Eagles Over Britain (The After Dunkirk Series Book 2) Read online

  Fourcade sat another moment, thinking. “Call your contact back and ask him to take a very small piece of paper. Tell him to write these three words on it.” She told them what they were. “Then he should wrinkle and soil it; make it look old and drop it in the garage where it can’t be missed.”

  Puzzled, Henri asked, “Why?”

  “Because, my dear friend, the border patrol might not be thorough, but the Wehrmacht, SS, and Gestapo usually are. They might come back to search the garage. Someone will interrogate Lance, that’s for sure, and if they’ve found that paper, they’re likely to confront him with it, hoping it leads to identifying his helpers. It won’t, but it could be a message in a bottle to let Lance know that people are looking for him. That could be a shot in the arm to keep his morale boosted.”

  Henri nodded. “We’ll do it. Do you mind if I ask about Phillippe?”

  Fourcade smiled enigmatically. “You can ask, but I can’t say.”

  Henri laughed. “I had to try. He’s my friend.”

  “How are your other operations shaping up?”

  “Good. Kenyon and Horton are tremendous assets. Naval officers are not trained in ground-combat tactics or how to use demolitions. Today, those two are teaching how to approach targets. Pierre is a hard worker and a natural leader, and he has his own group that he had assembled to blow up those tanks near Saint-Nazaire. They’re a great nucleus for developing a competent guerrilla fighting force. Pierre’s group is identifying more targets to hit in their area.”

  “That was my hope.” Fourcade rose from her seat. “I have another meeting I have to get into, so I’ll have to say au revoir for the time being. Let me know how things go in Saint-Louis.”

  Shortly after Henri had departed, Maurice arrived with Chantal. “Please tell me my sister is safe,” Chantal begged. “I miss her. I miss her terribly.”

  Fourcade had to laugh good-naturedly. “I promise she’s safe, and she misses you too.”

  “She’s out doing dangerous things, isn’t she?” Chantal raised her palms. “I know. Operational security.” She let out a flustered sigh.

  Fourcade smiled and hugged her. “That’s the most valuable lesson you can learn,” she said. “It can save your life and those of the people you love.” She glanced at Maurice. “Do you mind if I spend a few minutes with him?”

  Peeved, Chantal shrugged and moved away, leaving Maurice alone with Fourcade. He watched her go with a warm smile. “She’s a wonderful girl,” he said. “My wife and children love her. She’s a hard worker, and she is very anxious to be active in the Resistance.”

  “I know. What are we going to do when it’s time for her to go back to school? A girl her age being out and about on schooldays will make her noticeable. On the other hand, she’d have to enroll on forged papers, and the peer pressure to talk about what she’s doing or just the inadvertent slip of the tongue could be dangerous for us. Besides all of that, denying her an education would be criminal.”

  Maurice grimaced. “I’ve had the same thoughts. I’ll be happy when Amélie gets back too. My biggest worry for Chantal is that she’ll do something foolish like try to rejoin her father in Dunkirk. Just crossing into the occupied zone could be fatal for her. She’s learned a lot, but she didn’t grow up on the streets and she doesn’t have the maturity yet to fill in the blanks.”

  “Keep her busy. How’s your recruitment going?”

  Maurice heaved a heavy sigh. “Almost too good. So many people want to join the Resistance, but my worry is that we might take on some who work for the other side.”

  “I don’t have a good solution. I think Ferrand Boulier’s idea of making collaborators pay with their lives in a public way is extreme, but necessary. People who want to sit on the sidelines or work against us have to know, viscerally, that the penalty for betraying France will be at least as great as bending to German bribes or blackmail.

  “We’re fortunate to be away from the totalitarian control in the occupied zone, but Pétain’s government is putting in more and more restrictions. He’s cooperating with the Nazis on identifying the Jewish population. People in Vichy France will be forced to take sides. I think the only things we can do for the moment are to be vigilant, check out recruits as well as we can before accepting them, and be brutal when they betray us.”

  Maurice nodded. “I think you are right.”

