A Cool and Lonely Courage - Story Thread

[Mr. Handy]

In this thread we'll post the narrations of our scenes. I'll follow up this post with another one containing my character's first scene, Training. Then you can draw your card and post your character's first scene when you're ready. We'll go back and forth.

[Mr. Handy]

In October 1940, I was an ambulance driver in London during the Blitz for the Women's Voluntary Service. I got called out one evening to Whitehall to rescue an man who was injured in an air raid, which had just started. It's not easy to drive in the blacked-out streets, but I've had a lot of practice driving and I have good night vision. I pulled up to the curb, where a middle-aged man was pinned under some rubble where a building's wall had collapsed when a bomb had hit it. I used a metal bar for leverage to pry it off him, and then I hoisted him onto a stretcher and loaded him into the back of the ambulance. I'm much stronger than I look. The bombs kept falling all this time, but thankfully none were close by. Once my patient was secured and I got the bleeding stopped, I got back behind the wheel and pulled out, heading for the nearest hospital.

"You all right back there?" I asked, turning my head and glancing back over my shoulder at him.

"I'm fine," he said with a nervous tone. "Please keep your eyes on the road, Miss."

"If you like," I said, my voice chipper, turning back to face the road. "Doesn't make much difference. Can't see a blasted thing in this blackout anyway."

"Oh, good Lord!"

"It'll be all right. I can see in the dark just fine. I eat plenty of carrots. With rationing, I have to. Also, I think I'm part cat. Elizabeth Ingersoll, WVS."

"Major Michael Warren, Joint Technical Board."

"What were you doing out there and not in a shelter? DIdn't you hear the sirens go?"

"I was in an important meeting, and it ran a bit late. I was on my way to the shelter when the bombs started."

"Hang about, bomb crater." I expertly swerved the ambulance around the hole in the road ahead, and there was only a minor bounce. "Sorry about that. Won't be but a few more minutes and I'll have you at hospital."

"You are impressive, Miss Ingersoll. Completely unflappable."

"Well, I figure if a bomb's going to fall on my head, I'll never know what hit me, so why worry about it?"

"A good attitude. Parlez-vous francais?"

"Oui, pourquoi?"

He switched back to English. "I think you could be of use for the war effort."

"I think I'm of more use driving an ambulance and studying to be a doctor than I would be translating French."

"That's true...but that's not what I had in mind. Have you been to France before?"

"I was a nurse with the BEF at Sedan. I was home on leave when the Jerries attacked, luckily."

"How would you like to go back?"

"Go back? You mean as a spy?" I couldn't keep the excitement out of my voice.

"Precisely. You'd be operating a radio, doing courier work, reconnaissance, coordinating with the Resistance...and quite possibly fighting. You'd be trained, of course. I must warn you, the Nazis will show you know mercy if they catch you. Do you have any questions?"

"Only one. When do I start?"

And that's how I ended up joining the Special Operations Executive.

[Tabs]

"Well, Mlle. Ardet, I'm afraid that there is no choice in the matter, you will handle weapons."

"But, Sir, ça ne sert à rien !--it's useless, pointless. I could never, would never..." Marion stops herself, she's already stated many times her hatred of those things, the interview seems to be chasing its own tail, so to speak; she pictures Marmelade racing round in circles. Where is the cat now? they left home in such a rush...and she sighs.

Captain Fleming misinterprets the sound, this interview is not going well at all. "I'll ask again: Join us! We need you, your country needs you. Mlle. Ardet, there aren't too many young women like you. We sound desperate, and, to be honest, we are. Do the training, all of it."

"Baisage! What an opportunity for death."

"That type of language is uncalled for," barks Captain Fleming, standing up. "You have some spirit though," he softens.

Marion Ardet also stands and extends her hand. "Please consider me for the S.O.E."

