Read Cold Lonely Courage (Madeleine toche Series Book 2) Online
Authors: Soren Petrek
“Jacques will take you to safety,” Jean-Pierre said in a strained voice. “He’ll take you to some friends in Spain. They’ll get you to Gibraltar.”
She hugged him on the pier and reached up to clasp his hand one last time. Both of them were in tears as he spoke.
“You fight for us now Madeleine,” he said. The sight of tears on her father’s face made her cry harder. “Come back when Germany is gone from France. Your mother and I will manage. I doubt anyone will do anything more than ask a few questions once they discover the officer’s body. The men he was with are shipping out, another lucky break. They’ll be long gone before he’s missed. You’ll be safe in England. I’ll explain it all to your mother. Eventually, she’ll understand.”
With those words he turned and limped away, the sound of his sacrifice for France thudding dully against the wooden dock, as she watched him get smaller and then disappear around a corner.
Madeleine went forward and quietly cried. The enormity of everything that had happened hit her at once. She was leaving behind everything she held dear for the emptiness of the unknown. Her mind raced as she clutched the hem of her skirt to her mouth and sobbed deeply into it. She searched her mind for the strength that had brought her this far, found an edge of it, and clung to it desperately. She knew her disappearance would do little to cast suspicion on her parents. Young people were being displaced constantly, many going to stay with family in other regions or being directed by their occupiers to relocate for work. Her rapist’s crime had been done in secret as was his death.
Madeleine regretted leaving her homeland in the dark with only her worried father to see her off. She drew comfort from the gentle rocking of the boat as it slipped from its moorings and Jacques guided it out of the port. She let the motion of the boat calm her as she placed her trust and safety in the embrace of the sea.
.
Madeleine woke as the first rays of the morning sun peeked through the window of the cabin. She vaguely remembered Jacques waking her on deck and guiding her into the creaking, fish-scented interior of the small trawler, where she fell onto a narrow berth built into the boat’s bulkhead. The cabin wasn’t designed for comfort and was piled deep with fishing nets and gear in various stages of repair.
She swung her feet over the side of the bed, rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands as she remembered the sound of the gunshot when she killed Hirschman. It’s done, she thought. There’s no going back now. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and felt the weight of the pistol. Although she was safe on the boat, it was comforting to have it with her.
Following the smell of coffee, Madeleine made her way towards the steps leading up to the pilothouse. Jacques stood at the wheel, glancing over his shoulder as she reached the top of the stairs.
“Good morning, Madeleine. Glad to see you got some sleep,” Jacques said.
“That coffee smells good.”
“It’s over there,” Jacques said, gesturing to an iron stove tucked into the corner of the cabin.
Madeleine found a cup and poured some of the pitch black brew into it. “You must have been in the restaurant business once, Jacques. You could stand a spoon in this.”
“It keeps me awake,” Jacques said, his weathered face breaking into a smile.
Madeleine smiled back and the two of them remained quiet, drinking their coffee as the sun rose behind them.
“How long until we reach Port-Vendres?” Madeleine said, breaking the silence.
“A few more hours. We’ll meet my nephew there and he’ll take you in a bigger boat down to Gibraltar. His home port is Saint-Jean-de-Luz, on the Atlantic. He and his crew fish the Mediterranean coast this time of year and then head home towards the end of the season.”
“Are you from Saint-Jean-de-Luz?”
“No, most of the family is from around Guernica.”
“Will they be willing to help me? Isn’t Gibraltar out of their way?”
“They fish for cod and hake and they go wherever the fish go. They’ll probably run you down there and fish on the way back. When I tell them you killed a Nazi SS officer, they’ll want to throw you a party,” Jacques said.
“I remember the Basque fought against the fascists, and Franco came down hard on them,” Madeleine answered.
“The Basque hate the Nazis as only a Basque can hate. Many of our friends and family were burned alive in the cellars of Guernica when the bastards were practicing
Blitzkrieg
in 1937. There were only 5,000 people in the town, but they still sent wave after wave of bombers to level it. When the buildings were blown up, the pilots strafed the streets and forced everyone into underground shelters. Then they dropped incendiary bombs to see if they could burn the people out.”
“I remember something about that from the papers,” Madeleine said.
“We Basque know Franco punished us for our opposition to him in the Civil War. What they did to Guernica was his retaliation.”
“Did you fight in the war, Jacques?”
“I tried to enlist, but they said I was too old. So I did my part by smuggling people out and guns in when I could. I know the coastline very well.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, how did you end up in La Ciotat?”
