Operation Kingfisher (28 page)

Rollo was saying, ‘So what have you been doing all these months? What happened to your arm, Luke?’

‘It’s a long story,’ Luke said and Pasquier got to his feet. ‘In that case, it can keep until morning. We have to make an early start. You know where you sleep. Goodnight.’

As the sun rose next day, the
Madeleine
slipped her moorings and chugged south. By noon, the next day they were in Saint-Jean-de-Losne, which was, as Pasquier had predicted, crowded with boats from all over France. As they threaded their way through the throng, greetings were shouted from deck to deck and it was obvious that they were among a close community of friends. As soon as they were moored, Pasquier left them and it was evening before he returned, slightly drunk and very pleased with himself.

‘It’s all settled. Ton-ton will take you to Montbéliard.’

‘Ton-ton?’ Luke queried and Rollo laughed.

‘His real name is Antoine, but he’s always called Ton-ton. He’s some kind of second cousin. It’s like that here. Almost everyone is related in some way. Ton-ton’s all right. You’ll be safe with him.’

They were introduced to their new host the following morning. Antoine was a younger man, thick-set and with a mop of curly reddish hair. With him on the barge were his wife Josie, and their 3-year-old son. When Luke tried to thank them for offering their help, Ton-ton brushed his words aside with a brief ‘
Il n’y a pas de quoi, mon brave
,’ and Josie smiled shyly and asked if they had had breakfast. Pasquier and Roland had come with them, but Antoine was ready to cast off and there was time only for a quick handshake and repeated thanks, before the bows swung out into the current and the two were left waving on the quay.

The
Alouette
, as their new temporary home was called, threaded her way through the throng of boats and out onto the broad reaches of the Saône. Here, she turned north-east for a short distance before turning right to join the Canal du Rhône au Rhin. At the pretty town of Dole, where scarlet geraniums in window boxes overhanging the canal seemed to signal defiance, both to the austerity of war and the coming winter, the canal met the River Doubs. After the comparative calm of the canal, they found themselves buffeted by a fierce current.

‘The river is in flood,’ Ton-ton shouted above the noise of the water. ‘It’s always bad at this time of year. We must hope that the locks are not under water and impassable.’

At Besançon, where the grim medieval castle loomed above them on its crag, a swastika flag fluttering from its battlements, they entered a tunnel carved out of the rock.

‘The river makes a loop round the town,’ Ton-ton explained. ‘This saves us three kilometres.’

They came at last, late one afternoon, to the big industrial city of Montbéliard, its factories and huge car plants a stark contrast to the pretty countryside they had passed through. As they entered the suburbs, Antoine cut the engine and drew the barge into the side of the canal.

‘The
Boche
will probably be waiting for us when we get to the wharves. You’d better nip off here.’

There was another sudden parting, another rapid exchange of handclasps, and then they were on the bank, with their rucksacks containing their few possessions at their feet, and the
Alouette
was already pulling away.

They stood watching her for a few moments as she dwindled into the shadows, then Luke picked up his rucksack and said, ‘Come on. I’m not sure where we are, but it must be a fair way to the city centre. It’ll be dark soon.’

They had been to the city many times before to visit their godfather, but they had always arrived by train and this area down by the canal was unknown territory. They set out along back streets, unsure of the best route.

‘The castle makes a good landmark,’ Christine pointed out, indicating the conical towers rising above the surrounding trees on a hilltop. ‘Uncle Marcel’s shop is in the Rue du Château, so it must be that way.’

By the time they found themselves in the right street, the sun had set. Luke caught hold of his sister’s hand and smiled at her. He was already imagining a warm welcome, a comfortable chair, and hopefully something to eat.

‘Nearly there! Uncle Marcel is in for a big surprise.’

They hurried along the road, ignored by passers-by hastening home before the beginning of the curfew. When they reached the shop, the shutters were down.

‘He’s closed, of course,’ Luke said. ‘We’ll try the door to the flat.’

He led the way into the alley that ran alongside the shop and rang the bell at a side door. They waited, but there was no sign of movement inside. Christine craned her neck to look up at the windows, but with strict blackout orders in force, no chink of light could be seen from any of the houses around. Luke rang again, and then knocked loudly. The ensuing silence left them in no doubt.

‘He’s not there,’ Christine said.