  “Here’s a thought,” Fourcade said, “and one that might keep Chantal’s energy and imagination occupied for a while. As you make your rounds, gather information on potential military targets. Figure out where the entrances and exits are, and the best approach if we ever decide to attack. If open fighting takes place, where can we put up obstacles to keep the police penned in? And what are our escape routes. That’s real information we can gather now that could be useful later.”

  “Good idea. I’ll let her know.”

  Fourcade looked across the terrace to where Chantal sat outlined by the distant, sparkling blue sea. Like her sister, Chantal was small, and at the moment, she looked forlorn. Fourcade guessed that, like Amélie, she could be easily underestimated.

  She called to Chantal. The girl stood and meandered toward her.

  “I have something important I need done,” Fourcade said. “I have to run now, but I’ve explained it all to Maurice and he thinks it’s something you can do. He’ll explain.”

  Chantal’s eyes went from bright to quizzical, and then she turned to Maurice. “Tell me,” she said excitedly.

  “I will,” he said, laughing. Then the two of them walked toward the door while Maurice started explaining. Just before they reached the exit, Chantal squealed and jumped up and down.

  Fourcade shook her head. “What a world we live in,” she muttered, “when little girls get excited about scoping out military targets.”

  Dinard, France

  Phillippe Boutron sat in the same café where Amélie had first watched Jeannie Rousseau exit from the German 10th Army headquarters. Soon, with the same friendliness and respect to those people she encountered along her way that had so impressed Amélie, Jeannie passed by and continued on down the street. After she had rounded the first bend, Phillippe paid his tab and left.

  He observed from a distance as she turned through a gate, walked up the short garden pathway, and entered her house. Several minutes later, he knocked on the front door. When she opened it, he touched his beret. “Good morning, mademoiselle,” he said. “You called for an electrician?”

  “Yes, please,” she replied. “Come in.”

  Like Amélie, Phillippe was awestruck by her exquisite beauty, amplified by her genuine charm and respect for other people. She showed him into the sitting room, and when she turned, he recognized a glimmer of fear behind visible nervousness.

  “Here is another notebook, ready for you,” she said, pointing to it on her coffee table. “The invasion, if it takes place, must commence within the next two to three weeks. After that, the weather will be too bad. I’ve mapped out for you where they’re locating barges to move the troops, the target beachheads, the plan for air support and assault, the supply lines, and the general plan with the intended schedule. Is that enough?” When she stopped talking, she was almost out of breath.

  “Jeannie,” Phillippe said, “are you all right? You seem unusually stressed.”

  She put both hands on her hips and then lifted one to rub the back of her head. “I’ll admit,” she said, “I’m scared. It was one thing to play the game of knowing what they know inside that headquarters without letting on. It’s quite something else to deliver written information that could get me killed.”

  “You’re incredible,” Phillippe said. “No one could ask you to do more. If you want to stop, let me know. No one will fault you.”

  Jeannie shook her head. “I’ll keep on. This is important.” She breathed in deeply and let it out slowly. “There’s a lot of tension in the headquarters. Göring’s Luftwaffe was supposed to have defeated the RAF by now, and he’s nowhere ne
ar doing that. He keeps reporting that Britain only has two or three hundred fighters left, and more keep showing up. The invasion can’t launch until air superiority is established.” She jutted out her lower lip and blew some stray hairs from her forehead.

  Phillippe regarded her dolefully.

  “Then there’s this Major Bergmann.”

  Phillippe’s ears perked up. “What about him? Is he bothering you?”

  “He’s arrogant, and he thinks he’s the best looking and smartest person on the planet. He’s despised in the headquarters, but he’s also feared. I think he’s becoming suspicious of me. When he first arrived, he was always looking at me with a sickening, lascivious expression. That’s changed. Now he stares at me with a cold look. Everyone is trying to figure out how the RAF seems to know where the German bombers are going. They always seem to appear at the right place at the right time, and no matter what Göring does, he can’t seem to defeat them. Meanwhile, the British are bombing the locations—” She stopped and closed her eyes. “That I gave them.”

