Chapter 25
Chapter 25
No amount of SOE training could have prepared Fitz for the ordeal she underwent at the Gestapo house over the next twenty-four hours. She knew she was strong-willed but the pain she endured was almost unbearable, and apparently, according, to Engel, he was going easy on her because he liked her.
She’d been stripped to her underwear and tied to a chair, left for hours – either alone and blindfolded in darkness or with someone in the room. She didn’t know when the next assault would begin or where it was coming from.
She had drip-fed her interrogators information, some of it false and some of it true – the latter being information that would be useless by the time it was acted upon, like, the trains which were marked for sabotage, or the communication lines destined to be cut by the resistance. All rehearsed pieces of information which were designed to make her captors feel she was co-operating. It would buy her a day or two if she was lucky.
Fitz’s main concern was Yvette. Everything she was doing was not only to give Philippe and Margot more time to reorganise any of their plans, but to keep Yvette safe. She wasn’t one for praying, but she did that night, tied to the chair, blindfolded, with her hands in agony where she’d had her fingernails pulled out earlier that day. She had passed out with the pain and had been brought around with a bucket of ice-cold water being thrown over her. And now the little clothing she was wearing was still wet and she could feel the cold night air seeping into the room. She guessed a window had been left open, with the intention of making her as uncomfortable as possible. She dreaded to think what she looked like. Engel had taken great pleasure in dishing out several blows to her face and the threat of teeth being pulled out with a large pair of plyers he had brandished in front of her was what she had to look forward to next.
Exhausted from this onslaught, Fitz allowed herself to drift into a semi-conscious state. Her head bowed, she sensed she was alone in the room and could try to doze if nothing else. The pain in her fingertips was immense and her back was very sore from where she had been struck with a leather strap. She needed to rest. To sleep.
It wasn’t a deep sleep, though. As soon as she heard the door to the room open, she was wide-awake again. At the thought of what she was going to have to face today, her empty stomach churned. She had been deprived of food since she’d been brought here and been given a minimal amount of water – just enough to keep her alive she assumed.
The blindfold was removed from her eyes, and she squinted as the daylight dazzled her. Being blindfolded had heightened her other senses and she knew Engel was in the room by the smell of his pine-scented aftershave.
She flinched as someone touched her arm. She realised it was a soldier and he was untying the straps that had kept her wrists in place.
‘Good morning, Mademoiselle Bardot,’ said Engel. Fitz’s eyes finally adjusted to the light. And although she was not able to open them fully, she could make out Engel standing in front of her. ‘I’m sorry to say, your stay here has come to an end.’
Fitz had been fully prepared to die but to hear Engel’s words made the reality suddenly very stark. She took a deep breath, refusing to allow herself to cry. She’d be taken out to the courtyard and executed like André and Bernard. Maybe no one in England would ever know what she had gone through, but she would die knowing she hadn’t betrayed her country and with hope that Yvette was safe. She was certain if Engel had hold of Yvette, he would have used the child to get Fitz to talk. Fitz always knew that if that ever happened, then she would tell Engel everything he wanted to know. She would have done anything to save the child. Anything.
Her clothes were placed on the table in front of her, together with her shoes. At least she’d have the dignity of being dressed when they came to reclaim her body. She wondered if she’d be buried next to the airmen in Josselin cemetery. If Sam was buried there, then she would rest in eternal peace.
She got to her feet and immediately collapsed to the ground. Her legs were weak. Her body was exhausted. She felt the hands of the soldiers on her as they stood her up. She held onto the table for support. She did not want them to touch her.
It took Fitz what little energy she had to dress herself. Fastening the buttons on her blouse was especially difficult with her sore fingers. She had no idea what her face looked like but judging by the pain in her cheekbone and the swelling on her lip, she guessed she looked pretty damn awful. Still, though she might look totally broken on the outside, Engel hadn’t destroyed her spirit. That she still had.
She smoothed down her skirt and patted her hair, trying to tuck a few loose strands into place with the two fingers which still had their nails intact.
She wouldn’t look at Engel. She knew he’d be sniggering at her. She didn’t care. She stood up straight, looking at a point beyond his shoulder.
‘I shouldn’t worry too much about how you look,’ remarked Engel. ‘Where you’re going, no one will care.’
Where she was going? She wasn’t sure what he meant. To her death? Or somewhere else? She wanted to ask but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she cared.
‘Goodbye, Mademoiselle Bardot,’ said Engel. ‘I am sorry we didn’t meet under more favourable circumstances. I’m sure we would have got on very well indeed.’
Fitz remained silent. She didn’t want Engel to be the last face she looked at before she died. She’d already decided that her final thoughts would be of Yvette and Sam. People she cared deeply about. Her only regret was she hadn’t acknowledged the strength of her feelings for them sooner. For her to die and never have been able to tell either of them how much she cared – how much she loved them – that was the greatest tragedy of this whole sorry affair.
