The Life That I Have

Chapter 27

Gilles crouched down low behind a large, unkept bush.
  The small pony and cart trotted past again, as it had every day for the past two days.
  "He must be the man who delivers the food to the prison," he whispered to his fellow companion.
  "Do you think he's the one we could be looking for?"
  Gilles nodded.
  "He's ideal. He comes in once a day, has to walk all around to the back, so he knows the layout, and– look at him. Wave a gun under his nose and he'll be like putty in our hands."
  They waited until they could see Laurent climbing back up onto the small bench at the front of his rickety, wooden, old cart.
  Gilles indicated to the other man, and silently (but swiftly) they sneaked further around the corner until they could no longer see the grotesque prison building.
  Then, they waited.
  It was several minutes  before they heard the sedate clopping of the pony turning the sharp bend in the road. After what seemed like an age, the little cart plodded around the corner.
  "Just imagine you're James Cagney in 'Public Enemy'," Gilles hissed with a slight twinkle in his eye just as he sprung from their place of concealment.
  "If I'm going to be James Cagney, I want Jean Harlow," Gilles heard a brief reply as they ran forward and took a flying leap at the cart. The pony started violently, making the cart lurch. Laurent, startled like his horse, was totally frozen until he felt the cold end of a pistol jabbed in his back and the melodramatic words: "Keep going," hissed in his ear.
  Too disorientated to protest, he obediently set the pony off at a brisk trot.
  "Pull in here," Gilled ordered as they approached a small track leading off the road. In no position argue, he pulled in.
  "Look here, what's this all about?" he asked, trying to conceal his nervousness.
  "Do you deliver food to that prison?" Gilles demanded.
  "Yes, but–"
  "Good. You see, we need information, and perhaps a little help from you," Gilles informed him.
  "And if I say 'no'?"
  "It would be the last thing you ever do," Gilles accomplice assured him.
  Laurent swallowed and began to play nervously with his short, curly, ginger hair.
  "Do you want to break out one of the prisoners? If so, I'd be glad to help you."
  "Sorry, but we're not quite ready to entrust you with that information," came the cold reply.
  "You see," Laurent continued, ignoring them,  "I have an idea about how you might be able to manage it..."

  "Drug them?" Dominique asked in amazement. "You're really telling me it's possible to drug every single German in a whole prison?"
  "Well, it probably wouldn't be possible to drug everyone, but if we disconnect the telephone wires, and mess up all the vehicles handy..." Gilles trailed off.
  "...And arm any Maquis man with some of that powerful knock-out stuff of yours..." Alex suggested.
  Jean-Marc leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. It could work. This, crazy, bonkers plan could work!
  He remembered, nearly a year ago now, when Rudi first came to the camp. They had all distrusted him then, but now he had become almost like a son to Jean-Marc.
  "What about this man Laurent, Gilles?" he asked. "Are you sure he can be trusted?"
  "Almost certain. Although he isn't exactly what you might call heroic, I think he's on our side. I've got someone to follow him, just in case."
  Jean-Marc looked satisfied.
  "So tell me more. What is this plan?"
  Gilles explained.
  "We would need someone to penetrate the camp," Jean-Marc said thoughtfully. "One of the women. Laurent said that the cook was complaining about the lack of help he had."
  "Yes, but which woman?" asked Anya.
  "Well, we can't risk Denise. We need a doctor. This isn't Dominique's territory. She isn't officially meant to be with the Maquis. It's only because her safe-house was blown that she is here at all."
  "And I can't do it because I'm going back to England," Anya interrupted impatiently.
  They were silent, thinking.
  "What about Marilyne?" Gilles said suddenly.

  "I have ten siblings," Marilyne explained to General Abt. "We need the money. I heard there was a place in the kitchens here, and I thought..." she smiled sweetly.
  "Does your family mind you working here? Not all parents would want their children working for the Nazis."
  She shrugged.
  "Anything that puts food on the table."
  Abt leaned back lazily in his chair.
  "Start tomorrow, six o'clock. I'll arrange a pass so you can get through the gates."
  Marilyne gave a small, triumphant smile.
  She was in. 

Anya was packing her things, although there wasn't much to pack. She had thought it would feel like returning home after a long holiday, but it felt more like she was leaving her home now. And she didn't want to.
  Hearing footsteps, Anya looked up and saw Alexander.
  "Oh," she said shortly.
  "Look, Anya, I know I might not be exactly flavor of the month with you–"
  "Not unless the flavor of the month is yuck, then, no."
  Ignoring her, he continued.
  "– But I was wondering if you could give a letter to my wife, let her know that I'm safe."
  Anya looked guiltily down at her feet.
  "I'm sorry... In your shoes, I might have done the same."
  "Would you really?" he asked, brightening up a little.
  Anya shrugged and continued with her packing.
  "Well, here's the letter anyway ." He put the envelope down on the small stool next to Anya.  "If you see my daughter, send her my love too."
  Anya turned and smiled reassuringly at him.
  "I will. I promise. Alex– bring Rudi home safe, will you? I'll write a letter and send it in the next drop."
  She hugged him so that he could not see that she was crying.

  "It was scarily easy," Marilyne said to her audience. "I felt the whole time like he was just stringing me along, and knew exactly what I was doing. I had to keep telling myself: 'I'm just applying for a new job. People do it every day'."
  Her cheeks flushed a rosy colour when she saw Anya. She knew how touchy and easily upset Anya was on the subject of Rudi.
  "I– I've come to say goodbye. I've got to go now," Anya said calmly.
  Jean-Marc arose and solemnly shook her hand.
  "We'll meet again, after the liberation," he said in an official manner to her.
  "Thanks, Jean-Marc. You know, I wish I could say you've been like a father to me. But I never had one so I don't know what it feels like. But if there is someone I wish could be my father– it's you."
  She walked over to Gilles and Marilyne.
  "Get Rudi home safe. It's all I ask," she said, forcing a smile.
  Marilyne hugged her.
  "Send us a photograph of the little one, won't you?" she pleaded.
  "Of course I will."
  "Shall I fetch Alex? I'm sure he wants to say goodbye," Jean-Marc suggested.
  "N-no. Don't bother. We've already said goodbye."
  Anya's last memories of the Maquis were Dominique, Jean-Marc, Marilyne and Gilles and fifty others in the banquet room, eating their rations.
  Where's Rudi? she thought desperately. He should be here!
  She looked glumly out of the van window, watching tall and crooked trees, silhouetted against the moonlit sky flash by.
  It's too late. Too late to turn back. But I want to go back, she whined mentally.
  About fifteen minutes later, Gilles, who was driving pulled up outside a large field. Anya could see the large mounds of straw piled up, ready and waiting expectantly for the airplane.
  "I drove some men down here earlier to set it all up," Gilles explained.
  They were silent until Gilles decided to make conversation.
  "So, what are you going to call the baby then?" he asked cheerfully.
  Anya shrugged.
  "Haven't really thought about it. If it's a boy then maybe something simple like James or William. Perhaps Isaac if I'm in a reckless mood," she joked feebly.
  "And if it's a girl?" Gilles prompted.
  "Ooh, I don't know. Maybe–"
  They were interrupted by urgent but excited shouts from outside.
  "Here's the 'plane," Gilles stated the obvious.
  Anya hopped out of the van and waited by the gatepost. The field was lit by an eerie yellow glow; the fires had been set alight.
  A few minutes later, the small airplane was bouncing along the dewy green grass before coming to a standstill.
  "Come on, baby," Anya whispered. Tucking Tippy under her right arm, suitcase in the other, she boarded the 'plane.