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

  2

  July 16, 1940

  Sark Island, English Channel Isles

  Three men at the back door of the Seigneurie looked frantic. The servant girl had gone to the front to greet a caller when Dame Marian Littlefield of Sark heard a soft but rapid and persistent tapping on the kitchen glass. There she saw the men, their faces drawn, terror in their eyes.

  “We need your help,” one told her. “We escaped from France. We must get to England.”

  “Wait in here,” Marian said, letting them into the kitchen. “Have something to eat but stay out of sight. The German commandant is at the front door. I’ll send the maid to feed you, and then I’ll see you after he departs.”

  They peered nervously into the hall but took seats at the kitchen table.

  When Marian entered the library, Major Lanz was there observing her book collection. He had pulled two anti-Fascist works from the shelf and now flipped through the first, Sawdust Caesar. He did the same with The House That Hitler Built, and then returned both books to the shelves. “Madame, you keep an intriguing library,” he said in German, only his tone indicating slight reproof. He did not state what he surmised, that the Dame of Sark must know that those two books had been banned in Germany, along with countless others.

  “We try to keep open minds and consider wide-ranging opinions,” she replied. “How else can we possibly expect to arrive at logical conclusions about anything?” She had placed both books prominently where they could not be missed. “Take those with you, if you must. In any case, most of our islanders have read them.”

  “Hmm. I’ll leave them, and I understand your sentiment, but I might not always be assigned here. Please exercise caution. I’ve held garrison strength on your island to one sergeant and ten soldiers. Future commandants might increase that, and they might not be as permissive with your choice of reading materials.”

  Marian cast a deprecating glance his way. “You do know that my name appears in the Almanac de Gotha, which makes clear my rights and authorities when dealing with the German upper class.”

  “Yes, Madame. I am also from aristocracy and listed in that directory, which is why I tolerate behavior that some of my army peers might find offensive.” He searched for words. “How do I put this delicately? With the rapid expansion of the Wehrmacht, some officers now come from lowlier parentage. My interest, which I’m sure matches yours, is to survive this war with as little conflict as possible, as ironic as that might sound. I’m sure that by Christmas, London will have come to its senses and negotiated a peaceful end to hostilities, and life will go on as before.”

  “Hmph. Your soldiers certainly act as though they expect the war to be over by then, but they seem to anticipate success by conquest, not by negotiation. They’ve bought up all the tweed in Guernsey on the stated expectation that they will have suits tailored in London.

  “I compliment their taste,” she continued. “Everyone knows that English and Scottish tweeds are the best in the world, and so are the tailors in London. But thinking the war will be over by yearend or that the fight will have been knocked out of Britain by then might be wishful thinking.”

  Lanz grimaced. “Today I want to go over a few more mundane things.”

  The servant appeared at the door with a tea tray and placed it on a table in a sitting area.

  “Let’s be comfortable while we discuss, shall we?” Marian said. “You must miss your home and family.”

  Lanz sat on a divan while Marian took a seat in a richly upholstered chair across from him. The servant poured the tea and departed.

  “I do miss home,” the major said, taking his teacup, “but I have to say how beautiful this island is.”

  “I’ve always called Sark our little oasis of quiet and rest.”

  “It has certainly been that for the time that I’ve been here.” Lanz took a sip. “What do you hear from your family?”

  Marian smiled gently, as much for the irony contained in the question as for the thought of her daughter and three sons. “Nothing. As you must know, the mail between here and our mainland no longer exists.”

  Lanz frowned. “I understand. I know nothing about your eldest two sons, but I’ve seen a bit of news on your daughter and youngest son in the newspapers.”

  “You mean the ones we can’t get,” Marian said stiffly. “You’ve heard something about Jeremy?”

