Chapter 7
Lizzie watched England slip away until the shadow of the French coast appeared in the distance.
The SOE had configured the cabin to sit up to three people, but it was still uncomfortable as Lizzie perched on the rearward-facing bench behind the pilot.
It was cold, but she was prepared for the freezing high-altitude temperatures and pulled Elizabeth Gale’s woollen navy coat tighter around her.
As she wasn’t parachuting in, they had decided she would dress ready for the journey to Bern.
If she was caught landing, she would be in hot water whatever she wore, so Jack said it was practical to be prepared for the most likely scenario.
That way she wouldn’t leave any trace of a woman who had landed near the Swiss border in the dead of night.
The Loire River twinkled in the moonlight, and she shifted on the hard seat, trying to get comfortable, thinking about what lay ahead as the aircraft cut through the dark skies towards Switzerland.
Her body ached, but she was far too tense to sleep, even though she knew she should try to rest. She must be ready for anything, which was the only way to approach an imminent arrival in Nazi-occupied territory, and the more tired she was, the less alert she would be.
It didn’t help her sleep, though, and her mind raced with thoughts of what was to come.
She consoled herself that at least she didn’t have to tumble through the black abyss by parachute like she usually did when she infiltrated France.
At Baker Street they’d told her that the aircraft would touch down briefly, and her Legation contact would arrange for a reception committee to guide the aircraft into the landing field.
With or without the reception committee that usually comprised local Resistance contacts, they would land, and if necessary, she would find her way alone, but it would be far smoother if the plane was guided in and she was met on the ground.
She closed her eyes, but the roaring noise of the engine reverberated around her, and soon she opened them again to see the Rhine River glittering far below in the moonlit night. They would near the border soon.
The pilot shouted over the noise of the engine to warn her to prepare for arrival.
She checked her pockets to make sure she had the forged identity papers and other essentials on her person before pulling her suitcase closer.
Through the darkness, she glimpsed a formation of pinpricks of torchlight and was relieved the reception committee had made it.
It was safe to land, and the plane buffeted through the air and descended sharply, rocking Lizzie from side to side so she nearly slipped off the hard bench. She uttered a few words of prayer.
This would be one of the most dangerous moments of the entire operation.
If the Nazis had somehow discovered an enemy plane was incoming, they would be arrested.
It wasn’t her imagination running away with her.
There had been several recent disasters in Holland where the Germans waited for SOE agents, pretending to be reception committees.
Lizzie held her breath as the tension within her increased.
Then the wheels hit the grass and bumped along the field as they hurtled along the landing strip and came to an abrupt stop.
There was no time to waste, so she jumped into action.
Her heart pounded as she slid the canopy back, the cold air rushing into her face.
This was the moment of truth. After thanking the pilot and wishing him a safe trip back to Blighty, she retrieved her suitcase and scrambled out.
Clinging to the fixed ladder, she searched for someone below to throw her case to before climbing down.
The friendly face of a man wearing typical farmer’s attire and a beret peered up at her by torchlight, and he beckoned for her to release the case as he sprang swiftly into position to catch it.
Then she climbed carefully down the ladder, which was designed for a quick exit, and into the sea of welcoming faces.
Lizzie breathed again as she heard the whispered French voices and sensed their excitement at her arrival.
They were a local Resistance cell, and she was at home in this clandestine world.
These brave fighters were integral to the SOE operations, and Val repeatedly said they couldn’t win the war without them.
The sound of the Lysander taking off again caught Lizzie’s attention, and she knew there was no going back. The mission had begun.
‘Hurry,’ whispered the farmer, and soon he shuffled her into a waiting truck, and the others melted away into the night as fast as the Lysander disappeared from view. ‘You’ll wait with my wife and me at the farm until first light, and then I’ll take you to the border.’
Lizzie turned to study the farmer’s silhouette and wondered who he was as she settled on the front seat beside him.
He reminded her of Pierre, the valiant leader of The Reims Network.
On her early missions, Pierre had greeted her and driven her to his farm where his lovely wife Camille had taken good care of her, and they had become firm friends.
As the truck bumped slowly along a dark track, her thoughts flitted to the first night she spent with Jack at the farmhouse in Reims. It was a thrilling time when she was a new agent and she and Jack were falling in love.
She hoped to see their good friends again soon, but it had been several years since she was posted to Reims, and the only news that they received from them was intelligence reports she decrypted in the cipher room at Baker Street.
