Chapter 8
Lizzie had studied a map of Colmar at Baker Street, but they had agreed she should familiarise herself in person with the key landmarks and layout of the town.
If she were stopped and questioned again, she would say she was in town to catch the train to Berlin, and the rest of her cover story was in place.
‘You won’t need more than a few hours before setting off for Strasbourg,’ Val had confirmed when she prepped her. ‘Colmar is a compact, charming medieval town—or at least it used to be. Now it’s under Gauleiter Robert Wagner’s brutal regime, I imagine it will have considerably less charm.’
Lizzie buttoned her raincoat as she gazed about her, taking in the picturesque, colourful houses and the half-timbered buildings with exposed beams that reminded her of Tudor architecture.
She knew from her training that the traditional German architecture style was called Fachwerk and would have replaced the French term, colombage.
Her culture trainer’s voice rang in her head as she took in the details around her and committed them to memory in case she was questioned in Berlin. ‘The Germans cite this as proof that Alsace has always been German, not French.’
Lizzie followed the river that wound through the canal district and saw the queues by the covered market and then passed through the Tanner’s quarter, signposted in German: Gerberviertel.
As Lizzie navigated what just a few years earlier must have been a carefree, pretty French town, her mood sank as she noticed the heavy German military presence and Nazi flags at every turn. The Old Customs House had a giant swastika flying from its roof, and she felt sick at the sight.
No matter how many times she went undercover, it was always a shock when she returned to Nazi-occupied France.
Despite the rations, the marketplace bustled, and she spotted the farmer who had given her a ride into town. He was unloading produce onto one of the tables, and as she passed by, she wished him a good day.
The arduous, long night and the chill of the November morning had taken their toll, and Lizzie was cold and weary. When she saw the row of cafés, she went inside one and sat by the window that overlooked the market square.
German soldiers patrolled, and mostly women moved from stall to stall, stooped against the harsh wind, headscarves on and baskets over their arms.
A young girl asked her what she wanted, and she ordered a coffee—there was no need to specify which type because Lizzie knew there would be only black ersatz coffee.
Cream was like a distant memory in occupied France.
Lizzie’s stomach rumbled, and when the girl told her what they had left, she used a ration coupon and ordered one of the famous Alsatian flatbreads.
She had walked around the town several times and now had a good sense of what Colmar was like under Nazi occupation.
The bowed heads and empty eyes of the locals as they hurried about their business on this chilly market day reminded her of St. Malo and told the entire story.
It had been a similar experience as if the city she loved from her youth had its soul ripped out.
The population of Colmar was clearly under constant surveillance, and the Alsatian dialect which locals had spoken for centuries, whether the town fell under French or German rule, was barely tolerated.
Lizzie chewed on the dry flatbread, grateful for something to eat before the long journey that lay ahead. Soon she would walk to the station and catch the train to Strasbourg.
The thought of seeing Hannah imminently made her fizz with excitement, but when she thought of Henry, her stomach lurched. What a horrid task. She found herself more scared of that than of travelling to Berlin, which she knew was ludicrous.
Give her tangible enemies to fight and she was resolved to take them down with everything she had, but telling her dear friend that her fiancé had been shot down in Germany, the home that had turned against her, seemed too much for Lizzie to bear.
She finished the flatbread and drained the grainy coffee, grimacing at the taste of the dregs as she swallowed.
There was a discarded newspaper on a nearby vacant table, and she reached to pull it towards her.
Reading German-controlled newspapers was a reliable way to see immediately what the locals were being told.
Lizzie scanned the headlines of the wrinkled copy of The Alsatian published in High German. A Nazi eagle and swastika were printed at the top of the newspaper.
Reading as fast as she could, she saw it was full of the usual Nazi rhetoric and anti-Jewish conspiracy theories.
“Our courageous soldiers continue the fight for Stalingrad and are advancing every day. Ultimate victory will be ours in a matter of days. Stalingrad will soon fall.”
Lizzie knew from the latest reports in London that the Germans had suffered severe losses at Stalingrad in lethal urban warfare against the Soviets, and the heroic picture the paper painted was far from the brutal truth.
German troops were stuck in the city, with snow falling and winter fast setting in. It was a very different battle from the desert war fought in North Africa in the relentless, scorching sun. The tide was finally turning against Germany.
Meanwhile, the German Afrika Korps, led by Field Marshal Rommel, had invaded Egypt and threatened the Suez Canal and Middle Eastern oil fields.
