Stranger at the Gates (29 page)

‘The children haven't eaten since lunch time. They're freezing cold. Let me go out and get some food for them.'

‘Go back and sit down.' The German glanced at her. ‘Nobody leaves.'

‘But please—please, they'll starve—you can't mean to keep them here without anything!'

He shifted his carbine up on its strap and leaning a little forward he pushed Michelle Giffier in the breast with the flat of his hand. She stumbled and fell. He watched her legs displayed as the skirt rucked up. She saw the look on his face and covered herself, biting back tears. She went back to her desk; it was the daughter of Albert Camier who came and put her arms around her.

‘Pigs,' she whispered. ‘Don't cry, Madame. We're not hungry. We're all right.'

‘I can't do anything,' the teacher wept. ‘It's so cold and so long for the little ones. They won't let me out!'

‘Never mind,' Caroline Camier said. ‘It won't be long. They'll let us go. Don't worry.' She glanced across at the S.S. man and on an impulse stuck out her tongue. Her properminded mother would have been horrified. By ten o'clock a crowd of men and women had settled down outside the school to wait. This was in defiance of the curfew, but the major in charge decided that it was useless to enforce it. It would provoke a riot, and the Standartenführer had made it plain he wouldn't be pleased if there were trouble. He wanted a tidy operation. The parents were allowed to sit down in the road and keep their vigil. Nobody moved; women wept and prayed, a group knelt saying the rosary, the men sat dumb and helpless, waiting in front of the barred doors and shuttered windows behind which their children were imprisoned. The Major had spoken once over the loud-hailer, warning against any attempt to rush the guards or approach the building. A rescue attempt or any disturbance would result in the school being set on fire. As he told them, his men were pouring kerosene round the outside walls. There was a single shuddering wail from the watchers and then silence. The dead woman, mother of five children held inside, had been taken away and a dirty stain marked the place where her body had lain. It grew colder; a very few of the old were taken away to their beds. The sound of the rosary continued through the night. In the school building itself the children slept, and so did Michelle Giffier. The guards on duty yawned and changed watches. The one who had pushed the teacher over and seen her thighs, occupied himself with lewd thoughts. By the morning the children were crying and hungry. Nothing, not even a loaf, was permitted to come in from St. Blaize.

The guards at the checkpoint had kept Régine de Bernard for three hours. When she refused to be turned back they threatened to arrest her. A particularly aggressive NCO poked her in the side with his carbine. White faced, thin lipped, absolutely determined, she withstood them and demanded to be taken to see Vierken. Her confidence shook theirs; finally it was the NCO, anxious not to make a mistake with someone who claimed to know the Standartenführer, who put a call through on the field telephone to the Château Diane. Vierken was out. Régine settled down to wait. The NCO tried to telephone again. An hour later he was handing her into a Mercedes flying the swastika from its bonnet and saluting her as she left. She sat in the back, smoking, hunched and small inside her coat. It all made sense. Vierken's insistence that she stayed away from home. He didn't want her at St. Blaize. He didn't want her to see what was happening or be caught up in his reprisals. He had tried to protect her because he loved her. And she loved him; in spite of what Minden said he was going to do, she still loved him. But she was going to persuade him to relent. The fools, she said it under her breath. The damned fools, meddling with saboteurs and the West. They deserved to be punished; they deserved to lose hostages and be taught a lesson. She had no sympathy with her fellow countrymen if they fought against the Germans, involving themselves in a useless struggle on behalf of an ally who was their traditional enemy. No sympathy and active hostility. But children. No, that couldn't be contemplated. Vierken must be bluffing. It might do the parents good to suffer, to sweat for their folly. But it must be terrifying to be inside the school; as Minden had described the armoured car and the running S.S. guards, she had an image of the Barzain boys, of Michelle Giffier, of Caroline Camier, and countless others whom she knew by name, cowering and whimpering in terror. She found she had picked a hole in her cigarette and savagely stubbed it out, only to light another moments later. She leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder.

‘I want to make a stop. Go to the Château St. Blaize; it's about eight kilometres from here.'