  Lanz nodded cautiously, pleased that he could bring Marian good news but stung by her mild rebuke. “He’s in London. I don’t know all the details, but I can tell you that he’s something of a hero for having rescued a little boy from a shipwreck. He’s safely back from Dunkirk. From those same articles, I learned of your daughter, Claire. Her full-time effort seems focused on taking care of the child. He was orphaned.”

  Marian staunched her emotions, refusing to exhibit them before Sark’s invaders. “Poor little boy,” she said matter-of-factly. “That would be like Claire to care for him. I’m glad Jeremy is safe. Have you heard anything about the whereabouts of my middle son, the POW?” She did not mention that she had received a dirty, wrinkled note from Lance in the last mail coming from the British mainland on the same day that the major and his contingent had arrived on Sark.

  “I’m sorry to say that I have not,” he replied, “but there were so many prisoners taken at Dunkirk. The rout of the British and French armies was a surprise to our high command as well. We had no idea they would fold and run.”

  Seeing Marian’s cold stare, Lanz coughed and set his cup down abruptly. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to make such a thoughtless comment. Faced with overwhelming odds, our armies might have done the same thing.”

  “Perhaps,” Marian said, with residual ice in her tone. “Shall we get on with today’s business?”

  “Certainly.” The major cleared his throat. “You’re administering this island very well, and for the time being there’s no reason to change that.”

  Marian nodded courteously.

  “The official rate of exchange is set at two shillings and one penny per deutschmark,” Lanz continued.

  “You requisition whatever you need from us,” Marian stated sternly.

  Lanz grimaced. “True, but I can do no better.” He squirmed uncomfortably. “I will tell you, Madame Littlefield, that our government wishes to make a good impression with your people. We want the population of England to know that you are well treated so that they understand they have nothing to fear from us. For that reason, the soldiers here were hand-picked for their goodwill and are instructed to be respectful and courteous. Your cooperation will go a long way to easing things for us and your people.”

  “Our islanders will comply with your mandates,” she said, fighting anger to keep her voice even, but her eyes flashed with fury. “You’ve only been here twelve days, and already food is scarce and rationed. Under such conditions, our people will find believing in German good intentions difficult.” She stood and held out her hand. “Will there be anything else?”

  The major also stood, humbled by being dismissed. “Please spread the word that we wish good relations with them. While this war continues, enduring it would be easier for them and for us if they reciprocate.”

  “I suppose you’re right, if you win,” Marian said without expression, “but what happens to us if fate determines otherwise? Our countrymen will view us as having cooperated with the enemy. Tell me, how are we to live with that?”

  Lanz met her gaze. “I shall take my leave now,” he said. She led him from the library. “Please do what you can,” he requested in parting. “I understand that the situation is difficult.”

  As soon as Lanz was out of sight, Marian hurried to the kitchen. The three men had eaten ravenously from a plate of scones while drinking hot tea.

  They introduced themselves. Two, Gaston and Jorden, were French. The third, Nacek, was Polish. All three looked worried and exhausted.

  “How did you get here?” she asked. They spoke in French.

  “In a ro
wboat,” Gaston said. “It’s only six miles across at the nearest point to France. One of your people told us to come here for help. You are the Seigneure.”

  “It’s a miracle you were not caught.” Marian regarded the men with a mixture of shock and pity. “And you want to go to Britain?”

  They nodded anxiously. “All we ask for is some food and water to get us there,” Gaston said. “We’ll go in our own boat.” He indicated himself and Jorden. “We’re going to join General de Gaulle’s Free French.”

  “And I intend to fight with the British army,” Nacek added.

  Marian heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry to bear bad news,” she said, “but you can’t get to Britain from here in a rowboat. The distance is far too great, the currents will carry you out into the Atlantic, and the water is too rough. You’ll drown.” She watched with misgivings as dismay bordering on despair spread across their faces.

  “Is there another way?” Jorden asked.

  Marian shook her head. “There are no boats or planes going between here and Britain now.” A thought crossed her mind. “Are you aware that Germany has occupied the Channel Islands?”