[Mr. Handy]

It was in early 1941 that I finished my training and was sent into France with another operative I knew from my training, Edgar Cummings, to be referred to only as his code name of Jacques in the field. The Lysander came in low to the makeshift landing strip that the Resistance had made. A light flashed in the nearby woods, signalling us in Morse code with the proper code, and I flashed back the answer with my electric torch. The landing was a little bumpy, but at least we were able to walk away from it, so it must have been a good one. Jacques carried our equipment out of the plane and helped me down, then pulled me into his arms and kissed me! It's not that I've never been kissed before, I certainly have, but I felt such a thrill at it. Perhaps it was the danger of the situation that made it feel so wonderful, perhaps Jacques himself. He had always been a shy sort in training, and I had never sensed that he had such feelings for me. I kissed him back, of course. I could think of nobody else I'd more entrust my life to than him, and he evidently felt the same way about me.

It was then that the Resistance fighters melted out of the woods like shadows. One of them, a woman even taller than me wearing a dark trenchcoat and beret stepped forward. "Welcome to France," she said in French. "I am Valerie Dubois. You must be Florence and Jacques. Let me see if I can guess which is which."

"You will have a difficult time of that," said Jacques, "for we are one."

"So I see. But we had best be off before our little gathering is noticed. There will be plenty of time for romance later."

"Well, we're certainly in the right country for it," I said. "Let's go."

[Tabs]

Here I am, back home. Well sort of, because I've never been further south than Dordogne so the country feels unfamiliar--I imagine Italy to be like this. Pierre tells me that we have a long trip to Paris, several hours. He provided me with a stick loaf, real butter, and soft cheese for the journey--I nearly wept with joy after the abominations to be had in England. Before we started I popped behind a hedge. So there I was, crouched with my knickers round my ankles (how vulnerable is that?), when I sensed that I was being watched...! I caught the glint of starlight in eyes. In a state of rage and panic I fumbled for my Webley, and despite being ordered to keep absolutely quiet was about to empty its chambers at a German or frighten Pierre--because I aimed wide of the mark, of course. "Show yourself," I croaked. He wasn't handsome in the way Marmalade is beautiful, what with his torn ear and kinked tail, but he seemed just as friendly and let me tickle under his chin.

Pierre told me that it's Adolphe (!) the farm cat. I'm unsure as to why, but I found the whole episode to be very amusing and, more importantly perhaps, I forgot to be frightened.

[Mr. Handy]

Our safe house was a farm a short distance from St. Nazaire, in western France. The farm was owned by Marcel Dubois, Valerie's husband. It was not immediately clear why she was the leader of the Resistance cell and not he, though he clearly trusted her judgment and respected her. There was also Chantal Deschamps, a young woman whose parents had been killed in a reprisal by the Nazis and had joined the Resistance to seek revenge. Valerie did not quite trust her, whether due to the fact of her youth, her newness to the Resistance, or the possibility that she might draw Marcel's eye - she was quite lovely! - I could not say. There was always the possibility that she was really a Milicienne, trying to infiltrate the Resistance. We were all careful what we said in front of her.

Victor was our SOE circuit leader, a no-nonsense man who did not appear to have a sense of humour, yet he was an effective leader. He was old enough to be Chantal's father, but that didn't stop him looking - or her from looking back at him. Perhaps they did more than look, behind closed doors. Jacques and I had been sent to replace two SOE operatives who had been lost in action. The two of us grew closer as well. It seemed that love was truly in the air. We were housed in the barn's loft, though we could quickly descend and hide if the Germans approached.

One day shortly after my arrival, I was meeting with Victor. "I have noticed that you and Jacques are very close," he said.

"You might say that," I replied, unable to suppress a smile.

"Well, see that it doesn't interfere with the work we must do. Your feelings for each other could be dangerous. It could compromise your missions. Further, I hope you are taking precautions. It would not do for you to become pregnant."

I gasped, blushing at his bluntness. "It's not like that! We're not...we haven't..."

"Good. See that you don't. Even so, it is an unnecessary risk."

"What about Valerie and Marcel? They're married to each other."