‘I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to detour or stop, Mademoiselle. You are going direct to Château Diane. Those are Standartenführer Vierken's orders.'

Having said this, she felt him deliberately accelerate. She swore at him, not caring if he heard, and threw herself back against the cushion. All right then. He was probably angry; there would be a scene, explanations, a reconciliation. Immediately she felt weak at the anticipation of their making up. He would be fierce and strong, demanding subjection. Christ, she whispered to herself, her fingers clenching, Christ, I mustn't think of that … But she was still thinking of it, pale and moist-skinned with excitement, when they passed the school and she saw the kneeling women, the groups of dejected men.

‘Stop!' She shouted at the driver. He braked sharply. Régine jumped out. Faces turned towards her, bodies shifted to make room. An old woman mumbled at her.

‘Mademoiselle Régine—help us for God's sake. They've got our children and they're sending them away! They say we'll never see them again!' She recognised one of the estate workers from the Château. He caught at her hand; she gripped hard.

‘I'll help you. Don't worry, Jumont, I'll help you.' For a moment she paused, looking towards the school. A temporary spotlight had been set up, to thwart a rush in the darkness. It showed up the familiar one-story building with its jutting porch under which she had sheltered as a child against the autumn rains, the window, shuttered and sinister, and the black uniforms of the guards who ringed it, carbines at the ready. The armoured car was drawn up down the side of a street leading towards the main road. She turned back to the car; the driver was out, holding the door for her. He gave her a look of dislike.

‘Please …' he said sharply. ‘Get in.' She drove away and saw the people watching her. They hadn't connected her with the Mercedes and the swastika pennant. Suddenly somebody realised its significance. A de Bernard was travelling in an S.S. car. A German had rescued the de Bernard children just in time. There was a howl from the crowd; the women thrust themselves forward and spat after her. She didn't see them. She had her eyes closed, as if it were possible to erase the sight of her village and its people, the school and the children held inside. Half an hour later she was in the Château Diane and face to face with Adolph Vierken.

7

The Mayor, Albert Camier, Father Duval and Jean de Bernard were all seated; Savage stood by the fireplace. Jean Pierre had brought a bottle of wine; his eyes were red from weeping. When he left them Jean de Bernard spoke.

‘My friends,' he said. ‘This gentleman is my wife's cousin. He has a plan for rescuing the children. I ask you to listen to him.'

‘We'll listen,' Camier said. He blew his nose and rubbed the handkerchief across his eyes. ‘We'll listen to anyone, God help us!'

‘Right,' Savage said. ‘Let's look at the position. M. le Comte learned one very important fact tonight. Vierken wouldn't release the children but he told him how they were going to be taken away. Transport is coming from Paris to take them to Germany. By rail. My fear was that they'd use lorries. But rail means cattle trucks. One truck should be enough. You know what they're like; strongly built, completely closed. No windows. The destination is obvious. One of the extermination camps. I'd say Auschwitz; that's where they send your Jews.'

‘God curse them!' Father Duval said. ‘God damn them to hell!'

‘There's nothing we can do while they're in the school. Any attempt to get them out will fail; we'll be shot down and they'll be massacred. But a train, gentlemen, is a different matter. Before I go any further I want to ask you something. You're not afraid to die?'

‘We offered ourselves,' Camier mumbled. ‘They could shoot every man in St. Blaize if they'd let the children go.'

‘You can speak for the rest—say twenty men?'

‘For all,' Jean de Bernard answered him. ‘Every man, as Camier says.'

‘And the women too,' Father Duval said.

‘Good.' Savage drank some wine. ‘In that case we've got a good chance. You know how to shoot?'

‘With sporting guns, yes. We can use knives, clubs, anything. But we have no weapons. They were handed in after the capitulation.'

‘I can get guns,' Savage said. ‘I promised the Comte and I can get whatever we need.'

‘How?' Camier stared at him. ‘How can you do this?'

