in their skirmish against the Germans. Davis and his men moved through the town from the south, picking off the enemy as they advanced on the headquarters.
"Cut off the head," had been their strategy.
On the approach to the town square - they were two hundred yards away, Miller, Compton and Linklater dived into one building. They surprised three German foot soldiers firing at the cathedral windows. They were shot at point blank range before they could react. Up, up to the second floor and then to the top from where they could get a good view of the town square.
That was when Miller saw Katrine and Lamine running across the square. A child was sitting near the fountain, crying its eyes out. He saw Lamine grab the child and in one swift unbroken movement run to the end of the square. Katrine was shooting as she ran.
Then he saw Katrine go down.
"Katrine!" he cried out, cursing that he was so far away.
She'd seen the child before everyone else. He cowered close to the fountain, sobbing. Lamine followed Katrine as she dashed across the square.
"Katrine, no! You'll get shot!" she heard his voice.
"The child! I can't let him die!" she screamed as bullets flew around them. She ducked and dived until she reached the little boy.
"Let me handle the child. You cover me," yelled Lamine as he scooped the child up and ran to the statue about fifteen yards away, ducking with the child in his arms. He reached the statue, knowing that the south end was covered by the American soldiers and tucked the child behind the wall of the statue.
"Stay here. Do not worry, little one. Those soldiers there will keep you safe."
"Yes."
When Lamine turned to look for Katrine, she was on her feet. With horror he saw Jürgen Schult firing at her. She went down, clutching her leg. Another shot rang out. He must have hit her shoulder with the second shot for she was flung back.
"Katrine! Mon Dieu!"
Lamine, blinded by fury, remembered the day Lucien Blériot struck her with the butt of his rifle. He wanted to rush forward, but by that time Schult had already pulled Katrine to her feet. Heinz Welthagen was dragging Brigitte by her hair across the square, priming his gun at anyone daring to shoot him.
Two human shields.
Lamine thought how typical that two German SS officers would be such cowards, right to the end.
Katrine, dazed by the wounds to her leg and shoulder, gave a plaintive cry as Schult pulled her up and held her against him like a shield.
"Drop your weapons!" he screamed, "oder diese Hure soll verrecken! She is a whore!"
"Tu es un lâche, Schult!"Katrine managed to cry out. "A coward to the very end."
He struck her across the face with the butt of his pistol, then pressed the barrel of the Luger P08 against her temple. She felt the cold metal pressing into her skin and closed her eyes. Katrine turned ice cold despite the stinging pain in her leg and shoulder. He was going to kill her in cold blood. She tried to move, but his grip on her tightened.
"I will kill her. Stand down or she will die!"
She could see Miller's men backing down. One was standing quite close to them. He lowered his gun, the action followed by other soldiers.
"Don't listen to him! He is a coward!" she shouted, only to feel him press the barrel harder into her. She cried out with pain.
"Lower your weapons! She will die! Die!"
She heard him cock the pistol and closed her eyes. Her heart hammered loud, loud thuds that caused her insides to ache. An image of Célestine flashed before her.
He is going to kill me. I am so sorry, Joseph...Célestine...
Then a shot rang out. Another. And another. A head exploded. Blood spattered across her face. There was a gaping hole where Schult's eyes had been. His lifeless body slumped against her.
Katrine sank wordlessly to the ground.
Miller, Compton and Linklater were inside the building on the top floor opposite the cathedral. On their way up, they'd killed three German soldiers who were aiming for the stained glass windows of St. Agnes Cathedral.
They smashed the windows overlooking the south, bracing their rifles on the ledges, a clear view of the fountain in the square through their scopes. Katrine had gone down, clutching her thigh as she fell. Then her body rocked as another bullet hit her shoulder. He could see her moving, evidence that she was conscious despite her wounds.
"Someone doesn't want to kill Katrine right away," he mused as he took aim. "Ah, looks like an SS officer." Then Miller saw another officer dragging Brigitte to where Katrine was roughly jerked to her feet by the Nazi who'd shot her.
He heard the Kommandant yell, "Drop your weapons. I shall kill this whore!"
He had them in his scope. They were two hundred yards away. They had a ridiculously clear view.
"Compton, take out the one holding the pregnant woman. That first guy is mine. Linklater, fix on the soldier five paces right of Brigitte. He seems ready to fire at the women."
"Aye, Captain!"
"Fire on my mark..."
He saw Katrine's face and the Kommandant's clear in his scope. Why, oh, why, Miller wondered, do the German officers not wear their protective helmets? One moment the officer leaned into the dazed Katrine pressing his pistol barrel against her. When he presented a clear view again, Miller was ready for him.
"Ready, Captain..."
Bye-bye.
"Fire!"
The three fired simultaneously. Miller saw the Kommandant's head practically explode. Brigitte's assailant met the same fate. Then they fired on other German soldiers who knew not where the bullets were coming from. By that time, his men and Davis's platoon were swarming the area.
"Let's go! Those women need medical assistance!"
They were running down three flights of steps, out into the road towards the square. When they reached the fountain, Katrine was lying semiconscious. Berry was holding Brigitte whose face was spattered with blood. He was crying and berating her at the same time.
"Mon Dieu ! Ma pauvre chérie!" Why, oh why could you not take care, Brigitte? You just gave me ten heart attacks! Look at your face! I already suffered a thousand attacks! I shall never breathe properly as long as you are in dan -"
Brigitte grabbed Berry's shirt front and looked him straight in the eyes. He really looked like he wanted to cry.
"Shut up, Berry and kiss me!"
"Brigitte?"
Miller looked at the mayhem around him. His men would take care of getting everything settled again. The town at least looked better in the aftermath of battle than had Vidouville.
He knelt beside the semiconscious Katrine. A quick glance told him her wounds were fortunately superficial.
"Katrine..."
Katrine opened her eyes and saw Captain Miller bending over her. Even in her dazed state she heard the concern in his voice, saw the worry in his eyes. She felt herself lifted in his arms and imagined herself floating on a soft cloud.
"Charles..."
END CHAPTER EIGHT