Behind the Lines

Rex and Theo made their way out of the wooded copse to find a black Peugeot waiting for them.

A resistance worker stood by its door holding a briefcase crammed full of notes. Without a word she passed them over and then left.

“She wouldn’t win any personality contests.” Rex said in German with only the slightest of stutters.

“It’s not surprising when you consider what they have been through.”

“True. True.”

“Apparently we have rooms booked for us at the Café Madison and a reservation at the Boar restaurant.” Theo said as Rex pulled away and drove back to the main road.

Theo was masking his torch as he read the instructions. “There are twenty workers that came in from Poland today, mostly Jews.

We will be picking them up and delivering them to the complex.”

“What on earth are they doing with them?” Rex stuttered.

“I don’t know but if this manifest is anything to go by they are getting them every two weeks.” Theo carried on. “We are part of the new Todt organisation supervising the forced and slave labour for industry and research.”

Soon they were pulling into the small town that was a few miles from their objective. In the centre there was a set of three interlinked cobbled squares. The main one contained the police station, a court building and the town hall.

Attached to the newspaper and magazine stand was the metal urinal that was so prevalent in this part of France. The police station flew the French flag, the Tricolour, as a small act of defiance but they were dwarfed by the massive Nazi Swastika flags that practically covered the whole of the front of the town hall. Opposite was their first objective the café where they were staying, the car glided to a stop in front of it.

When they got out they looked like twins in their double breasted dark pinstripe suits. They reached into the back seat and retrieved their homburg hats.

The café was a medium sized affair with ten tables in the body of the tap room for drinkers and another ten in the side room that acted as a restaurant.

“Greetings sirs what can I get you?” The owner and bar man asked.

“A brandy please?” Theo asked.

“A beer please?” Rex sang out.

“Patron we have rooms booked for the next few nights. Heir Panzer and Bonn.” Theo winced it made them sound like a dubious set of lawyers.

“Ah yes gentlemen I was expecting you. if you would sign in please.” He produced a note pad that had seen better days.

The two men dutifully did so.

“Chanel. Please show the gentlemen to their rooms.”

The waitress was very very pretty and an the spitting image of her mother who was at the piano.

The men estimated she was around her mid-teens. Somewhere around sixteen or so they guessed, but that didn’t stop Theo giving her the glad eye.

The room was sparse but spotlessly clean. There were two single beds, a wardrobe and a rickety dressing table.

The two men set to work looking for bugging devices.

“I hope you don’t snore.” Theo complained with a laugh.

“I wouldn’t know as I’m asleep.” Rex countered wryly.

A little later they were downstairs in the common room cradling their drinks, watching the other patrons of the bar.

The majority where French men with about six German soldiers getting leg less. The barman had three daughters, the youngest Chanel followed by Helena and the dark countenanced eldest Natalie. On the piano was their mother Louise.

Theo signalled Natalie over.

“Excuse me mademoiselle can you direct us to a local restaurant? I hear the Boar is a good one.”

“Yes sir. We have two restaurants the Black Boar and the Joan of Arc. The Joan of Arc is just across the square, it serves basic food whilst the Boar is upmarket and is heavily frequented by the German officers and if you’ll forgive the impudence the best one of the two. It’s in the next square going west.” The men paid up giving her quite a tip.

“Did you notice the look she gave me.”

“You and your ego.” Rex grumped.

“Libido.” Theo corrected him.

“Ego, libido whatever. Don’t you think it’ll be better to keep your mind on the job.”

“I was, oh believe me I was.”

Rex looked up at the girls and had to admit the were very beautiful each in their own way.

The men decided to visit their charges. The slave workers were being held in the police station.

“Hello sir’s.” A rather tubby Gendarme police officer greeted them. “What can I do for you?”

The men pulled out their identification papers and passed them to the officer who gave them a quick glance.

“They are in the back Sir’s.” He said leading the way.

The two hero’s didn’t know what to expect but it wasn’t what greeted their eyes. In the court yard out the back of the police station was four metal cages. They offered no shelter from the elements. In each were huddled figures, many of which wore striped clothes with the cross of David on the back. There were women, children and defeated looking men that had had all the resistance knocked out of them.

They watched with dull unseeing eyes.

The two men had to keep their rage in check at the horrific sight.

“Have they been fed?” Theo asked.

“No. I’m not wasting good food on that scum.”

Theo lent forward and said menacingly.

“I’ll leave you to explain to the authorities why I couldn’t deliver the full quota, shall I.”

The man quailed under their angry stares.

“What do I give them?” The officer said his face having gone a lovely shade of green.

“Sweetened porridge. Even you can manage that. Oh and don’t think I won’t check up to see if has been done and woe betide you if it hasn’t.”

“Yes sir. Of course sir.” The police officer said in a blind panic.

The two men decided to walk to the Boar since it was so close, arriving at the same time as the limousine.

They held back as Charles and his staff got out and with the Captain in front led the way in.

Wesley ran a finger around his dog collar in an attempt to get it comfortable.

The woodland opened out into a clearing where standing against an old oak was an equally old bicycle. Beside it was a French girl in her middle teens holding on to her more modern bike.

She did a bob like curtsey as he drew close.

“Good Evening Father.” She said.

“Good Evening my child.” He replied as he grabbed the bikes handle bars and followed her on to a narrow lane through the woodland.

They mounted up and cycled off.

Now Wesley is a very fit man but when the Parsonage came into view, where it snuggled down besides the river, he was seriously out of breath.

The building was made out of the local yellow stone and had a thatched roof which gave it the air of a fairy story, like the home of the seven dwarfs.

Standing at the doorway was a severe looking woman all dressed in black and her gray hair pulled back into a tight bun.

As they arrived into the small courtyard the girl called across to her.

