Chapter 12 Winter 1941
Chapter 12
Winter 1941
When Fitz had agreed to join the Joint Technical Board that day at Biggin Hill airfield, she hadn’t known what to expect. All she knew was she had entered into the secretive world of the SOE(F) Special Operations Executive (France).
After being interviewed officially in London at the Baker Street headquarters of the SOE, Fitz had only five days to say her goodbyes to Marjorie and Elsie and all the other colleagues at the Hamble ferry pool.
‘I can’t believe you’re leaving us,’ bemoaned Elsie as she had helped Fitz pack her bag.
‘Just the two of us left now,’ said Marjorie.
‘You will keep in touch, won’t you?’ said Elsie.
‘Of course. As much as I can,’ replied Fitz, inwardly wincing at the lie. She would not be permitted to communicate very often with her friends for fear of giving away what she was up to. She didn’t know if she’d be needed for further assignments once she was back from this one. Assuming, of course, she made it back. Fitz was very aware of the dangers. They had been spelled out at her interview in London so she was under no misunderstanding about what she was doing. It wasn’t the time for rose coloured glasses she had been told.
Even though Fitz knew what she was undertaking was dangerous, and that she had lost Betty and Johnny to the war, it was still hard to truly, deep down inside, believe she could lose her life. Whether her mind was trying to protect her, she didn’t know, but the thought of dying didn’t frighten her. However, she was all too aware this was totally at odds with her fear of Sam dying. That she couldn’t even contemplate.
‘You know Fitz is going to be far too busy doing lots of exciting stuff,’ said Marjorie.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t call being an air-taxi service exciting stuff,’ said Fitz.
Marjorie fixed Fitz with a long look. ‘Darling, Fitz,’ she began. ‘The three of us know full well that you’re not going to be a taxi service. You don’t get called up to London out of the blue like that and then have to hot-foot it out of here in a few days with very vague information of where you’re going and what you’re doing.’
Fitz bit her lip. ‘I really can’t comment.’
Marjorie smiled and stepped forward to hug her friend. ‘No. I shouldn’t ask, so I’m not going to.’
‘We will miss you, Fitz,’ said Elsie. ‘Whatever you’re doing, know that you’ll be in our thoughts and prayers.’
Marjorie made a scoffing noise. ‘You’ll be in my thoughts at least. If I did pray, then you’d be in those, too; but as I don’t …’ She left the sentence unfinished as Fitz hugged her this time.
‘Take care both of you,’ she said. ‘I’ll miss you both and with fair weather and a tail wind I’ll be back very soon.’
She blew kisses from the gate, before climbing into the waiting taxi.
Initially, Fitz had no idea where she was going, only that she was to pack for all weathers. So secretive was the branch, she was first taken to what was termed as Preliminary School where they were assessed for the suitability for whatever it was they were going to be requested to do. Neither Fitz nor the other candidates had any real idea what the branch actually did. Every day, at least one or two candidates were deemed unsuitable and swiftly sent home.
During her first three weeks of assessment Fitz learnt far more than she imagined, weapons handling, unarmed combat, elementary demolitions, map reading, field craft and basic signalling. She passed that without any problems and was then sent to Paramilitary School in Scotland for further training and then on to Manchester for parachute training. This came easy to Fitz, after all, it was an essential skill to have as a pilot.
After that it was Beaulieu in the New Forest for what was called Finishing School. Fitz wasn’t sure this was the type of finishing school her father would have wanted her to attend, but she was certain it was far more up her street than a Swiss boarding school. It was in the New Forest where she was educated in the art of being a spy. It sounded all very exciting and Fitz thoroughly enjoyed learning about personal security, clandestine life, communication in the field and how to maintain a cover story.
She wished she could tell Marjorie and Elsie what she was up to, they would be thrilled to know she had entered the world of spying.
It was also at this point that the recruits who had made it this far were told about SOE and what they were about to undertake once they had completed the training programme. Fitz had been sworn to secrecy even to her colleagues, friends and family. Under no circumstances was she to breathe a word of what she was doing. Very few people knew about the SOE so Fitz had to come up with a cover story that she had been asked to work for the Joint Technical Board as a pilot – the department was a totally fictitious one of course.
Fitz felt dreadfully deceitful not being able to tell even Marjorie or Elsie what she was up to but she knew it was for the best. It wasn’t only to protect herself, it was to protect all the other operatives in and out of the field.
After three months of intensive and highly secretive training, and Christmas fast approaching, Fitz knew the details of her assignment off by heart, and was about to be flown out to France by the next full moon and dropped behind enemy lines. Wilding had been to see her two days before with the details of the mission.
‘The mission is to kidnap a highly regarded Colonel Rolf Hoffmann of the Wehrmacht. He has certain information we need and it’s a good bargaining chip for us. You’ll be tasked with … well to put it bluntly, seducing him. Getting him on his own in the right place at the right time, so the rest of our operatives can kidnap him.’