  They nodded while exchanging glances. “The man who sent us here told us,” Jorden said.

  Marian dropped her forehead into her palm in frustration. “Your situation didn’t get better by coming to Sark. They don’t even allow our fishing boats out without a guard riding in them.” Regret manifested in multiple sighs as she grappled with the situation. “We can’t offer to hide you for long because there’s nothing to share. Food is restricted, and you won’t be able to get ration cards.” She leaned forward and grasped the hands of the two men closest to her. “I’m very sorry to say this, but your best chance of staying alive is to turn yourselves in. If you’re caught, you could be shot as spies.”

  The men’s faces dropped in dejection. Nacek, holding back tears, reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small Polish flag. “I’ve carried this next to my heart since I fled my country,” he said. “I won’t let it fall into German hands.”

  Marian nodded, fighting back her own tears. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “If I had another way, I’d gladly offer it.”

  “It’s all right,” Gaston said. “We took our chances.” He let out a pitiable laugh. “We lost.” He stood and kissed Marian’s cheek. “You’ve been kind. Tell us what to do.”

  Marian sniffed and wiped her eyes with a kerchief. She first addressed Nacek. “The least we can do is help with your flag. If you’d like, we can have a ceremony to burn it. Then the Germans will never take possession, even if they occupy my house.”

  Struggling with emotion, Nacek nodded without speaking.

  “Once that’s done,” Marian continued glumly, “I’ll call for the commandant to arrange how to pick you up.”

  Two hours later, she watched as a squad of German soldiers marched the three men away. Her thoughts went to Lance, her motherly soul ripped at the thought of what he must be going through and what the three young men she had just delivered into captivity would face.

  3

  London, England

  Jeremy Littlefield entered the British intelligence headquarters, recalling his first visit a month earlier. He and Timmy, the toddler he had rescued from a shipwreck, had arrived in London at Paddington Station in the dead of night on the troop train from Plymouth. In his pocket, he had a document on the letterhead of the HMT Oronsay, the ship whose crew had plucked Jeremy, Timmy, and other survivors from the Loire Estuary at Saint-Nazaire, France.

  The note, signed by the ship’s captain, granted Jeremy guardianship of the orphaned boy based on the recognized authority of a ship’s captain at sea, which increased during wartime. That same letter had gained him access to the office of Major Crockatt, the head of MI-9. He and his secretary, Vivian, had helped immensely in reuniting Jeremy with his siblings, Paul and Claire.

  Now, as Jeremy entered Crockatt’s reception area, Vivian, a pretty, matronly lady in her mid-forties, rose to greet him. “It’s so good to see you,” she said. They passed pleasantries and she asked about Timmy as well as Claire and Paul.

  “They’re fine, thanks for asking,” Jeremy said.

  “We miss Paul. He was here quite often while you were missing in action. The major is fond of him, and so am I.”

  “I don’t get to see much of him these days either.” Jeremy shot Vivian a questioning glance. “Do you know what the major wants with me?”

  “He’ll tell you. Go on in. I’ll bring in some tea in a few minutes.”

  Crockatt, a tall man in excellent physical shape with piercing eyes, dark hair, a high forehead, and a well-groomed mustache, rose to meet him. The major had been in the Royal Scots Regiment during the Great War and had left service in 1927. With a war on again, he had answered the call to rejoin the army. Jeremy knew that Paul, an intelligence officer at MI-6, respected the major as a mentor.

  “Thank you for coming. How’s the training? Do sit down.” Crockatt came around the desk, shook Jeremy’s hand, and joined him in a seating area.

  “I just reported in yesterday. I haven’t even unpacked, and then I got your call. I’m glad I returned from France to get fully trained. I should do a better job when I go back with less chance of getting people killed.”

  “That’s why you couldn’t stay. Your mission was to get in, re-establish the Boulier network, and get out. You did that very well. It’s good that we see things the same way.”

