While waiting for the next wave of evacuations, gangs of soldiers of various nationalities roamed the streets seeking mischief. Some had found several train cars loaded with liquor and soon ran about in drunken stupors. The quick wits of an unknown soldier had put a stop to that plundering by the simple expedient of setting fire to the hay used as packing material within the cargo boxes. The flames quickly spread and soon consumed the entire train, including a boxcar containing large quantities of ammunition. As they heated up, the resulting explosion and flying bullets drove the crowd back.
“I made contact with British intelligence,” Jacques said when the three of them had regrouped in his kitchen. “I have my own shortwave radio. An operator in London picked up my signal a few weeks ago and put me in touch. The intelligence officers put me through some paces, but apparently, I passed the test. We don’t communicate often, but they take my calls. We keep them short. I could probably do better if we had a code established between us. As it is, we speak in euphemisms. When the Germans arrive, I’ll have to shut it down.” He paused in thought. “Jeremy, tell them in London that we could use some trained radio operators who know Morse code and can encrypt.”
“I’ll do it. Now, what did you learn today?”
Jacques took a breath and closed his eyes. “There will be a large evacuation here tomorrow involving many boats. We’re to seek out the largest ship, a troop carrier.” He opened his eyes and locked them on Jeremy. “You’ll be on it.”
“Why that one?”
Jacques shrugged. “It’s the easiest to identify. I’m sure you’ll get more instruction once you’re aboard.”
“Or maybe,” Nicolas added, “because they could assure that you could get on that ship. If it’s so large and full, one more passenger won’t matter.”
German Junkers struck during the night, their thunderous bombs shaking the apartment and rattling windows. After what seemed an endless time, the roar of engines, the rattle of guns, and the thunder of explosions ended, replaced by cries of the wounded and grief-stricken and the wail of ambulance sirens.
The three men left the apartment to help collect the dead and care for the wounded. When they returned many hours later, Jacques thrust a finger in Jeremy’s face. “You tell them in London that we must win this war,” he said, seething with anger. “We have no choice, and we French will fight with or without England.”
Later that evening, while Jacques was out of the room, Nicolas told Jeremy quietly, “One thing I can tell you about Jacques is that he means what he says. He is a very brave man.” He glanced around to be sure they were still alone. “He’s Jewish, and as we’ve already seen, the Nazis don’t like Jews.”
15
Three days earlier, June 12
Veules-les-Roses, France
“We’re too late,” Lance muttered. From his hidden position on the cliffs south of the picturesque town, he observed an empty bay with five groynes stretching out into the water. He turned to the small Frenchman at his elbow whom he knew simply as François. “Are you sure this is the place?”
“Of course,” François said. “I saw the boats here myself two days ago when I helped other soldiers escape. Small ones ran thousands of men out to larger boats and warships. The Germans bombed them from the cliffs north of the village, and Stukas came down to shoot at them.”
As he leaned back against the rocks, the sinking feeling that had started in Lance’s chest grew as it descended into his stomach. He gazed into the clear blue sky and then closed his eyes against the disappointment he would face when he informed his squad.
After leaving the Coste farm, he had led the beleaguered men back to the irrigation ditch, followed it to the stream that fed it, and then into the woods from which it emerged. On the other side, they had found the other farmer, as Coste had said they would. He had appeared to Lance as both eager to help and anxious about doing so. He had already constructed a false floor on his truck with planks and heavy plywood.
As the men climbed onto the truck bed, he instructed them to lie down on their backs, close together. He then fitted the false floor above them and piled a full load of hay and vegetables onto it. When the side slats were slid into place, the cargo looked normal, and the plywood protected against the possibility of probing pitchforks. The meals that Coste had provided revived the men’s strength, and despite the new discomfort, they remained in good humor with the thought of moving toward rescue.
Unavoidably, the driver encountered German checkpoints. The first one stretched the British soldiers’ nerves. Although they could not see the guards probing the load of hay, they felt the enemy presence and heard them speak. When the Germans prodded the bales with pitchforks, the Brits’ nerves seemed to scream inside their heads. They relaxed a bit as the truck was allowed passage, and by the time they had endured two more checkpoints, although remaining alert, they were inured to the fear that had attended the first.
Six hours later, the truck stopped, and they sensed being inside a building. Soon, they heard the hay and vegetables being removed from above them, and then the farmer raised the false floor. With a finger over pursed lips, he cautioned them to silence and pointed to the back of what they now saw was a huge barn. Another man stood near a door and beckoned to them. He was old and thin and wore a straw hat and friendly smile, but he also did not speak. Lance, Horton, Toby, Kenny,
