The Life That I Have

Chapter 26

"Ten miles? Are you sure it was ten miles?" Anya demanded.

  Gilles nodded.

  "That's what she said. I could go and ask her again if you want."

  Anya shook her head and looked down at the map that Paul was studying.

  "Yep, there it is, the prison is right there," he pointed.

  "That's about thirty miles away from here," Anya commented.

  "Yes, not too far away for the rescue," Gilles chipped in.

  "Rescue? Who said anything about a rescue?" Jean-Marc said sternly.

  Anya looked horrified at him.

  "You mean you're not going to attempt a rescue? After all he's done for us? If it wasn't for Rudi, we would all be dead several times over!" she exclaimed.

  "It could cost many lives to get him out, and besides, we don't even know if it is possible," Paul said gently.

  Anya spun around to face him.

  "You're in on this too? If you leave him– you are just as bad as the Nazis."

  "Be reasonable, Anya! After all, you won't be the one attempting the rescue."

  Paul had just trodden on eggshells.

  "No, because I've been given my marching orders by you and I'm being shipped off to England in a week!" she almost shouted. There was silence.

  "I can't believe I'm hearing this!" Anya scoffed, and stormed out of the room.

  She ran through the corridors until she at last reached her room, where she found Marilyne sitting with Tippy in her lap.

  "Who the hell are you?" she demanded, a little breathless.

  Marilyne sprang to her feet.

  "I'm so sorry! Gilles told me to come here. I'm Marilyne," she explained.

  "Oh, yes, the girl from the farm. Well, if I were you I'd go back there, pronto."

  With that, she left, leaving a bewildered Marilyne behind her.

Laurent passed the large crate of food to the hefty prison cook. Looking up, he could see thousands of miserable faces peering down at him from the small, barred windows.

  Poor devils, he thought. He could barely begin to imagine the horrors that they had and would be going through.

  He looked back into the kitchen, where the muscle-bound chef was unloading loafs of bread from one of the boxes into the storeroom.

  Suddenly, a thought struck Laurent. It had never occurred to him before how easy it would be to drug the food that went to the guards. Yes... that idea might come in handy one day... almost the whole prison would be fast asleep, totally unaware of the things that were going on around it...

Marilyne had decided to take Tippy for a walk. Like Gilles, she wanted to prove herself with the Maquis, even if it was just for little things.

  She couldn't find a lead, so she attached a piece of red ribbon to Tippy's collar.

  The chilly breeze outside hit her like a slap in the face as she stepped outside onto the rough hillside. She decided to explore around the castle, and began to stroll around the back of the castle. It was there she noticed Anya, who was sat in a narrow alcove hugging her knees.

  "Oh, hello," Marilyn said awkwardly.

  Anya gave her a glum smile.

  "Sorry about earlier. But I was just so angry..."

  "About what?"

  "You know they aren't going to rescue him?"

  "Who?" Marilyne asked.

  "Rudi."

  "Rudi? He's German?"

  Anya nodded.

  "Not all Germans are Nazis. He must have saved my life so many times– all of us. And he..."

  Curiosity overcame Marilyne.

  "He's the father of your child?"

  Once again, Anya nodded.

  "You will help me, won't you? You will help me talk them around?"

Jean-Marc sat beside the fire, a plan to rescue Rudi involuntarily forming in his mind.

  The time, the people it would involve were already weaved into his plot.

  He looked down at the small, battered photograph in his hand. His wife and daughter, both smiling up at him, remained untouched by whatever was going on around him. He then thought about Anya and her baby. The baby that would never meet his father unless he, Jean-Marc, did something about it.

  He decided to go and consult Dominique. She was one of those women with a never-failling mind of logic. If anyone could make this plan work, she could.