The soldier took Fitz’s arm and walked her out of the room. To Fitz’s surprise, instead of turning left to the rear garden and place of execution, the soldier shoved her towards the front door. Fitz was still unsteady on her feet and stumbled but grabbed hold of the banister.
‘Move,’ ordered the soldier in German.
Fitz concentrated hard, putting one foot in front of the other. Was she being set free? A glimmer of hope filled her heart. Maybe they were going to let her go.
The soldier moved in front of her and opened the door and as Fitz stepped out onto the doorstep the glimmer of hope was snuffed out.
There was a military truck waiting outside and she was ordered to climb in the back. Each side of the truck, the benches were lined with mostly men, about fifteen of them and three women, who shuffled up so Fitz could sit with them. Two soldiers sat at the end nearest the back of the truck.
Fitz looked around at the faces. Some had suffered the same fate as her, judging by the bruising and injuries. While others simply looked broken, the light in their eyes extinguished. She realised with a sickening feeling in her stomach that she wasn’t being released at all. She might have been given a stay of execution that morning, but she was by no stretch of the imagination free. They were all prisoners. The truck trundled on through the town heading in the rough direction of Rennes.
‘Where are we going?’ Fitz whispered to the woman next to her, who looked to be in her mid to late thirties. She had a black eye but other than that, looked unscathed. Fitz couldn’t help wondering what she had done to be on the back of a truck.
The woman looked at her as if she was stupid.
It was a man sitting opposite who answered. ‘You really don’t know?’
Fitz shook her head. ‘No.’
The woman made a scoffing noise. ‘She thinks she’s going on holiday, maybe?’
This earned a chuckle from the people either side of them. The man leaned forward. ‘You’ve heard of the internment camps being set up across the country?’
Fitz clamped her mouth tightly closed, to stop her bottom lip trembling. This was not the time to start crying. If the man was right, then she was to be interned in some sort of detention camp. She knew the Nazis were already sending people there, most of them who the Nazis termed ‘nomads’, but also some Jews and non-French nationals. A place where people were just detained, they weren’t put on trial or sentenced, they were simply held there for as long as their captors wanted.
Silence fell across the truck as it continued on its journey. Fitz was jostled against the people either side of her as the truck swayed over uneven ground. As she looked around at the dejected faces of her fellow travellers, she noticed one thing – acceptance of fate. All hope had gone from their eyes.
Over the next couple of hours, the truck stopped in several different towns to collect more prisoners. Every one of them looked dirty, and they smelled. Fitz guessed she was no different to the others. She certainly hadn’t been offered any soap and water before she was released from Engel’s custody. Yet, despite the bodily smells, they all huddled together in a bid to keep themselves warm in the cold December air.
After collecting more prisoners, the truck was rammed full and some of the new pick-ups had to sit on the floor, three abreast. Then the rain began. Small infrequent drops to start with, but then larger heavier blobs, falling fast from the sky. The soldiers pulled a plastic sheet over themselves, but there was no shelter for Fitz and the others.
Fitz welcomed the rain, at least she had a chance to get some of the filth and dried blood from her skin. She lifted her chin up to the sky, just as she had done before she’d stepped inside the Gestapo house. She relished the fresh water, the feeling of being alive. She had seen the sky again, when she thought she wouldn’t. There was still hope. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was hoping for in the short term, but long term, she hoped she survived this war and was able to see her family again. And, of course, that somehow Sam was still alive, somewhere out there. Maybe he was trying to find his way back to England. She had to cling onto that hope. If she didn’t, what was the point? What did her mother used to say? Where there’s life there’s hope. If that’s all Fitz had, then she would take it.
The rain didn’t show any signs of easing over an hour later. If anything, it was as if the grey rain-filled clouds were following them. Everyone was drenched and as the day wore on and the sun sloped lower in the sky, with it came the cold.
When the truck drew to a halt, Fitz thought they must be stopping for the night, but looking around from the back of the vehicle, all she could see were trees either side of the road. Then voices came from the cab and doors opened and closed as the driver and co-driver disembarked. The two motorcycle outriders and the jeep that was escorting the truck all stopped a little way ahead. Something was happening. Fitz leaned back and could just about see around the cab. In front of them was another truck like the one she was travelling in, except it had a canvas canopy which was open at the back, where two guards were seated.
There was a brief conversation between drivers and then both trucks began to move again in convoy.
They trundled on through the French countryside in an easterly direction, the heavy rain making the journey laborious as they stopped in several more villages, collecting more prisoners. Fitz estimated they had at least fifty people across the two vehicles. Sometimes it was a person on their own, other times it was whole families.
At one point, they stopped near a forest, and in groups of ten the prisoners were allowed to disembark and relieve themselves in a drainage ditch. Fitz hated the way they were being treated as if they were sub-human. As she climbed out of the ditch, she glanced across to the other truck where there were more women with children.
And there amongst the group climbing out of the truck, she saw her.
The blonde hair still tied in the plaits. The teddy clutched under her arm.
It was Yvette.