The network had grown to a substantial number of operatives, and they were doing a fine job.
Lizzie’s mind switched back to the present.
The farmer was friendly but didn’t share his name, and neither did she.
Personal details, even fake ones, could get them killed, so they just smiled at each other.
When they reached his farmhouse, he made her a cup of tea and placed a piece of bread and ham in front of her on the kitchen table.
The rest of the night passed quickly as Lizzie dozed intermittently in a chair, her suitcase at her feet, and a sleepy cat purred on another chair nearby.
The gentle rhythm of the purr comforted her and helped her drift off to sleep.
Daylight streamed into the kitchen when the farmer shook her awake with a gentle tap on the shoulder.
She jerked awake, her awareness kicking into overdrive.
‘It’s time,’ he said. ‘Here, take this for the journey.’ He pressed an apple into her hand, and she tucked it into her pocket, thanking him. ‘There are regular trains to Bern from Basel, and the journey takes roughly an hour, so you’ll soon be there.’
They left the quiet farmhouse and the sleeping cat behind, and the farmer drove his passenger to St. Louis, a town on the border with Basel. They navigated the short distance through a crisscross of small tracks and lanes to avoid German checkpoints.
‘Bon chance,’ he said, indicating they had reached their destination.
His job was to get her to the border, and she thanked him and jumped out of the truck, pulling her suitcase after her. When she looked back, she saw the truck winding down the bumpy track.
She was about to reach another critical moment of the mission, and out of sight of the road, she took a few minutes to organise herself and make sure her papers were within reach.
Her cover identity and travel route meant the arduous journey might reasonably have exhausted her, and Lizzie imagined she was about as tidy as she would be expected to be at this hour after a long night.
Taking deep breaths, she stepped fully into the persona of Elizabeth Gale and took confident steps towards the border.
Val’s voice echoed in her mind as her shoes crunched on the frosty ground, her heart thumping hard against her chest. Lizzie had worried it would be as sinister as the border between Germany and Switzerland when she and Hannah were on the run, but Val had put her mind at rest.
‘It’s a sleepy town, so there should just be a simple barrier or booth across a road with French guards and perhaps a few German soldiers observing, with Swiss guards on the other side.
Nothing grand. There’ll be a small no-man’s land in the middle, but it will all be fine with your papers.
You’ll be a legitimate legation employee, so you’ll have solid cover.
It’s a different situation altogether from when you had to escape Berlin. ’
Val always told her it was nothing to worry about. There was no sense in sending an agent off imagining the worst, but still she concentrated on Val’s words and pushed her fears aside.
The usual German signage was on display on the French side, and her eyes flickered to the German military presence nearby. The soldiers weren’t even looking at her, and she thought this must be a good time to arrive after they’d done a tiresome night shift.
Stay calm, stay calm, she intoned silently.
A French border guard gave her papers a cursory glance and waved her through.
Lizzie didn’t hesitate but didn’t rush through either, even though she felt the urge.
Sudden movements risked attracting the attention of the German soldiers who appeared preoccupied in their nearby hut.
One of them yawned and lit a cigarette, his rifle slung over his grey-green clad shoulder.
Let me get through without the Germans questioning me.
Lizzie covered the ground until she approached the Swiss checkpoint, her heart banging so hard it echoed in her ears. An official examined her papers more closely than the French guard. Her hand shook slightly, and she shoved it in her pocket as she smiled politely and waited.
‘British?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve been posted to the British Legation in Bern.’
‘So I see,’ he said, his tone curt. ‘What is the purpose of your posting?’
‘I’m a translator and have come to replace a member of staff who had a family emergency.’
‘Translator to the Commercial Attaché?’
‘That’s correct,’ Lizzie said, her heart hammering as he continued to probe. Two more German soldiers drew up in an army truck and jumped out. It was time to change shifts, and these two looked more alert.
Come on, come on.
She could still be in danger until she stepped over the border onto Swiss soil. One soldier looked across at her, and she fought to maintain her composure.
When the Swiss guard saw her papers were diplomatic, he had addressed her in international style English, but now she switched smoothly to German, not wanting the German soldiers to hear the language of their enemy.
‘Everything should be in order, Herr Wachtmeister.’
Finally, the guard nodded, stamped her papers, and stepped aside for her to pass. ‘Welcome to Switzerland.’
Elizabeth Gale had made it.