“How does anyone end up anywhere? I met someone. Provence is just around the corner for a fisherman. I also fell in love with the towns and the ports along the coast. It’s simple. I went there, fell in love and stayed.”
“Will I be the only woman on board your nephew’s trawler?”
“Not if one of the wives finds out and gets a look at you,” Jacques said with a chuckle. “I’m kidding, they’ll love you. My nephew’s wife Alize cooks on board. You’ll like her. She’s a bit older than you and will welcome another woman along,” Jacques said.
“Does she speak French?”
“Her French is pretty good. She’s from the Basque area that reaches into France.”
“Good. I could use someone to talk to after everything that’s happened.”
“She’s strong willed. God knows she’ll admire your courage and what you’ve done,” Jacques said reaching onto the console to tap the side of the marine compass. “We should be there by late afternoon. I don’t see any weather that would slow us down.”
“You must have been up all night. Aren’t you tired?” Madeleine said.
“Not yet. I’ve got my cigarettes and coffee. I’ll sleep when we make port and you’re on your way. But you should get some more sleep if you can. You have a long road ahead.”
“I know,” Madeleine said, looking out over the bow. “The hard part is I don’t know where the road leads.”
“You’ll find your way,” Jacques said handing her a cigarette.
“I have to,” Madeleine said. “It’s the only road home.”
Madeleine went below and tried to sleep, but the strong Basque coffee kept her awake. She lay in the cramped bunk, thinking of her parents so suddenly alone. They would never see Yves again, and surely they must be wondering if she would ever come home. Tears filled her eyes, but she forced them back. She would be strong, a daughter of France. The time for tears was past. Eventually she dozed, snapping awake when the steady throb of engines quieted. They had arrived.
She came up on deck to the glow of the setting sun shining onto brightly colored buildings that faced the sea. Long rows of boats were moored in the deep water port that had been busy for hundreds of years.
“How will you find your family?” Madeleine asked, stepping out of the wheelhouse onto the deck.
“They’re here, or they will be soon. This is where they offload their catch. They’re never out more than a day or so,” Jacques said, deftly stepping off the gunwale onto the dock, slipping a heavy looped rope onto an iron stanchion, securing the boat. “I’m going to look for their boat. I think you should stay on board for now. If I don’t find them shortly, I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be here.”
Jacques walked the short distance from the dock to the main pier. He seems to know where he’s going, Madeleine thought as she watched him leave. A port is as good a place to hide as any.
Less than an hour later, Jacques returned with two younger men. Both had dark hair. The taller of the two had a prominent nose and a rosy-cheeked complexion. The other was much younger and stayed on the dock as Jacques and his companion stepped onto the deck.
“Madeleine, this is my nephew, Benant, and that shy young man is, Domeka, his brother.
Benant stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Madeleine. I understand you’re looking for passage to Gibraltar. Jacques explained everything. My family and I would be happy to help.”
“I can’t thank you enough. Hello, Domeka,” Madeleine said glancing over Benant’s shoulder. Domeka waved, jumping on board and walked up behind the two men.
“Glad to meet you, Madeleine. I’m not shy, it’s just that my brother never stops talking long enough for me to say anything.”
“I had a brother like that too. He loved to tease me,” Madeleine said.
“Jacques told me he was killed in battle. I’m sorry,” Benant said.
“Yes, and if I could I’d kill every German I could get my hands on,” Madeleine answered.
The two Basque men laughed.
“Did I say something funny?” Madeleine asked, confused.
“Not at all. With you and Alize on board, we’ll be outnumbered,” Domeka said.
“Two against two, those are fair odds,” Madeleine said.
“Two against four,” Benant said chuckling. “We have two other crew members.”
“Oh, I see,” Madeleine said with a grin, “I can’t wait to meet her. Lead the way.”
Madeleine and the men walked for several minutes along the dock and into the area nearest the open water where the larger boats were tied up. They stopped alongside a fifty-foot trawler, sea battered but well kept. New ropes hung from the rigging. The deck had a fresh coat of paint and the brass fittings gleamed. A plump blonde woman with kind eyes stepped out from the bridge. She watched Madeleine as the story was told, and her eyes crinkled into a smile. Alize pushed past the two men and jumped onto the dock. “I’m sorry you had to endure the hospitality of these two,” she said in French, gesturing to Benat and Domeka. “Unfortunately, Domeka learned his manners from my husband, and Benat doesn’t have any. Did they even offer you a drink of water, much less anything stronger?”