  She took another deep breath. “I could use a stiff drink. Do you want one?”

  Phillippe smiled. “If you think it would help.”

  Jeannie tossed her head. “Never mind. I can’t afford to go back to work smelling like alcohol, and I need my wits about me.” She picked up the notebook and handed it to Phillippe. “Take a look and let me know if you have any questions.”

  He sat down to peruse it. “I’m amazed at how thorough this is,” he said after a few moments. “You did this all from memory?”

  Jeannie nodded wearily and pointed at her head. “Believe me, this ability is nothing to be envied, at least not now.”

  “It’s helping us win this war,” Phillippe murmured. He perused the notebook a few more minutes and then stood. “This is truly remarkable. I was going to take it to Marseille immediately, but this news about Bergmann concerns me. I can take care of him now, if you like.”

  Jeannie smiled distantly. “That’s very sweet, but I’ll be all right for the moment. Field Marshal Reichenau likes me, and so does his senior staff. I’ll make myself less visible by degrees over several days, be flightier, and appear less inquisitive. That should stave him off for a while. The worst thing I could do now is disappear.”

  Phillippe sighed. “All right. But I wasn’t sent here just to be a courier. If he becomes a serious threat, I’m here to protect you, and I will do that with my life.”

  In spite of herself, Jeannie’s face contorted with emotion and her eyes welled with tears. “Thank you,” she gasped, and ran to throw her arms around him and press the side of her face against his chest. “I’m scared,” she said again. “I know I shouldn’t be, but I am.”

  Phillippe held her arms and kissed her cheek. “You’re allowed. It’s human.”

  She nodded and backed away. “You should go. You’ve been in my house too long.” She laughed softly in her musical way. “People will talk. Anyway, that information needs to get into Allied hands quickly, and I must get back to work.”

  As she led him to the door, she said, “You say that I’m amazing, but what about you? I’ve known you for a very short time, and you risk your life for me and for France. When that notebook leaves here, I’ll be safe, but your life is at risk. Thank you.”

  Phillippe turned and kissed her forehead. “You take the greater risk, mademoiselle.”

  17

  Stony Stratford, Buckinghamshire, England

  “Oh, little brother,” Claire sighed, leaning her head on Jeremy’s upper arm and patting it, “you’re always full of surprises. When did you meet these men and how did you wind up in the RAF?”

  They sat together at a round table inside The Bull, with Red on the other side of her and Andy and Shorty across from them.

  “He wandered in a couple of weeks ago,” Red quipped. “I think he was lost. He came wearing an army uniform and wanted to know how he could get a ride in one of our ‘airplanes.’ That’s what he called it.” He gulped a swig of ale. “You should have seen him on his first day at Hawarden. We came under attack, and he was in a Tiger Moth—”

  “That was a bloody mess,” Jeremy interrupted. He leaned forward and shot Red a warning glance. Claire doesn’t need to hear the actual details. “I had just landed and saw the kites being shot up by that Messerschmitt, but it had overflown me, so I tried to come to a halt as quickly as possible and nearly turned the plane on its nose. I was shaking like a leaf when the ground crew got to me.”

  Claire leaned back and alternated a dubious gaze between Jeremy and Red. Shorty and Andy looked down into their mugs. “Why am I getting the idea that I’ve not heard the full story?” She made rueful eye contact with each of the Americans. “My brother doesn’t have the flight experience of you three. I’m counting on you to keep him alive and out of trouble.”

  “Too late,” Shorty interjected. “We have our assignments. We’re teed off that he’s barely arrived and he’s going to fly Spitfires. We were on the Miles Masters for weeks before they’d let us get close to one, and now we’re going to a squadron that flies Hurricanes.”

  “You were on the Miles Master for how long?” Andy cut in, addressing Jeremy. “A day? Maybe two.”

  “Flight Sergeant Lewis flew my buns off, keeping me in the air nearly double the normal schedule. You know he wouldn’t let me near a Spitfire if he hadn’t thought I was ready. Besides—” Jeremy looked mischievous. “I’m only half American. I think the instructors place a little more confidence in the British part of my abilities.”

