Stranger at the Gates (37 page)

‘I don't know how bad the wound is,' Pellissier said. He had opened the shirt and was swabbing with a handkerchief. ‘I've nothing to dress it with. Don't move, friend, for God's sake, you've been hit.' Savage had opened his eyes.

‘Get the kids,' he said. ‘Never mind frigging about with me.' He spoke in English and neither of them understood. His eyes closed again. Pellissier took off his own shirt and tore it in strips; he bandaged Savage's chest, but within minutes the dressing was soaked through. He shook his head. ‘I can't help him,' he said. ‘It's no use. We'd better go and look outside the wood.'

At the first sound of firing, the S.S. had halted the column of children. Michelle Giffier was sobbing, embracing the children nearest her. One of the guards yelled at her. ‘Shut up! Shut up, you bitch, or I'll smash your jaw!'

The firing in the wood was suddenly interrupted by a series of explosions. The children began to scream. The senior S.S. guard, a man in his forties with service in the East and a corporal's rank, bellowed at them to lie down. Michelle ran among them, dragging them to the ground.

‘You!' the corporal shouted. ‘Come here!' He seized her by the arm, pulling her in front of him. The sound of fighting in the wood had stopped. The children were crying and moaning with fear. The corporal looked back down the field to the train. There was no sign of the men who had attacked it. The ground was uneven; they might well be within range of him and hidden by the terrain. He had twenty children, one trembling woman as a human shield, and only two men. He swore, and jerked savagely at the woman, in his rage. He cupped a hand to his mouth and yelled, ‘Comrades! Show yourselves! Are you all right up there!' There was no answer. No one appeared.

Somehow the French had discovered their plan and mounted an attack. The silence showed him that it must have been successful. They were waiting for him in the wood. Behind him, the attackers of the train were moving after him. If he obeyed his common sense and abandoned the brats, he would be shot for cowardice and disobeying orders. Discipline was merciless. His only salvation was to carry out his orders as much as he could and then run for it. He made up his mind. He shouted an order in German to his two subordinates. ‘Start shooting the little bastards—then we'll make a run for it!'

It was part of Michelle Giffier's youthful curriculum to know two foreign languages. She understood and spoke both English and German. He flung her aside and she fell. As she watched, he grabbed his machine gun. She gave a wild scream and with a speed and strength that was beyond her frail physique, she sprang up and threw herself on him.

He was a powerfully built man, trained to a high pitch of physical fitness. He would have thrown a man off in one movement. The ferocious woman who attacked him drove her nails into his face, raking for the eyes, the gun went off, and it was a moment or two before he swept her aside and smashed his elbow into her. As she fell, Jean de Bernard came over the rise in the ground and shot him. The children lay sprawled on the ground. The two S.S. men were on their feet; both were dead before they had a chance to fire, killed by Pellissier and his companion who had come out of the wood above them.

For a moment nobody moved; Jean de Bernard stood with his gun slowly pointing downwards. Michelle Giffier lay in a heap by the dead German. Then he walked forward, joined by the rest of his group; one of them gave a cry and began to run. Jean de Bernard stopped by a small child, who knelt on the ground hiding its face and sobbing with terror. Very gently he lifted him up. It was the child of Dumois, whom he did not know was dead. ‘Oh, oh,' the boy wept, and flung his arms around his neck.

‘It's all right, little one,' Jean said gently. ‘It's all right. You're safe now. You're safe …'

The navigator and the gunner were conferring with the pilot. He walked over to Louise. ‘Look,' he said, ‘it's three hours. There's no sign of them.'

‘Please,' Louise begged him. ‘Just a few more minutes … they'll be here! You can't leave without them!'

‘Your chap gave me the time limit; I ought to start the old girl up and get us out of here.' He frowned and looked at his watch again. Louise had taken turns in watching by the roadside from the shelter of the trees. No traffic at all had passed in the last hour.

‘I'm not going,' Louise said. ‘I'm staying here. What will you feel like if you take off and you see them coming back with the children?'

‘Oh for Christ's sake,' the pilot said. ‘I'll give them another fifteen minutes and then I'm off. We're going to get the nets off her.'