General Montgomery had secured a British victory at El Alamein before the Germans could take Alexandria and Cairo.
It was said that Rommel was retreating across Libya, and his men were out of supplies.
The word at Baker Street was that this was the first significant land victory for the Allies, which had buoyed Lizzie’s spirits before she set out on her mission.
Until recently, the war had felt like a never-ending slog with no tangible reward in sight.
It was going on so much longer than anyone had envisioned at the outset, and sometimes it felt like they would always be fighting this endless, bloody war.
The empty café was filling up as people finished their shopping at the market and drifted in.
Lizzie’s senses were on overdrive when a couple of German officers entered.
One looked her way, and she quickly averted her eyes.
She knew better than to make contact unless necessary.
Once they were settled at a table in the centre, she signalled for the bill and prepared to leave before there could be any complications.
Just as she was repositioning her cloche hat and retrieving her bag, a pair of shiny black boots appeared in her view. Her heart thumped as she raised her eyes cautiously to the officer looming over her.
For a second, she panicked that he suspected her.
Stay calm, stay calm, she repeated in her mind like a ticker tape. Never assume the worst and always act naturally.
As frightening as it was to be immersed in Nazi-occupied territory, her instincts kicked in and her hard-won experience guided her.
‘Darf ich, Fr?ulein?’ he asked politely, his voice smooth and confident as he pointed to the discarded newspaper.
Lizzie nodded with a faint smile. ‘Bitte,’
Too keen and she might attract attention and give out false signals, but too austere and she could arouse resentment. No one was under any illusion that the locals were in charge of their lives, so the best course of action was to appear to comply and get away as soon as possible.
After he took the newspaper back to his table, her heartbeat gradually slowed, and she slipped her raincoat back on from where it lay over a chair. She buried her trembling hands in her pockets as she set out for the train station without glancing back.
It scared her how much the small interaction had shaken her. Soon she would be in Berlin, surrounded by Nazis and German citizens who largely supported Hitler and were led to believe they would be victorious, and that it was the beginning of the thousand-year Reich.
It was a very different situation from being an undercover agent in occupied France. She never knew who a collaborator or a supporter of the Allies might be, but the French Resistance now operated in most areas, and there was always someone willing to help if you knew the signs.
Here she was, alone on the edge of Germany, and it was terrifying, but the prospect of meeting Hannah cheered her. As she entered the station and walked towards the military police, her senses screeched.
Not too slow and not too fast, she schooled herself.
One stepped forward and demanded to see her identity papers and travel permit. ‘Where to today?’
She explained she was travelling to Strasbourg and then on to Berlin.
‘What is the purpose of your journey to our great city?’ he said, scanning the papers and then her face.
Lizzie, offered the cover story she had rehearsed repeatedly, now and then dropping in a word from the Alsatian dialect as if she were doing her best to speak High German.
Her smile was sweet as she raised her face to his and told him she was excited to travel to Berlin.
There was no reason to bring Hannah into it yet, so she said as little as possible.
The officer smirked at her explanation. ‘Ah, you have Volksdeutsche status. Embracing your German identity and returning home to the Fatherland is commendable, Frau Weber,’ he said, handing her papers back to her with an approving smile.
Lizzie purchased her ticket and boarded the train, her heart still pounding and the adrenaline rushing through her veins.
The papers had passed inspection, and the officer had bought into her story about her being an ethnic German and war widow who was moving to Berlin after losing her husband in the war.
The small train was only half full, and the short journey passed uneventfully. Lizzie emerged into the large Strasbourg station and scanned the platforms. It was busy, and she blended into the stream of people buzzing about.
Hannah was due in from Lyon, which was a much longer trip than Lizzie’s from Colmar. Lizzie asked at the counter about the arrival of the next train and was told it would be another hour or so.
The sky had morphed into an ominous grey, and it was growing colder, so she went straight to the station café. There was no point in risking more checkpoints when they would leave on the train to Berlin as soon as Hannah got in.
She sat in the corner of the shabby café, nursing another bitter-tasting coffee and wondered how long she’d have to wait.
It was entirely possible Hannah had made slow progress and wouldn’t be in until much later.
During the planning stage, they agreed it was worth taking the chance of waiting at the station, and only if one of them didn’t show up would the other take the overnight train to Berlin alone.
Lizzie hoped she wouldn’t have to, but as the hours dragged by there was still no sign of Hannah.