‘Perhaps he’s gone to visit friends, or made a last minute dash to the shops,’ Luke suggested.

‘He’ll have to be quick, then,’ she replied, ‘or he’ll be caught by the curfew, unless.…’

‘Unless he’s staying the night somewhere,’ Luke finished for her.

‘I suppose he could have gone up to the chalet,’ she said.

‘It’s a bit early in the season. And there won’t be any skiing, will there?’

‘He might just have felt like getting away for a few days. We could try telephoning.’

‘The trouble with that is, I’ve no idea where the nearest phone box is. If we’re caught wandering about after curfew looking for one, we’ll be in trouble.’

Christine shivered. The day had been clear and sunny, but at this altitude, the nights were already cold. She had put on her good coat, the one she had been wearing when they left home, but she still felt chilled.

‘We can’t stand around here all night.’

‘No, that’s true,’ her brother agreed, ‘but what else do you suggest? We dare not try to check into a hotel. They would be bound to ask for our papers.’

Christine thought. ‘We’re not far from the railway station, if I remember rightly. Perhaps we could shelter in a waiting room overnight.’

‘It’s an idea,’ Luke agreed. ‘Anyway, there’s no point in standing here. Let’s give it a try.’

The station, to their dismay, was dark and silent, the entrance closed by a heavy gate.

‘So much for that idea,’ Luke said. ‘Now what?’

‘Goodness knows.’ Christine peered despondently along the platform. Then she said, ‘See those goods trains in the sidings over there? If we could get into one of the box cars, that would give us shelter and hide us till morning.’

‘Maybe,’ Luke said. ‘But there’s no way of getting to them from here.’

‘Perhaps from the other side of the tracks?’ she suggested. ‘There’s some kind of embankment under the trees. Maybe there’s a way down?’

‘OK. Let’s try,’ her brother agreed, without much confidence. ‘At least if there isn’t, we can hide up among the trees till the curfew is lifted.’

They made their way back to where a level crossing gave access to the far side of the rails. The moon was rising, huge and amber-coloured, and above them, the fairy-tale turrets of the castle glimmered in its light. A narrow road led around the bottom of the hill, between the woods and the railway embankment, but it was bounded by a tall fence of wire mesh. They trailed along it, hoping for a way in but finding none.

Christine stopped suddenly. ‘Luke, look down there, on those flat-bed wagons. Aren’t those tanks?’

Luke peered down. A long line of wagons each bore an identical shrouded shape, but the barrel of a gun protruding from each made identification easy. ‘Yes, you’re right.’

‘I bet they’re destined for the south,’ Christine said. ‘Now that Italy has capitulated, the Germans must be desperate to reinforce their defences down there.’

Luke sighed wistfully. ‘If only we had some
plastique
and a few detonators.’

‘If only,’ she agreed. ‘Unfortunately, that’s not among the things I carry in my coat pockets.’

It was the nearest she had come to making a joke since they left the Morvan and Luke gave her arm a squeeze. ‘Never mind. Come on.’

They walked on, until Christine stopped again. ‘Hang on a minute.’ She went back a few steps and bent to examine the fence. ‘Look here! The fence has been cut. It doesn’t show unless you happen to be looking, but there’s a flap here, like a small gateway.’

Luke squatted beside her. ‘You’re right. I bet it’s the work of the Resistance. Maybe they are planning some sabotage.’

‘Good for them!’ she responded. ‘Meanwhile, here’s our way in.’

‘Chris.…’ he said doubtfully, but she was already tugging the flap of wire open and wriggling through it. After a moment’s hesitation, he followed, pulling the wire back into position so that the gap would be almost invisible to the casual eye.

They slid down the embankment and found their progress checked by a heap of sand, some sacks of cement, and other builders’ materials. Picking their way through them, they came alongside the train carrying the tanks. When they reached the engine, Christine stopped.

‘There must be a way of disabling one of these monsters,’ she murmured. ‘If it was a car it would be easy – cut the brake cables, drain the oil….’

‘Well, it’s not a car,’ Luke said. ‘Come on.’

She seemed not to hear him.