"I have issues with that as well, but they are with the Resistance. We have some influence with them, but we cannot give them orders. We are partners."

"And what about you and Chantal?" I dared to ask.

Victor glared at me. "There is nothing between me and Chantal."

"Oh? That's not what she says." A lie, but he had no way of knowing that.

"I make love to Chantal, but I do not love her. And we do take precautions."

Well, that certainly had the ring of truth. I couldn't imagine Victor loving anyone.

[Tabs]

Integration Diamond



My first task was to send a suitcase to Calais. I packed it myself, weapons and dynamite in a bed of straw, and I added a little something not in the manifest: a packet of frois gras. I know that I've stated my aversion to all weapons, but I'm trying to be a realist, the Germans will not leave if we ask them kindly! Anyway a few weeks later, when sorting the communiques, there was a post card of a smiling duck; no comments, no signature or address, I understood its "message," though, and felt happy.

[Mr. Handy]

Jacques and I went on a reconnaissance mission one night to get a look at the new U-Boat base that was under construction and bring back information about it and its layout. The place was crawling with SS guards, but we avoided them and kept our distance, hiding in the shadows to avoid detection. As we were on the beach nearby, a German sentry on patrol started to approach. He hadn't seen us yet, but he would before long. Thinking quickly, I tackled Jacques to the sand and kissed him with mad abandon while taking off my clothes. Jacques followed my load, and by the time the soldier came near enough to see us, he just laughed, shook his head, and continued on his route, soon vanishing from sight.

"That was bloody brilliant!" said Jacques quietly. "I'm glad you thought of that. Doubly glad."

"Well, it was something I've wanted to do for a long time," I said with a grin as I got off of him and sat upright.

Then Jacques pressed me down into the sand and kissed me passionately. "In case he comes back," he added when he came up for air.

[Tabs]

Mathilde, mission, diamond



I'm the lookout. A bomb is to be set on a train track; "Disruption of Herr Hitler's Zyklon-B gas stock" we were told. Well whatever that is it must be for no good purpose, so I will play my little part.

There was a gendarme--those people have a poor reputation--who I talked to and deflected away from the scene. I stood on the corner, I blush to say that he presumed I was "working," and stopped the gendarme, asking: "Fancy it, lover? Only 5 francs."--God knows if that is the right price, probably not; anyway he turned round muttering about young girls and their morals. Long after we made our escape an explosion from the stock yard could be heard. Success!

[Mr. Handy]

My cover was that of a district nurse, as I had the medical skills to back it up, and it allowed me to travel freely without arousing much suspicion. I frequently went into to town and was probably a familiar sight to many of the residents of St. Nazaire, not to mention that some of them were my patients. One day I crossed the street, and without thinking I looked right first instead of left. I'd only forgotten that people drive on the wrong bloody side of the road in France for a moment, but it was enough. A German officer had watched me cross the street, and he began to follow me. I managed to lose him in the crowd in the marketplace, but the fact that he had noticed me was very bad news. I would have to avoid coming into St Nazaire in future.

[Tabs]

Mathilde, interlude, spade



Pierre's dead. It was only when we assembled in our safe house that we realised Pierre was missing. No one had seen him since the stock yard. The other two dynamiters said that the three of them all left separately; so what happened? Le Figaro reported that an injured Resistance man had been captured but had died from his injuries. Pierre: Did the Gestapo torture you? Did you confess details about us? We are very upset and fearful for our lives.

[Mr. Handy]

London had decided to mount a raid on the German naval dock at St. Nazaire, the same one we had scouted while it was under construction. It was our circuit's job to do further reconnaissance and see if it was feasible for us to destroy the dock gates with explosives. I went there at night to examine the gates, but I saw that they were extremely well constructed and reinforced. It might have been possible to do it with explosives, but the weight required to demolish the gates would need many agents to carry, more than we had available. As I headed back, I came across a German soldier, the same one who had seen me the last time I had been here. He was relieving himself against a tree, his rifle leaning against another one nearby. I had caught him with his pants down, but he had spotted me. Before he could grab his rifle, I had my pistol out and pointed at him, shaking my head.

