“We must go,” he yelled above the roar while gesturing vigorously. “The police! Les gendarmes!”
Pierre nodded and called to his comrades. Lance and Horton already waited in the car.
Returning to the staging area, the men were ebullient. They entered a barn on the property amid cheers and yells.
Kenyon quieted them. “Listen to me,” he told them. “A triumph feels great, but this is going to be a long war. You can’t celebrate out in the open. That could kill you.”
Lance translated. The men stared, but nodded acceptance. Then they broke into quiet smiles and exchanged slaps on the back.
“What about tomorrow night?” Pierre asked.
“As my American cousins would say,” Lance broke in, “that’s a whole new ball game. The Germans will push harder to get here, and local authorities will watch for sabotage activity. Let’s spend tonight planning and tomorrow rehearsing your approach and escape routes. Do you have more men?”
“Of course,” Pierre responded, “and many more coming.”
“Good. Then early in the morning, send some out to reconnoiter the route and set up signals in case the raid needs to be aborted. You don’t want to go rolling around a curve and find a new German checkpoint. Do you have the next targets selected?”
“They’re on the same compound, but farther down the river. The distance between tomorrow night’s targets and the fuel-tanks we hit tonight is about a kilometer, and they are bigger.”
“How many?”
“Twenty-eight.”
Lance whistled. “You don’t think small, do you, Pierre. You should bring more men. You need at least ten.” He explained the discussion to Kenyon.
“They’ll operate in two-man teams,” Kenyon said. “Put each of the ones who were with us tonight with a new one. I won’t have time to check all the wiring and placement, so they’ll have to do it right the first time.”
“We have to assume that we’ll be opposed,” Lance added, “but tomorrow night will still probably be our best opportunity for a long time.”
After Lance had translated for Pierre and the conversation wound down, Kenyon turned to Lance with a thoughtful look. “May I speak to you privately?”
Surprised, Lance regarded him. Gone were the vacant eyes, replaced by intelligence, sharpness. A night of sleep, good food, and a mission had done wonders for him, and he seemed to have momentarily buried his grief for his lost friend.
The two ambled a distance away.
“I’ll be blunt,” Kenyon began. “I don’t know what your plans are, but I’m staying here.” His no-nonsense tone indicated that his decision was final.
“I see,” was all Lance could think to say immediately. He spread his feet apart and faced Kenyon with folded arms. “Have you thought this through? Horton and I are headed out to Spain right after this next operation.”
“I know, and that’s why I’m telling you now.” Kenyon’s brow furrowed. “I came here to fight a war. The last order I received was, ‘every man for himself.’ That was from my commanding officer.”
“Well, I can’t order you—”
Kenyon broke into a laugh. “Of course, you can’t order me. What’s your rank?”
“Sergeant.”
“And I made staff sergeant last week.”
Taken aback, Lance blinked. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“Because I was in a daze, and you were doing such a good job. Look, our country, or at least our government, seems to have abandoned us—”
“I refuse to believe that,” Lance interrupted, his voice rising. “Did you see all those ships in the harbor, all those boats going back and forth under fire to rescue us? The same was true at all those ports we bypassed on our way here. We might lack air power, but Churchill gave us what he had.”
Kenyon accepted Lance’s view reluctantly. “You make a good point, but right now, it’s neither here nor there.” He squinted through the half-light at the Frenchmen grouped together. “I’m just as likely to get killed trying to get out of the country, and I can do some good here. I can train these men to be effective. With the amount of dynamite they stole, we can wreak havoc on the Germans, and we can find more explosives.” His expression fell and he looked away. “Maybe then…” His head dropped and his voice broke. After a moment’s silence, he continued in a harder, anguished tone. “Maybe then my chum won’t have died in vain.”
Planning the operation for the following night proved much more difficult. The French police patrolled in force, inhibiting surveillance. News of the previous night’s strike had spread through the countryside, but it had not been the only one. Other clusters of armed opposition had formed and carried out similar raids with varying results at the urging of the fledgling central resistance group in Marseille.
During the course of the day, anxious citizens had called in sightings of German formations moving south, securing supply lines, fuel depots, food storage units, railroads and stations, communications centers, and other key assets.
Pierre’s intended target was located along the Loire River on the north side of the estuary. Surveillance had established that no German forces had yet been seen in close proximity, but police presence was heavy, prodded by the Pétain government.
“We can go by boat,” Pierre said.
Lance and Horton kept a running translation between Kenyon and Pierre.
“The Loire River current is strong,” Kenyon objected. “Going upstream on the return trip could be troublesome. Crossing the river would keep you exposed, and you might find a hostile reception on the other side.”
“What if we go in by boat and out by car or truck?” Pierre asked. “We can have our partisans waiting on the far side of the depot to pick us up.” He produced a sketch map.
“That looks like a long quay,” Horton interjected. “And there’s no cover or concealment.” He studied the sketch. “What’s the distance from the river to the first target? Is that an open field?”
“About half a kilometer,” Pierre replied. “And yes, that’s an open field.”
“How far from the first target to the last one?”
Pierre exhaled. “Another kilometer. Our drivers can meet us on an east-west road past