‘Oil…. These wheels must need lubrication, and this crank shaft that drives them.’ She squatted down, peering at the wheels of the engine. ‘Look here. These little cup-shaped things on top of the block that connects the rods… I wonder….’ She ran a finger around the top of one of the brass cylinders and sniffed it. ‘That’s oil, all right. If one could introduce some kind of abrasive, that would do the trick. Do the tops of these come off?’ She twisted one experimentally. ‘Yes! They do!’

Luke looked around him uneasily. He had a feeling that someone must be watching.

‘Leave it alone, Chris. Let’s get out of sight.’

She straightened up. ‘Sand! Of course. Come on.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To get some sand. Come on!’

They found a bucket left behind by the builders, shovelled in some sand and lugged it back to where the engine stood. Christine unscrewed the top of one of the containers and trickled sand into it.

‘I’ll do this side. You do the other. If I’m right, once the engine gets up to speed the bearings will overheat and then the whole thing will come to a grinding halt.’

‘Bloody hell!’ he grumbled. ‘The things you have me doing!’ But he went round to the far side of the engine as she had told him to.

He rejoined her just as she was screwing on the last cap. ‘There. That should do it.’

As she stood up, there was a shout and floodlights came on along the footbridge which crossed the lines, illuminating the whole yard as brightly as a stage set. Luke grabbed her by the wrist.

‘Run! Come on!’

Bent low in the shelter of the line of trucks, they ran back the way they had come. Behind them, Luke could hear running feet and then two gunshots, but the bullets were not, it seemed, aimed at them. The pile of sand served as a marker and they scrabbled up the embankment on all fours to the hole in the fence. As he wriggled through, pulling Christine after him, Luke just had time to register the fact that the flap of wire was not as neatly replaced as he had left it. Then something hit him on the back of the head.

Luke came round to darkness and a sense of movement. He was being jolted around on a hard surface; he was in the back of a truck – again. The thought was comforting. They were being taken back to the
Maquis
camp.

From nearby he heard his sister’s voice. ‘Luke? Luke! Are you all right?’

‘Mmm. Think so. Don’t worry. It will be all right. Cyrano will vouch for us.’

‘Cyrano’s miles away. We’re not going back to the camp. We were in the rail yard. Try to remember.’

‘Railway yard? Oh God! Yes. What happened?’

‘I don’t know. Suddenly all the lights came on and we had to run for it, and then someone grabbed me from behind. I think they must have hit you.’

‘Where are we?’

‘In the back of a truck.’ She gave a small giggle, which verged on hysteria. ‘Talk about déjà-vu!’

‘Who’s got us? Do you know?’

‘No. No one spoke. But it must be the Germans. They must have been mounting some sort of surveillance. I think … I’m afraid…’ her voice shook. ‘I think it must be the Gestapo.’

He said nothing, struggling through the fog in his brain to take in the implications of what she had said.

Christine went on, ‘Listen! If they question us, we must stick to the same story. We’re refugees, looking for somewhere to shelter for the night. We were looking for our godfather but he wasn’t there. The closer we stick to the truth, the easier it will be. Have you got that?’

‘Mmm,’ he mumbled. ‘Got it.’

The truck came to a standstill and rough hands dragged them both out and pushed them down stone steps to the door of a cellar. Inside, blinking in the light of an unshaded electric bulb, they saw their captors for the first time. Four men, dressed in black and wearing black ski masks. There was a wooden table with some upright chairs round it. One of the men pulled out two chairs and said gruffly, ‘Sit!’

The strong hands gripping their arms left them no option but to obey. An inner door opened and another man appeared. He was wearing a civilian suit, his light hair was cropped close to his head and he had cold blue-eyes above hollow cheeks. He perched himself on the edge of the table in front of them and barked something in German at Luke.

‘I’m sorry. I don’t speak German,’ Luke replied.

The man’s lip curled in disbelief. ‘Oh, I think you do. But we will continue in French if you prefer. Who are you working for?’

‘What? I don’t understand.’ Luke’s voice was still slurred from the effects of the blow.

The man leaned forward and jabbed a finger into his chest. ‘Don’t try that with me. I want some answers, and I don’t mind
what I have to do to get them. Understand? Now, who sent you to that rail yard?’

‘Leave him alone!’ Christine broke in. ‘He’s only half conscious, thanks to your thugs. We didn’t mean any harm. We’re just a couple of refugees looking for somewhere to sleep.’