Chapter 5
The stench from his fellow travelers—unwashed bodies and clothes, dirt and sweat—lay heavy in the air inside the packed train carriage.
Maybe the worst of the smell was coming from Sven himself.
The stress and fear that someone would discover the real purpose of his journey seemed to be seeping out of his pores along with the perspiration.
Sven hadn’t been in France since he’d completed his training with the Foreign Legion, before France surrendered and was occupied.
The people he had encountered on the train today were completely changed from the ones he’d seen then.
They sat in silence with their heads bowed, trying to make themselves as small as possible.
The only people making a noise, chatting and laughing, were the two German soldiers who had embarked just after Sven.
They had checked everyone’s papers and then stayed on board the train, which was heading all the way to Bordeaux.
At long last the train slowed down, but when the doors opened, more hot air came pouring in. Sven got off and was overwhelmed by the swirling dust on the platform. It was still only spring, but the past week had brought an unusual heat wave.
He had almost reached his final destination.
He took his documents out of his inside pocket and tried to look as relaxed as possible.
He had done this several times now, and this time he nearly felt as if he really was Per Jonsson, a carpenter from the Swedish city of Gothenburg, on his way to visit French relatives in Bordeaux.
Three German soldiers were stationed at the exit, checking documentation.
Two of them looked tired and, apparently exhausted by the heat and the burning sun, barely glanced at the proffered papers.
The third was a young man, bright and full of energy, who examined each person’s documents in detail, then smiled at them as he waved them through.
Sven hoped he wouldn’t get the conscientious soldier.
However, a second later the eager young man beckoned him forward.
Sven took a deep breath. His papers were credible; the resistance movement had done an excellent job.
At the same time, the Germans had been more on their guard ever since the Allies had grown stronger.
They seemed to see members of the resistance everywhere.
The thought of those courageous individuals, with whom Sven had been working ever since General Charles de Gaulle established the Free French, France’s resistance government-in-exile, made him feel immensely proud.
When the occupation of France began four years earlier and the then-government signed an armistice with Germany, part of the Foreign Legion had thrown their support to the Vichy government, collaborators with Nazi Germany.
But Sven’s brigade in the Foreign Legion had gone over to fighting for de Gaulle’s forces.
Just like the brave Frenchmen who now fought from inside France, risking their lives.
The soldier looked at Sven. “What is your business in Bordeaux?” His French was perfect, but spoken with a German accent.
Sven explained, also in French. The German examined the documents, waited a few seconds, turned the papers over, looked at Sven again, then gave them back. Sven had passed through many checkpoints, but he was equally nervous each time. Afraid of being exposed. Arrested. Maybe sent to a prison camp.
Disappearing into a prison camp.
Everything he did involved risk, but that had been the case ever since he had decided to join the French Foreign Legion and fight in the war.
The soldier gave a brief nod, then smiled and waved him through. Sven was about to move on when the German looked down at his suitcase.
“I need to check that.”
“Of course,” Sven replied, as if it were no problem at all. He opened the case and the soldier picked up the wooden boxes.
“Nice.” He nodded admiringly. “For wine?”
“That’s right. My relatives own a small vineyard in Médoc.”
The German turned the boxes this way and that, apparently inspecting the carpentry as Sven held his breath.
The man couldn’t possibly see the tiny space.
The minute gap above a loose piece of wood that had been pushed to one side from the base of the box, where the document had been placed.
If you didn’t know it was there, it was impossible to see it.
Someone might hear the loose piece of wood rattle if they shook the box, but the German simply looked at it.
Gave it back to Sven without further investigation.
“So you’re heading for the Médoc peninsula?”
“That’s right.” Sven kept his voice steady, as he had been trained to do. “Chateau de Chênes.”
“You can travel with me.” The German nodded in the direction of a car. “I’m going that way.”
“There’s no need, I can get there under my own steam. There’s a bus due shortly.” Sven looked at the silver watch his parents had given him for his twentieth birthday.
“I’m heading there anyway—that’s where I’m stationed, in the village where you’re going.
I was planning to leave in a little while—I’m sure I can get permission to go earlier.
” The soldier took a step closer to Sven.
“It would be nice to talk to someone with the same interests—I’m a carpenter too.
Back home in Germany.” He held out his hand.
“My name is Max.” He turned to his colleagues and said a few words in German.
The other soldiers nodded, and Max looked at Sven again. “Let’s go.”
Sven realized that he couldn’t say no. The offer of a ride was a friendly gesture, and you didn’t say no to a member of the occupying forces. Maybe the soldier was just being kind, or maybe he had a hidden agenda—it was impossible to tell. You couldn’t trust the Nazis.
Max led the way to his car and Sven jumped in.
“Most of my company are from Bavaria, from urban families. They’re not the children of carpenters, so there’s no one to talk to about craft. And I have to say, those boxes are a fine example of your skills.”
“Thanks,” Sven mumbled.
“Are they made of oak or . . . is it . . .” Max frowned. “I can’t think of the name for that type of wood in French.” He thought hard. “Big cones.” He made a large, elongated oval shape with his hands.
“You mean pine? Yes, you’re right.”
“That’s it, pine.” Max nodded.
Had it been a trick question? Max might suspect something, but Sven had given the perfect answer, as he had rehearsed before he left. He glanced at Max as he started the car; he certainly didn’t look suspicious.
Max set off through the town and out onto the main highway. The car was open-topped, and the country air swirled around them, bringing with it the smell of hay and a hint of the sea breeze from the Atlantic coast. Sven could almost taste the damp saltiness of the ocean.
He sat bolt upright all the way, ready for anything. He could only hope that Max would take him to the vineyard as promised, and that he hadn’t been caught out. If that were the case, Sven knew exactly how this would end.
He knew exactly what the Germans did to members of the resistance.