China Blue (The Dudley Sisters Saga Book 3)

In the middle of the bridge he halted as the rest of them had done and waited for the sway to ease. When it did he walked on carefully and purposefully. As Marcel neared the end of the bridge and safety, Pierre put his hand out and his brother reached for it. Suddenly the handrail on the right snapped and fell into the swirling river, sending Marcel sliding sideways. Clinging to the left handrail, Marcel flung his right arm out and caught hold of a wooden rung. He looked up at his comrades and, as his body hung above the engorged river, began to swing his legs backwards and forwards. With every undulating movement the rope ladder weakened, but Marcel didn’t stop. Finally he hooked the ladder with the toe of his boot and after several frantic jerks pulled it to him. Suspended in the air, with the rain driving down and the river raging beneath him, Marcel heaved himself up until he was lying on the ladder’s slippery rungs. He lay face down for several minutes. Claire prayed for his safety harder than she had done since she’d prayed for Mitch. With the Loire threatening, Marcel inched his way along the ladder on his stomach. Claire and André held Pierre round the waist to stop him from sliding forwards in the mud and again, when Marcel was a few feet from him, Pierre put out his hand. Marcel looked up, let go of the left handrail and reached out to his brother. As their fingers met, the rope rail flew out of its fixing on the riverbank, struck Marcel across his back, and plunged into the river. Marcel hollered, grasped the ladder with both hands, and clung on.

‘Marcel?’ Pierre shouted. ‘Marcel!’ he called again. ‘Give me your hand.’ Claire followed Marcel’s gaze as he stared down at the river. It seemed to be flowing faster now. Marcel looked up and slowly moved one foot up a rung of the ladder. He did the same with his other foot and then his hands until he was a few rungs away from his brother for the third time. Claire could see the fear on Marcel’s face as he forced himself to reach up. Again, Pierre and Marcel’s fingers touched. Claire and André shuffled forwards, so Pierre was nearer to grab Marcel’s hand. He did. He grasped Marcel by the wrist. ‘Let go of the ladder, Marcel, I’ve got you.’ Claire could see indecision in Marcel’s eyes. He was so near, why didn’t he--? Suddenly he looked up at his brother, let go of the ladder, and thrust his hand in the air. Pierre pitched forward and caught it. ‘I have you!’ he shouted. Holding Marcel’s hands in a vice-like grip, Pierre hauled his brother to safety.

Breathing heavily, Claire leant forward and put her hands on her knees to steady herself. The physical exertion of being Pierre’s anchor, coupled with the fear that her comrade might fall into the Loire and be lost forever, had drained her. The four comrades fell to the ground, exhausted. Claire jumped up almost immediately. ‘It’s wet!’ Her comrades laughed and she laughed with them.

‘It is wet,’ André said, ‘and it will soon be light.’ He lifted his arm and rotated his wrist until he was able to see the time. ‘We have two hours until we need to be at the tunnel.’

Trekking south across the fields, they came to a derelict barn. André put out his arm and they stopped walking. He ran to the barn’s door, opened it and looked in. Then he turned and summoned the others. ‘We’ll get out of the rain for half an hour and have something to eat.’

It was dry inside and smelled of hay, reminding Claire of the night she and Mitch had slept in the barn on the Belland farm. She quickly put the thought out of her mind and sat down on one of several logs that were dotted about the floor. The barn had clearly been used by someone other than the farmer. Lovers perhaps, Claire thought. André gave each of them thick cheese sandwiches that Édith had made. They ate hungrily.

CHAPTER THIRTY

The sabotage party arrived at the tunnel just before sunrise. Claire and André climbed the steep embankment, took binoculars from their rucksacks and lay on their stomachs. Their job was to look for German vehicles, snipers, or spotter planes that often accompanied important trains. The job of blowing up the tunnel and the train transporting German troops to Normandy to fight the Allies was Pierre and Marcel’s. They walked quickly and cautiously to the centre of the tunnel and placed dynamite against the tracks and the walls. When they had finished, they replaced Claire and André on the embankment and waited for the train.

Keeping low, Claire and André ran to where the line curved fifty yards from the tunnel. Claire fell to the ground and lay in long meadow grass on the right side of the track; André did the same on the left. Claire lifted her head and, leaning on her elbows, put binoculars to her eyes. Apart from the slight bend, which allowed them to see but not be seen, the railway line was straight for miles.

Claire suddenly saw a black speck in the far distance. She blinked rapidly to moisten her eyes and rid them of field dust, and looked again. A second later the speck grew into a square and turned into the engine of a train with steam billowing from its funnel. She estimated it was two miles away and whistled sharply twice. André replied with identical blasts; he had seen the train at the same time. Running as fast as she was able, Claire joined Pierre and Marcel above the entrance of the tunnel on the north side. ‘It’s coming!’ she shouted. ‘A mile and a half away by now.’ Having crossed the tracks, André joined