‘Thank you,' Louise said. ‘I know they'll come.' She started pulling the camouflage netting down. It had seemed like days while they waited. They had nothing to say to each other; it was a relief to wait, hidden, by the roadside, praying that every motor sound was either the Mercedes or the van. Once a military ambulance raced past her, and she had given way to momentary panic. Chemire was miles away, and nearer to St. Blaize than the Lavallière field. They wouldn't send an ambulance along that route. Twenty minutes later it returned, travelling more slowly. Inside, the dead body of the motorcyclist was strapped to a stretcher. There were so many injuries that the bullet wounds which had sent him spinning off his machine were not obvious on the first examination.

When the plane was free of camouflage, the pilot turned to Louise. He looked awkward but determined. ‘Five minutes to go,' he said. ‘I'm going to start her up. I'll help you inside.'

‘No!' Louise backed away from him. ‘I'm going to look again …' She ran into the trees before he could stop her. The road was deserted; she leaned against a tree and suddenly all hope left her. They had failed; Jean and Savage, Camier and the others. They had been butchered and the children were already tumbled in the grave at Chemire.… The Mercedes came into view first. Then a small German lorry, its canvas sides and body marked with the Iron Cross, followed by a small field car and then last of all, rattling as if it were going to fall to pieces on the road, came Camier's little delivery van. Louise ran into the road; behind her there was a roar as the aircraft propellers began to turn in the field. She waved wildly at the Mercedes, tears blurring her sight of who was driving, and then dashed back into the belt of trees, shrieking at the pilot to stop … stop …

Within the shelter of the trees the cavalcade jolted to a stop. Louise came running back, followed by the airmen. The first person she saw was Jean de Bernard; she threw herself into his arms. ‘Oh Jean—Jean, thank God! I'd given up! The plane was leaving …'

The Comte kissed his wife. ‘Don't cry,' he said. ‘We got them all; they're all safe. Come and help get them out.' Children were being lifted down from the inside of the German lorry; they came tumbling out of Camier's van. The men who had rescued them were calling for their own sons and daughters; Pellissier found his twins and knelt on the ground, hugging them, openly crying with relief.

‘Papa—papa …' The cries were repeated as fathers and children were reunited. Michelle Giffier, her face so bruised and sallow with shock that Louise hardly recognised her, watched the scene, with a wailing toddler by the hand.

‘Madame Giffier—what did they do to you? Come here, little one.' Louise tried to take the child. Instantly it clung to the teacher with both hands, its face screwed up in terror.

‘I'm all right,' she said. ‘Thank God none of the children was hurt. Don't make that noise, Ninie, there's nothing to be frightened about now … Oh Madame, I can't tell you what might have happened … In the clearing they'd dug a huge pit for us …' She turned away and Louise saw her shudder. She spoke calmly but hysteria was very close. Louise put an arm round her. She was a proud, self-contained woman who would have resented the intimacy in other circumstances. Now she burst into tears on Louise's shoulder. ‘It was so terrible,' she said. ‘The firing, I thought we'd all be killed. And then one of them was going to open fire on us—just at the last minute!'

‘Don't think about it,' Louise said. ‘You're going to England with the children. They'll be safe there till the war's over. Get them together and we'll lift them inside. Come on; the pilot's got some whisky. I'll get you some.'

The plane stood out in the field, clear of the trees ‘Children,' Jean de Bernard called, ‘line up and come over here. You're going in the aeroplane with Madame Giffier.'

Shepherded by fathers and the teacher, the children formed a queue; many were too dazed to understand what was happening to them. Others began to cry and protest. There were heart-breaking cries. ‘I don't want to go—I want Maman—Maman!' One boy broke free and had to be caught, struggling and kicking against being lifted into the plane. Jean de Bernard came to Louise.

‘It was Savage who saved them,' he said. ‘Pellissier told me. He deliberately sacrificed himself.' Shock robbed the scene of reality; she didn't say anything for a moment. Jean didn't touch her.

‘He's dead?'

‘He's dying,' he answered. ‘He wanted me to leave him behind.'

Louise moved back from him. ‘And you did?'