‘That's none of your business,' Savage said. ‘I'll get them and I'll tell you how to use them and when. But you've got to realise one thing. I'm running this affair and I know what I'm doing. No arguments and no questions. Agreed?'

They hesitated; both looked towards Jean de Bernard.

‘You can trust Monsieur Savage,' he said slowly. ‘Personally, I put myself in his hands. I have complete confidence in him.'

‘That's enough for me.' Father Duval got up. He held out his hand to Savage. ‘These are my children too.' He spoke quietly. ‘I'll give my life to save them. Tell us what to do and we'll do it.'

‘Anything,' Camier said. ‘My daughter …' He blew his nose again.

‘That's settled then,' Savage nodded to them. ‘First I'll need men. Young men, fit. I want them at the Lavalliere airfield at dawn. How they get there and how they duck the curfew is up to you. But there's one condition. No woman is to be told. I don't give a damn how hard it is, but if you tell your wife, Mayor, or you start hinting to anyone, Father—we'll fail. The Germans will see or hear something. All it needs is one word in a village like this and the plan will be out. Let the mothers cry. For tonight. Is that clear?'

‘It's clear. We won't say anything. The men will swear silence. But how will you get the guns?'

‘By parachute,' Savage said. ‘They'll be dropped at Lavallière.'

‘Lavallière?' They stared at him, Camier's jaw slackened. ‘But that's only ten kilometres away from St. Blaize—how could anything be dropped so close?'

‘Since 1941.' Savage said, ‘there have been two drops made and one actual landing. A man was rescued and flown back to England. From Chartres. You look surprised? It's perfectly true. That field is isolated, hidden from the road by a thick belt of trees. The road itself is seldom used by anything but farm traffic. And this area has been so thinly policed that it was relatively easy to land a plane on a full moon in a field that size. As for the drop—you had a British agent come here in '42, didn't you?' They nodded. ‘He landed at Lavallière. So have others. You needn't worry about that field, it's never been discovered as a reception area. Our supplies will be dropped there.'

‘With S.S. crawling all over the place?' Father Duval protested. ‘It may have been thinly policed before but that's because we'd had no trouble. We're under curfew now!'

‘Their troops are concentrating on the town and the main roads,' Savage said. ‘And most important of all, they're not expecting help from outside. The stuff will get through. It's up to you to see there are men there to pick it up.'

‘Do we attack the train?' Jean de Bernard asked him.

‘Yes. But not till it's left St. Blaize. Again, they'll be expecting trouble at the station; a riot, an attempt at rescue. They'll be ready for anything. But not on the track. My guess is the station will be guarded at full capacity. But the engine and one truck can't accommodate more than six men at the most. Probably with a machine gun mounted on the roof of the truck. That's the only place they can place guards—the roof. Which means we can pick them off and there won't be any danger of hitting the children. What I need now is a railway map.'

‘I have one in the desk here,' Jean said. ‘I'll get it.' Camier turned to watch him; he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and ran it round his face and neck; he looked sick and his plump face seemed to have fallen in, leaving deep hollows round the mouth. He looked ten years older since the day began. Father Duval was looking at Savage. Many years in the parish and listening to the outpouring of human frailty in the confessional had given him a sound judgement of men. The Comtesse's cousin filled him with unease. He was a Swiss and the priest was inclined to equate them with Germans. But there was something different about this man, something beyond the authority and obvious military connections which he wasn't troubling to conceal. He was a dangerous man, a type not normally found in a small provincial village or a nobleman's château. He moved with the taughtness of a powerful animal; there was a look in his face which worried the priest. And then he realised immediately that standing in the room with them was the man who had got into the Château Diane and murdered General Brühl. He cleared his throat and looked away.

‘Now.' Savage opened the Baedeker. ‘From here they'll go to Paris.' He ran his finger down the line. ‘It's the direct route. I take it there's no transport in St. Blaize except bicycles and the station taxi?'

‘My car has no petrol left,' Jean said. ‘But Camier has a van.'

‘I supply the Château Diane with groceries,' the Mayor said. He looked embarrassed. ‘They allow me a little petrol.'