There was nowhere to sit, so they shook out their legs, rotating their ankles and rubbing their hands together. Claire thought it was the damp wood that made her clothes and hair wet, but looking in the direction of the bridge to where the wood was less dense, she saw fine rain. She hugged herself, shifted her weight from one leg to the other and saw a movement in the trees.
With his head down André ran into the clearing. ‘There’s a roadblock on this side of the bridge and I can see a dozen sentries posted on it. We will have to cross further down.’
‘What about Beaugency?’ Claire asked.
‘It’s more than seven kilometres away. It would take us an hour if we could travel by road, which we can’t. No, we’ll have to cross somewhere nearer.’
‘I know somewhere,’ Pierre said. ‘It’s a couple of kilometres down river.’
Pierre led the way. Eventually he stopped. ‘We are here,’ he whispered. ‘The bridge is on the other side of the road.’ Claire watched him, head down and body low, dash across the road and into the field. Once safely in the long grass he fell to the ground. André was next. Claire looked to Marcel. He nodded. Keeping as low as possible, they followed André. They lay in the grass for some time. When they were sure they had not been seen they each got to their knees and crawled to the riverbank.
Pierre pointed to a wooden footbridge with rope handrails. ‘I’ll try it, see if it holds.’
Claire looked up. The footbridge rose steeply above the swollen river to a high bank on the other side. The wind gusted and it began to swing. It looked unstable. ‘Are you sure we shouldn’t go on until we find a regular bridge?’
‘The nearest is at Meung. It’s too far,’ Pierre said. ‘Let me see if this one is strong enough to take our weight before we go on.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Claire saw dim lights. She turned and looked north. ‘Germans!’ she hissed. ‘Pierre?’ He turned. ‘Get down!’ They all slid down the river bank and lay in the reeds at the water’s edge until the convoy of German vehicles had passed.
‘Shit!’ André said,’ that was close. He looked at his watch. ‘It’s dangerous to hang about. I think we should cross here.’ Pierre and Marcel agreed. ‘You can swim, can’t you, Claire?’
‘Yes but I don’t intend to, not carrying this lot,’ she said, hitching up her rucksack.
‘Okay, I’m the heaviest, I’ll go first.’ Pierre looked at André. ‘If I get across without bringing the bridge down, you come after me. Claire next and you, Marcel, will cross last. The bridge will be at its weakest, but you are the strongest swimmer.’
Pierre pulled on the wooden slats of the makeshift bridge. He put his hand up, which meant it was strong enough to take him. Claire hoped it was. He then took hold of the ropes at the side and hauled himself up.
Standing in the mud at the water’s edge, Claire watched Pierre inch his way along the bridge. When he arrived at the halfway point the bridge began to sway. With her heart in her mouth, Claire watched the big man freeze. Clinging to the ropes he stood motionless until the bridge was stable again. Then he walked slowly and firmly until he stepped off on the other side of the river. Claire looked at André and Marcel. She could see in their faces that, like her, they had been worried.
André took off his rucksack and took two packages from it. He gave them to Claire. ‘This is the dynamite for the pylons. Pierre, Marcel, and I are carrying equal amounts for the tunnel. If anything happens to any of us, you must go on and sabotage the pylons.’ Claire understood and put the packages in her rucksack.
André crossed the bridge in the same way that Pierre had done, waiting when it began to sway and moving again with even steps when it steadied. Finally, Pierre’s strong hands grasped André’s wrists and pulled him onto firm ground. As soon as André reached the other side, Claire began her journey. She placed a muddy boot on the first rung of the ladder, but it slipped off almost immediately. She stumbled, regained her balance and tried again. This time, gripping the rope handrail, she put her foot down more firmly and hauled herself up quickly, so both feet were level on the first rung. The ladder swayed with the sudden impact. It was raining hard and the wind seemed stronger. She could hear the river running fast beneath her and looked down. She wished she hadn’t, wobbled, and immediately looked up again. Pierre and André were beckoning her, nodding encouragingly. Keeping her eyes on them, Claire planted her feet firmly on each slippery wooden slat and, gripping the rope-handles on either side to keep herself standing upright, she slowly walked on. After a short pause midway while she waited for the sagging rope ladder to stop swinging in the increasing wind, she arrived on the other side of the river and was hauled to safety by her comrades.
Still trembling, Claire watched Marcel pull himself onto the bridge. She put her hand up to shield her eyes from the rain. It was lashing down now and the wind had whipped up. After a few steps Marcel stopped. The bridge was swaying, not from his weight, but from the strong wind. Claire looked at André. His forehead was creased with worry. Rain dripped from the peak on his cap and he wiped his hand across his face. She looked back to Marcel. He was tentatively walking towards them. She sighed with relief.