“Marta the good Father needs a hot drink to warm him and relieve the stresses of his journey.”

The woman nodded and like the girl gave a bob of respect.

“Good Evening Marta I look forward to working with you.” Wes’s smile and good natured greeting only seemed to confuse her.

After dismounting and stretching to get the knots out of his muscles he turned to the girl.

“Do you know I have no idea what your name is. What’s your name child?” He said.

“Monique Father, Monique Bevier.”

“In that case lead on and get this poor soul to somewhere warm before he dies of hypothermia.”

The girl laughed and led him in.

The Parsonage was quite large with a study, a reception room and a dinning room connected to a large kitchen and scullery.

The girl brought him into the reception room where a fire roared lustily in its hearth. Wes turned his back to it and warmed his backside.

Monique crossed over to a side table in the corner of the room and took off the urn of flowers. With a push in the right spot the table top spun round to reveal the radio transmitter strapped to its underside.

Working quickly and deftly she unstrapped the transmitter and connected it to a hidden aerial. In mere moments she had tuned it in and sent via the Morse Code key a short message.

Wesley to his astonishment could understand what the letters were though they were meaningless to him as they were in code at least that was what Wesley surmised.

As she swiftly unclipped and re-strapped the transmitter the letters began to dance around in Wesley’s mind eye until the message was totally clear. She had sent, ‘The Package’s have arrived safe and sound and are now in position.’

It was at this point that Marta re-entered with a steaming bowl of vegetable soup and a doorstep chunk of bread.

Marta fussed round him as he sat in the wing chair by the fire. A napkin was placed across his lap and the tray was carefully put on top of that. Another napkin was tucked into his already too tight collar and spread out across his chest.

The bread was hard but Wes soon found a way around that by breaking it up an putting it into the soup to soften.

Wes realised that Marta was watching him intently.

He looked up and smiled winningly at her.

“The soup is lovely.” He wasn’t telling no lies it was the best soup he’d ever had. “When is my first service Marta?”

The woman stared at him a moment before speaking to him in hand signals.

“Tomorrow morning but Father Pierre will take that for you if you ask. He’s in the kitchen.” Monique translated.

Like a bucket of ice had been shoved down his back he realised that the poor woman was dumb and yet she was willing to risk her life for the allied cause. Now that was real courage far above anything he had displayed in his career as a mystery man.

He finished the soup and felt recharged and warmed thoroughly.

The telephone rang and Monique went and answered it.

She listened intently only speaking to ask abruptly for any clarification. She put the receiver down.

“Professor Rot Wang will be dining as usual at the Boar this evening.” She reported. “We’ve got a contact in the restaurant.”

Wesley carefully got up and put the tray and empty soup bowl on a side table.

“I think I should pay the Boar a visit don’t you?” He asked rhetorically. “Does Rot Wang and his staff go to church, Monique?”

“No. Rot Wang did when he first joined the complex but now it is very sporadic. Weeks go by with no sight of him. I think the only reason he is allowed out to the Boar was the threat he may stop working for them.” The girl told him as she perched on the arm of the fireside chair opposite him. “The Commandant is a strong Catholic and apparently has a small chapel installed in the centre.”

“Then it is high time he did and if he can’t come to church we will bring it to him if only to hear his confession and have a good sleep.”

“I will get my bike ready.”

“No child you will not be going with me. Too many people would question why a young girl was out so late at night especially with a much older man. I think Father Pierre would make it look normal. He’s next door did you say?”

She nodded.

“I understand Father but I don’t like it.”

“Nor do I Monique but it is the best, the only way. Does the Holy Father know why I am here?”

“No Father. Follow me Father.”

She led him through to the large kitchen at the back of the house where Marta was baking fresh bread and small raisin covered cakes.

Sitting at the large table was a tall, thin, spare looking man in his middle seventies dressed in clerical black.

“Ah you must be Father Pierre? Please don’t get up.” Wes could see the white pupil in his left eye. The sign of a cataract.

The mans hands were a mass of swollen joints caused by arthritis which surely must be causing him pain and yet his face was serene.

“Now Father I am not here to take over the parish I’m here to help get people back into church.” Wesley explained.

“I fear many people have lost faith in this war.” Pierre wheezed and rattled as he spoke.

“Then Father it is our duty to guide them back onto the right path. And we’ll start at the top with the good Professor Rot Wang and the Commandant.” Wesley smiled winningly. “Monique tells me he has a chapel of his own in the centre so let’s see if we can pressurise them in letting us use it on the Wednesday for mass and confession.”

The old man looked up at him as if he was mad for a moment.

“He having dinner at the Boar restaurant tonight. The perfect place to waylay him and getting him to agree. He wont want to lose face before everybody.”

“Not the most Christian way to act but it could be effective.” The old boy wheezed.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps God sometimes needs a little nudge.” Wes agreed. “But are you willing to come with me and see that we succeed?”

“I would not miss it for the world. I think I am going to enjoy you being around boy.

I’ll go and get my bicycle and meet you out the front Father.”

Wesley groaned as he realised he’d have to ride on the old beast again.

He turned to Monique but she had guessed what he was going to ask her and shook her head.

“No Father, it would not be right. Mine is a girls bike. If you rode it people would talk.” She told him.

“If you don’t then people are going to talk anyway. They’ll be saying how can she be so cruel as to let the elderly Father ride that awful bike. No?” He sighed. “No. Well don’t blame me if I return with calluses on my rump.”

She laughed and Wesley was reminded of how glorious the sound could be.

“The good Father Pierre is waiting for you.” She said wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes.

She watched them ride away and her humour became dampened at the thought of what they had set themselves to achieve.

“Bon chance Father Morpheus.” She said. “Good luck Father.”