  “It’s pure nepotism at work,” Red objected, reaching around Claire’s back to jab Jeremy’s shoulder. “If you folks don’t like Yanks, just say so.”

  They laughed, and at that moment, another man in a British RAF uniform with pilot officer epaulets approached the table. “Would you mind if I join you?”

  His demeanor was very serious, but he allowed a smile, and his accent was distinctly American. “My name is Arthur Donahue.”

  “Sit down and have a drink on us,” Red called. “I didn’t know there was another Yank over here besides that Fiske guy.” He did a quick count of the pilots present and then his eyes widened with disappointment. “I was going to say that if Fiske would come in with us, we’d have enough pilots for an all-American flight. But with Jeremy here being half-Brit…” He laughed uproariously at his implication. “Then again,” he added excitedly, “if we could get sister Claire to fly with us, we could put the two of them together to have one more full-American with one full-Brit left over.”

  Claire ducked her head, laughing. Then she reached across the table and offered her hand to Donahue. “Please excuse the company I keep,” she said. “I’ve tried to keep my younger brother away from the riff-raff, but as you can see, I’ve failed, and now he’s pulled me in.”

  Donahue shook her hand, and she introduced the others.

  “I know who you are,” Andy told him. “You came over here with more flying time than the rest of us combined.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Donahue said. “I’ve been flying a while. Have you been assigned yet?” As he asked the question, he did a double take at Shorty’s size.

  Shorty laughed. “I get that reaction a lot.” He jabbed a finger at Jeremy. “He starts with Spitfires at Hawarden tomorrow, and the rest of us go to 609 Squadron in ten days, on August 9.” He chuckled. “Jeremy’s been all uppity with us about being half-Brit, otherwise we might have considered putting in a good word for him to join us, when he learns to fly.” His joke brought another round of laughter and more gulps of ale.

  “He won’t be with us in 609 Squadron anyway,” Red cut in. “I heard via the grapevine that, bein’ his mother is the Dame of Sark, he’s going to 601 Squadron with that millionaires’ club. You know, the sons of aristocracy.”

  Jeremy’s head whipped around. “I hadn’t heard that.” Annoyance tinged his tone. “Who told you about my parents?”

  “Hey.” Red clapped Jeremy’
s shoulder. “Word gets around. We’ll miss you, though.”

  “Who’s your instructor?” Donahue broke in.

  “Flight Sergeant Eddy Lewis.”

  Donahue nodded in approval. “He’s the best. Listen to everything he says.” He chuckled. “When you’re flying combat, you’ll hear his voice in your head saying things like, ‘Remember the Gs. You have to breathe. Get those knees into your chest.’”

  When he finished speaking, he looked up and found everyone’s eyes fixed on him. “Are you already flying in combat?” Claire asked.

  Donahue looked about uncertainly. “I am,” he said simply. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to bring it up. My only point to your brother was that he has an excellent instructor.” Then, as if to change the subject, he said, “Have you ordered dinner?”

  Some of the rambunctious spirit seemed to have ebbed from the atmosphere. The manager came over, greeted everyone, and took their order. “Tell this gentleman what I said about your money,” he said as he left the table. “His is no good here either.”

  “That’s very nice of him,” Donahue said on hearing what the manager meant. While he spoke, Claire noticed that he carried a quiet air of authority. He caught her eye, studied her face a moment, and then looked at Jeremy. “Littlefield,” he said. “I know that name from the newspapers. Jeremy and Claire. You’re the brother and sister who rescued and took care of the little shipwrecked boy. I’m honored to meet you.”

  “My brother saved him,” Claire acknowledged with warm eyes, and she suddenly noticed Red sitting very close to her. “I take care of Timmy when Jeremy’s away.”

  “Tell us what goes on up there,” Jeremy cut in. “The real story.”

  “I’d like to hear it too,” a voice said from outside their circle. Everyone turned to see a soldier wearing the lieutenant insignia standing behind Shorty and Andy. He made his way over to Claire, hugged her, and kissed her cheek.