‘No, he's in the scout car. He's going back on the plane.' She turned and ran, back into the belt of shadow where the car was standing. A man who was the notary's clerk in St. Blaize was bending over someone on the ground. Louise pushed past him. Savage lay with his head on a folded jacket; his shirt had been cut away and Pellissier's blood-soaked bandage replaced. His face was grey and cold with sweat, his eyes closed. The notary's clerk got up and made way for her.

‘He's been asking for you, Madame,' he said. ‘I was just going to call you.'

‘Go away,' Louise whispered. ‘Please, go away.' She caught at the slack hand lying by Savage's side. ‘Oh God,' she held it tight and her tears fell on him. He opened his eyes; there was a glaze over them which cleared as he recognised her.

‘It worked,' he said. She had to bend close to hear him. ‘We got every child back. And we killed all those bastards … I take it back about the French … they were bloody marvellous.'

‘Don't talk,' Louise begged him. ‘Please, don't say any more. Lie still …'

‘That son of a bitch knew how to shoot.' Savage grimaced. ‘I love you—can you hear me?'

‘Yes, yes, I can hear you.' Louise felt a pressure from his hand.

‘I'm not through yet. He's a good guy, that husband of yours; but he made a mistake. He should've left me behind …'

‘You're going home,' Louise said. ‘You're going on the plane and you'll get proper care—oh darling, don't die—I couldn't bear it …'

He didn't seem to hear; his eyes had closed. Suddenly she felt his hand tighten on hers. ‘Louise … I'll be back. Remember that.'

She felt Jean de Bernard come behind her; she turned round to him, still holding Savage's hand, and as he watched she bent and kissed it.

‘He must go now; the plane's ready.'

‘Be careful,' she said. ‘Try not to hurt him …' She saw them lift him; he was unconscious and her last sight of him was masked by the navigator who reached down from inside the plane to lift him up.

At the edge of the field she waited in the little group of men, as the propeller turned and then idled, turned and then swung into full power. The noise was a hideous assault, the air-stream tore at their clothes and sent them staggering, holding to each other for support. Fathers with children waved and shouted; Jean de Bernard put his arm around her and held her steady. The plane was taxi-ing fast down the field, bumping and lurching over the uneven surface; suddenly its nose lifted, and the clumsy progress became a smooth, miraculous ascent into the sky. The machine rose steadily, easily topping the trees, climbing until it became smaller and smaller and the noise of its engine a distant throb.

Nobody spoke for some moments. Men who had seemed extraordinary, with guns on their shoulders, slipped back into their normal selves. They looked upward, disconsolate and lost without their children. Out of the ten who had started out from St. Blaize, six were left. The notary's clerk blew his nose and found a packet of cigarettes. He came and offered one to the Comte and more hesitantly to the Comtesse. Louise refused. Jean de Bernard inhaled into his lungs. He wiped his face with his forearm and looked round at them.

‘Our children are safe,' he said. ‘Whatever happens to us, they'll have their lives and they'll come back to St. Blaize when the war is over. That is what matters.'

‘What do we do now?' Pellissier asked him. ‘Where do we go?'

‘Home,' Jean de Bernard said. ‘Home to collect money, food, everything we'll need for the next few months. We have two alternatives. We can wait at St. Blaize for the murder squads to come and pick us up, or we can go into the countryside and fight. Thanks to the British we have guns and ammunition. We have the lorry and that car. We may not last long but we'll give some account of ourselves.'

‘I'll go with you,' the clerk said. He was a gentle, precise man who usually wore wire-rimmed spectacles. ‘And me,' Pellissier said. One by one, with one exception, they came and shook his hand. The lone dissenter also shook it.

‘My wife is ill,' he said. ‘I can't walk out and leave her. I have to make sure she's all right with her sister. If I can join you, Monsieur, be sure I will. But I have to look out for her first.' He came and shook hands with Louise; the others followed.

‘I'll stay here,' Jean de Bernard said. ‘The rest of you go back to St. Blaize in the van and take my wife with you. Pick up what you need and come back here as quickly as you can. There won't be much time before they realise what's happened at Chemire. When nobody reports back they'll start searching. We have an hour or two start.'