  Vivian brought in a tea tray, set it on a low table between them, and poured two cups. Then she returned to the outside office.

  The major appeared hesitant to speak. He picked up his cup, dropped in two lumps of sugar, and stirred. Then, he returned the cup to the table without so much as a sip and cleared his throat. “We want to send you out again. Immediately.”

  Jeremy had begun doctoring his own tea. Startled, he halted. “Again, sir? Without completing training?” He finished stirring and raised the cup to his lips.

  “We have a situation in Marseille that perhaps you can help with.”

  Jeremy coughed. The tea burned his lower lip and the back of his throat. His heart skipped a beat, and then raced. “Marseille, sir?” Where Amélie is?

  “Exactly.” Appearing to misread Jeremy’s reaction, Crockatt continued. “Don’t worry, we’ll bring you back to complete training. There’s a chap in Marseille now who was a French naval officer. He’s Swiss, but he was on a French destroyer that was bombed and sunk during the evacuation at Dunkirk. The two of you have that similar experience in common. You can commiserate.

  “He’s on the fence about joining the Resistance. The thing is, he’s well thought of by his peers, but given that we destroyed most of their navy and confiscated the rest, most former French officers and crewmen balk on working with we Brits.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Talk with him. Make him understand that we had no choice. It was either take the action we did or let those ships fall under Nazi control. Most French officers have been released from service. This man, Henri Schaerrer, might be key to recruiting his former comrades into the Resistance. He could overcome their resentment if we can overcome his. They understand weaponry, tactics, planning, rehearsal, security… To hear General de Gaulle talk, he’s planning on cobbling together a French army ready to operate as a full partner when we re-take the Continent. These veterans could hasten that day.”

  Jeremy met Crockatt’s eyes with a dubious stare. “Why me? Madame Fourcade is as convincing as anyone I know. The fact that she’s a woman hasn’t slowed her down in leading Resistance forces in Marseille.”

  The major smiled. “She’s persuasive, and if it were only a case of convincing Henri, she could do it. Turning him into a recruiter for the Resistance and doing it quickly is another matter. You were at Dunkirk. You fled with the refugees and saw the atrocities, the sinking ships, and the survivors shot up in the water—"

  “I wasn’t the only one. Ferrand Boulier’s n
ephew witnessed them, and so did Jacques, the man who contacted your office.” He hesitated. “If the mission is to convince Schaerrer to recruit others, either of those two men might be better.”

  “They’re heavily into the fight in northern France, and not available.” He pursed his lips as he formulated his next argument. “The nephew and Jacques pressured you to convince us that the French people were eager to fight in the face of Pétain’s surrender. You have the gut-level feel of the fight and the fury over having been abandoned at Dunkirk and then let down by the French government. You drove the message and gave us a sense of that passion and fighting spirit. You can certainly convince Henri to use his influence to help the Resistance.”

  Jeremy regarded the major with amusement. “That was a bloody hell of a speech. Maybe you should go over to talk to Henri.”

  Crockatt chuckled and smiled tiredly. “I’m also heavily committed, and you’d do a better job. You’re about the same age, both junior officers, and should get on splendidly. By the way, Madame Fourcade suggested the idea and requested you. Don’t forget that Kenyon and Pierre are there too. If Henri isn’t convinced by the three of them, it’s time to bring in the big gun. We’ll drop you in by parachute again at night. That’s still standard transportation.”

  Jeremy laughed. “Such luxury. I’ll do it, but I’d like a favor in return. Two, really.”

  Startled, Crockatt settled back, eyes wide. Then he leaned forward with a slight smile. “You’d like to see Amélie.”

  Jeremy flushed deep crimson. His throat suddenly dry, he said, “Am I that transparent? That’s not good for a covert operator.” He took a sip of tea. “I’d like to see her, but that’s not my request.”

  “What then?”

  “When I get back, I want you to release me from MI-9 to train with one of the fighter squadrons.”