Fitz gasped. Her instinct was to call out to Yvette, but she managed to stop herself. She didn’t want to draw attention to them and what if Yvette broke away and tried to run over towards Fitz? The guards might think she was trying to escape and shoot her. All these thoughts rushed through Fitz’s mind in a second.
‘Hurry up!’ shouted a guard, jabbing his rifle in her direction.
Fitz scrambled up the grass bank and took another quick, but discreet, glance at Yvette. The initial joy and relief of seeing the little girl was quickly replaced by sadness and fear. Yvette hadn’t got away. Had Margot and Philippe been arrested and was Yvette with them at the time? Or had Margot taken her to the family she mentioned and for some reason they’d given Yvette up to the authorities? Were they there on the truck or was Yvette alone?
Fitz tried to see if anyone appeared to be looking after Yvette but she lost sight of her in the group as they slid down the bank into the ditch.
Once she was in the truck, Fitz couldn’t see the other vehicle properly. As she sat down on the wooden bench, she tried to work out a plan to get to Yvette. Maybe she could get her on this truck with her. She was desperate to take care of the child. It was her fault Yvette had been caught. Fitz felt a great wave of responsibility for Yvette and equally a huge burden of guilt. She had let the little girl down. She wasn’t sure she could live with herself. She had to find a way to get to her. At least then Yvette wouldn’t be alone.
Thirty minutes later, the trucks were on the road again. The rain had not stopped, and large puddles were forming as the water made its way to the lowest point. With the occupation, the maintenance of the land and the ditches hadn’t been a priority for the Germans and the excess water had nowhere to escape to other than across the roads. The grass verges were sodden.
As dusk began to fall and the last of the daylight was fading, the trucks finally pulled off the road and into a field which bordered dense woodland. Everyone was ordered off the trucks and escorted to the trees where they were made to crowd together with only the pine trees as cover. They had been kept in two separate groups and Fitz had not had the opportunity to get anywhere near Yvette. She had caught sight of her every now and again through the groups of people, but Fitz still couldn’t work out if Yvette was alone or not.
The prisoners all huddled down on the damp forest floor, and Fitz wished she could wrap her arms around Yvette to reassure her and to keep her warm. As they sat there, Fitz did consider her chances of escaping. There were twelve guards altogether, with six on duty and six sleeping. She wondered how far she would get and where she would run to?
‘Don’t even think about it,’ said a voice in her ear.
It was the man who had sat opposite her on the truck.
‘Think about what?’ said Fitz. It was best to be on her guard, she didn’t know who she could trust here. Admit to nothing for as long as possible had been a piece of advice she’d been given back at SOE training.
The man sitting next to her raised his eyebrows. ‘They wouldn’t hesitate to kill you. Or some of us as punishment.’
Sadly, it was true. Reprisal executions were a very effective deterrent.
‘I’m not planning on trying to escape,’ replied Fitz. And it was the truth. Breaking free was just a fantasy. Nothing more than a romantic idea to keep her spirits up because, ultimately, she couldn’t escape without Yvette.
The rain stopped at some point during the night, but by the time morning came, it had started again. The two parties were escorted back to the trucks. The field was like a sponge as they picked their way across the uncut grass, before climbing into the trucks.
Now back on the hard, wooden bench, Fitz waited as the drivers brought the engines to life and prepared to move out.
The engines revved high and the trucks protested at being required to cross the boggy grass through the gateway and out onto the road. As the first truck got to the gateway, Fitz could hear the engine being worked hard to drive the vehicle through the mud, it sounded like it was wheel spinning. After a few fruitless minutes of trying to get any traction, Fitz and the rest of the prisoners in her truck, were ordered out to push the first one.
The mud was deep and squelchy, coming over her shoes, the act of just lifting her foot out of the mud wasn’t easy. Under the orders of the guards, they tried as hard as they could to push the truck forwards but it wouldn’t budge. Several prisoners were escorted back to the forest to gather branches to place under the tyres and the passengers on the first truck were ordered out. The rain was driving down now and thunder clapped in the sky. The guards had to shout to be heard over the noise of the weather. In the commotion, Fitz had managed to shuffle near to the back of the truck and as the passengers disembarked she watched like a hawk, waiting for Yvette. As soon as Fitz saw the blonde hair of the child, she pushed her way forwards and grabbed Yvette’s hand.
Yvette didn’t look up and Fitz dragged her back into the crowd, before crouching in front of her. ‘Yvette,’ she said, lifting the child’s chin up. ‘It’s me, Claudine.’
Yvette’s eyes widened like two saucers. She gasped for breath, burst into tears and then threw herself at Fitz, wrapping her arms around her neck and holding on so tightly, Fitz almost lost balance. Gently she prised Yvette’s hands from around her. Yvette moved back and studied Fitz’s face. She lifted a hand and her fingertips lightly touching the bruised cheekbone. ‘What happened to your face?’
Fitz realised she must look a frightening sight with her injuries. She smiled reassuringly. ‘It’s all right. It will soon get better.’ She wiped the tears from Yvette’s face. ‘Don’t cry now,’ she soothed. ‘Everything is all right. We’ll stay together.’