‘When you say seducing him …’ began Fitz.
‘Whatever it takes to have him where we need him.’ Wilding eyed her. ‘You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you?’
‘Whatever it takes?’
‘Yes.’
Fitz took a moment to consider this. Truly consider what this could mean. She’d certainly have to flirt with him – that in itself wasn’t something that troubled her. She would probably have to cuddle up to him and kiss him. Not terribly appealing, but she could do that.
Then, of course, there was what came next. She might have to have sex with the German officer. That, most definitely, was not appealing. Could she do it?
She ignored the little shiver of distaste that ran through her at the thought. She’d have to somehow shut down emotionally. Disconnect herself from what she was doing. A fleeting moment of guilt ran through her as she thought of Sam. She pushed it away. She couldn’t let her mind go there. Sex with a German officer was totally different – incomparable. It would be done out of duty and nothing more. If that’s what she had to do, then she’d bloody well do it.
She looked up at Wilding. ‘Is that all?’
He gave her a look that said he already knew she wouldn’t back down from the mission. ‘Your skills as a pilot will be imperative to fly him back to England. There will be an aeroplane waiting for you. In fact, it’s Colonel Hoffmann’s private aircraft. It will be fuelled and ready to go. You’ll be back to Blighty, tucking into your Christmas turkey before you know it,’ said Wilding. ‘You think you can do that?’
‘Seduce a German officer? Help kidnap him? Fly him back to England in time for Christmas dinner?’ Fitz lifted her chin. ‘I’m sure I can.’
‘Yes, we thought this would be up your street,’ said Wilding. He took an envelope from his desk and passed it to her. ‘You will be Claudine Bardot, the daughter of a wealthy businessman in Paris who has been sent to the Brittany countryside to stay with her cousin at Josselin Castle for the Christmas period. Colonel Hoffmann is visiting there for three nights, arriving on the twenty-third. On Christmas Eve, he will be attending a drinks evening and piano recital. You will make yourself known to him and encourage him out into the garden at 2100 hours. You’re to take a walk alongside the north wall. Once there, you will be greeted by the resistance and Hoffmann will be ushered into a waiting car. You’re to go, too. You’ll be driven to an airfield and the waiting aircraft that has been conveniently diverted from Vannes for the Colonel’s flight back to Paris.’
It all sounded exciting and a little scary but she embraced the idea of danger. It’s what she thrived on. This challenge was exactly what was needed. It would help her to stop thinking about Sam. Much as she’d tried to put him to the back of her mind, it had proved impossible.
The day finally arrived for Fitz to begin her mission into occupied France and to seduce the German officer. She was sent to Bignor House to stay overnight with Barbara Bertram and her family. It was hard to believe this house tucked away in the West Sussex countryside was a safe house for transferring SOE operatives into France.
At the house was a Frenchman, André, who was going to be working alongside Fitz in Brittany. She didn’t know what his real name was, only his cover story, or at least enough of it so if they were questioned by the Germans, she would be convincing as a friend of the family.
Fitz had been given the codename Nathalie though her undercover name, in France, was Claudine.
After spending the night at Bignor House, Fitz and André were transferred down to RAF Tangmere. It felt strange coming to the airfield dressed in civilian clothes and being taken to Tangmere Cottage where they were to receive a final briefing before being flown out that night on the full moon.
Fitz couldn’t help wondering if she’d see Sam. Part of her hoped not. She didn’t need any distractions before going out on a mission but another part of her – her heart – desperately wanted to see him. She had to ignore her heart. It hadn’t healed as she hoped it would. Despite being incredibly busy and tired throughout her SOE training, Sam had never been far from her thoughts. He had been her first thought in the morning and her last thought at night. Whoever said, ‘out of sight, out of mind’, clearly had never been in love.
Wilding, and another army officer, headed up the briefing where they went over the final details of the mission but only in as much as what Fitz and André needed to know right at that moment. They were being flown in behind enemy lines that night, the 21st December, where they were to make contact with a local resistance group in Josselin. All Fitz knew, was that her contact was a woman called Margot and they were to meet at the well behind Chateau Josselin at noon the next day, the 22nd. Margot would identify herself with the agreed code word.
‘If for any reason you’re unable to make the rendezvous that day, you’re to try again the following day, on the twenty-third,’ instructed Wilding. ‘Try not to mess it up, though. Miss the second rendezvous and you’re on your own. You’ll have to use your initiative to contact Margot. Whatever happens, the kidnap has to happen on Christmas Eve, without fail.’
‘We won’t get another chance like this,’ said the other officer.
‘If all goes well, you’ll be back on the plane to England in time for Christmas dinner,’ said Wilding with a smile.