“Not yet,” Madeleine answered, taking Alize by the hand and kissing her on both cheeks.
“Then come below. We’ll have some wine and make some supper. Maybe we’ll even let them have some of it.”
“Wine would be marvelous,” Madeleine said following, as Alize gestured her on board.
.
Madeleine stood on deck of the Basque trawler as it meandered into the port of Gibraltar. British flags adorned many of the boats. There were signs everywhere of the bombing the Germans had heaped on the city. Piles of rubble stood next to ramps and jetties being rebuilt by the British navy. Basque sailors and British and Spanish seamen rushed about, crowding the piers.
“Madeleine, you’re going to need a suitcase and some clothing. You’ll look strange traveling without luggage. I have a case and a few clothes to put in it, but I think you should go to the market and find some that fit you before you leave,” Alize said.
“I didn’t think of that. If I’m going to blend in, I’ll have to look like a normal passenger. What I’m worried about is, if I should take a British or Spanish boat to England. I didn’t have much time to plan ahead.”
“Spanish, I think. But I doubt whether the Germans would sink a British passenger liner, although it’s happened before.”
“I’m thinking that there will be more prying eyes on a Spanish ship,” Madeleine said.
“I’m sure there’ll be German agents on board. They like to keep an eye on who’s going to England. But they’ll want to remain behind the scenes and I doubt that you’ll be bothered. Either way, you look too young to attract much attention. I have to admit that when I saw you I was surprised to hear that you killed a German officer,” Alize said.
“I suppose so. Nobody’s going to sink a Spanish ship, and I doubt I’ll be the only French person on board.”
“There are always free French trying to get to England from Africa, Morocco mostly. Just stay in your cabin, but don’t hide in it,” Alize said.
“You seem to know about these types of things.”
“I fought in the war alongside Benat. When we lost, we went back into the mountains. But the Basques have been fighting the Spanish forever. The outcome of this war won’t change that. We want our own country.”
“I like your husband. I’m sure he was a good fighter,” Madeleine said, leaning against a railing.
“He’s a lion. As much as I push and tease him, after seeing him in battle I could never be with another man,” Alize said smiling. “But don’t tell him that.”
“I know better,” Madeleine said laughing.
“I knew you were a smart girl. Now let’s get that bag and get you situated.”
.
On the wharf a couple of hundred yards inland from the docks, Robert DuPont stood with four men in brilliant white military uniforms drinking a midmorning pint of beer. His slender silhouette and Gallic features set him apart from the others. The group stood well away from the entrance to a tavern frequented by locals and sailors alike.
“Here’s to you, Charles, for springing us out of that horrid Spanish jail,” a slight, fair-haired young man in a Royal Air Force uniform said, raising his glass.
“I couldn’t very well leave four British pilots and a heroic Frenchman in the hands of those weasels. You see, that’s my job as a top military attaché to the friendly Spanish government,” Charles White said sarcastically, giving a mock salute.
“I’m grateful as well, Captain White. I wasn’t at all sure they were going to let me go,” DuPont said.
“After getting the lads out of occupied France, it’s the least I could do.”
“It’s my pleasure. We need as many British pilots in the air as possible and there are many others hidden throughout France waiting for their chance to get home,” DuPont said.
“The Germans wanted you pretty badly. The representative from the German embassy had Gestapo written all over him,” White said.
“They didn’t like it when I escaped from their prison.”
“Or when you broke their guard’s neck with a table leg,” White said.
“I’m sure that’s worth a price on my head,” DuPont said, lifting his glass to his lips.
“Speaking of your status in France, Monsieur DuPont, I encourage you to check in with the boys at Baker Street when you get to London,” White said.
DuPont glanced at the other men. They’d taken a few steps away and were excitedly talking among themselves and digging in their pockets for cigarettes. Lowering his voice, he stepped closer to White and said, “The Special Operations Executive you mentioned before, correct?”
“Yes, the SOE, Churchill’s baby. I think you’ll fit right in. Ask for the ‘Dirty Tricks Department’. No offense, but that’s right up your alley.”
“That’s a compliment, monsieur. I’ll do as you say, but first I must meet with General de Gaulle. He is our leader and I have to ask his permission.”
“Of course, but what’s good for England is good for France.”
“The SOE agents, are they as good as you say?” DuPont asked.
“They’re the devil himself,” White answered. “Now let’s go back to the bar and get a proper drink,” he said, downing his glass.