‘Right, so is that all clear and understood?’ asked the officer.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Fitz. André confirmed his understanding in the same way.
‘Good,’ said Wilding. ‘Now, get yourselves over to the mess room and someone will call you when it’s time to leave.’ He paused and looked from Fitz to the Frenchman. ‘Good luck, and see you back here in a few days with our guest.’
A jeep whisked them from Tangmere Cottage across the airfield to the mess room. Fitz’s heart was thudding hard. Not because she was frightened of the mission, but because she could well bump into Sam now.
There were only a couple of pilots in the mess room. It was mid-week and an apparently quiet evening. Fitz didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved Sam wasn’t there. She had so many conflicting feelings about him, she felt in a permanent state of unrest. She really needed to focus on the mission. She couldn’t be distracted by thoughts of Sam.
She had been keeping her mind occupied by reading a book for the past hour when the door opened and she looked up to see Bob coming into the mess.
‘Ah, F––’ He managed to stop himself when she quickly put her finger to her lips.
Fitz got up from the chair and indicated to the door.
‘Hello, Bob,’ she said once they were outside. ‘How are you?’
‘Fitz,’ said Bob. He didn’t return her smile and his expression looked serious.
‘Is everything all right?’ asked Fitz, wondering if there was something wrong with the aircraft which meant the mission couldn’t go ahead.
Bob rubbed the back of his buzz-cut. ‘I’ve got something for you.’ He fished into his pocket and brought out an envelope.
Fitz looked down at the airmail letter, which military personnel used to send letters home. This one had no stamp, though, just Fitz’s name. She knew instantly it was from Sam.
She looked from the letter to Bob. ‘I don’t know if I should open it,’ she said. ‘What do you think?’
Bob shrugged. ‘I wasn’t sure, but when I saw you sitting in there, I realised it was you being flown out tonight. I thought you should at least have the opportunity to decide before you left. In case … well, you know.’
‘In case I don’t come back,’ said Fitz.
Bob nodded. ‘Sam gave it to me last week. He said to give it to you the next time I saw you. He didn’t think you’d want to speak to him so he wrote a letter instead.’
‘Where is Sam now?’ asked Fitz, looking around, half expecting him to emerge from the hangar like he had done before.
Bob looked down at the ground, not meeting her eye.
‘Where’s Sam?’ she asked again, this time her voice quieter.
Bob shook his head before looking up at her. He took a deep breath. ‘We’re not sure,’ he said eventually.
‘Not sure? What does that mean?’ asked Fitz. Her heart had picked up its pace now.
‘He took a plane out to France last night. A drop-off.’
‘A drop-off? What was he doing flying a drop-off?’ Her voice sounded tight in her throat.
‘Last minute they needed a pilot. The pilot, Micky Jenkins, got ill. Sam volunteered. There wasn’t time to get anyone else. Jenkins was literally sick just as he was about to climb into the cockpit.’
‘And Sam stepped up. Oh, God. What’s happened?’ asked Fitz.
‘He was shot down. That’s what the reports are we’re getting from across the channel anyway,’ said Bob.
Fitz was sure the whole world stopped for several seconds as she took in the news. Sam was missing in action. Was he presumed dead? She shouldn’t be entertaining such an idea. Not when she was about to be dropped in France herself.
She looked up at Bob. ‘Whereabouts in France did the plane go down?’
‘Not sure, exactly, but central Brittany. He was flying a VIP out there for a meeting. It was all hush-hush. Couldn’t be delayed and that’s why Sam stepped up.’
‘Stupid, stupid man,’ said Fitz, her voice cracking completely. She blinked hard. She didn’t want to cry. She had no right to cry. She had spurned Sam and now he could be captured, lying injured somewhere … or indeed … dead. The tears sprang from her eyes at that thought and she quickly brushed them away.
‘I didn’t know whether to tell you,’ said Bob. ‘But I thought you should know.’
‘Thank you, Bob,’ replied Fitz. ‘I appreciate you telling me.’ She looked down at the letter. She wouldn’t be able to take it with her. They weren’t allowed any personal effects, just in case they were captured. It would blow her cover in seconds if a love letter was found.
But she didn’t want to read it and then hand an opened letter back to Bob. Whatever Sam had written, it was private between the two of them.
Bob held out a box of matches to her. ‘You could read it and burn it afterwards,’ he suggested as if knowing what she was thinking.
It was a tempting solution, but Fitz didn’t know if she could bear to burn a letter from Sam. What if it was the last letter she was ever to receive from him?
She shook her head at the box of matches. ‘I don’t want to burn it,’ she said and held the unopened letter to Bob. ‘I’ll read it when I get back.’
Bob eyed her for a moment before taking the letter from her. ‘You sure?’ She nodded. He pushed the letter into his pocket. ‘All right. I’ll make sure it’s safe until then.’