"Nicht schiessen," he pleaded with me in German, then switched to French. "Please, mademoiselle, don't shoot me."

"I'm sorry," I said. "Close your eyes. It'll be easier."

He began to cry. "Please, don't, I've barely lived. I...my name is Walter Freitag. My father is dead, killed in action in North Africa. My mother has to raise my little sister Elspeth all by herself. She's only ten." Walter wasn't all that much older, no more than eighteen or nineteen. "I'm all they have left."

I began to cry too, and my hand trembled. I struggled between what was best for the mission and my compassion, and in the end, compassion won. I lowered the pistol. "Go. Before I change my mind."

"Thank you," gushed Walter. He pulled up his pants and his uniform trousers and fled into the woods, abandoning his rifle. I too disappeared into the night.

[Tabs]

Mathilde, mission 2, heart



The brick was digging into my back, one of the millions of dirty rocks that make up the chimneys of Paris. I was perched between an elbow of roof slates and a chimney stack, watching the street below and armed with a ping pong paddle, one side red and the other green; my job to indicate to a watcher in the Wehrmacht office across the street of any unwanted visitors.

The band of mangy animals obviously met on the rooftops to carry out their love play, and what a performance! Caterwauling, shrieks, growls, scrabbling went on for hours. I was thoroughly exhausted by it all. One good thing though, there weren't any unwanted visitors.

[Mr. Handy]

On 28 March 1942, the Royal Navy and British commandos raided the naval base at St. Nazaire. It was a devastating attack, made possible by the intelligence we had gathered, though losses were heavy. The German forces in the area, which were quite considerable, initiated a crackdown, no doubt convinced that locals had supported the raid. I had already been avoiding going into town for months, and it was even more dangerous now, but we needed to continue our work. Jacques and I went to a pub one evening to meet a contact who had information about just how extensive the damage to the naval base had been. However, it was a trap. I acted as lookout while Jacques went inside, but the enemy was already within. I should have run at the first sound of a scuffle, but I could not desert Jacques. I rushed inside with my pistol drawn, only to be stopped short when I saw a familiar-looking German officer with one arm locked around Jacques's neck and his pistol to his head.

"So we meet at last," the German said in English. "I am Leutnant Friedrich Kohl. It's no use pretending you don't understand me. I know you are British. I saw you months ago, looking the wrong way first when you crossed the street." It was then that I recognized him. "Drop your weapon and surrender, or he dies."

"Don't listen to him!" shouted Jacques. "Kill him! It doesn't matter what happens to me!"

My hand trembled as I aimed at Kohl's head, but I could not pull the trigger. I was sure I could kill him. He was not some innocent youth, and he was threatening the man I loved. However, I could not risk Jacques's life. If I fired, there was a good chance Kohl would take him with him to the grave, and I was sure he had not come alone. Chances were neither of us would get out alive if I tried. At least this way, we would both be alive. Maybe we could escape later. I had to hope. Reluctantly, I let the gun slip from my limp fingers.

Two German soldiers came in the front door behind me and seized my arms. Two more emerged from the kitchen and took Jacques into custody. Kohl approached me, and I shuddered as he touched my cheek with a gloved finger. "You have made a wise decision, my dear."

[Tabs]

Mathlide, capture



It was the third mission: oh! what a calamity. We were to watch the army district HQ. Why, for what purpose? I don't know, I'm only the lowliest cog. Almost immediately we were approached by the guards at its gate. "Run!" shouted David, drawing his pistol and advancing to meet the guards. I ran. Shots, the rat-tat-tat of an automatic. I remember falling, and then looking at the concrete beneath my cheek, studying the pits and mountains of its surface. Something hard was pushed against the back of my skull. A voice in German ordered, "Stop! They'll want to question her."

[Mr. Handy]

Jacques and I didn't tell anyone that we love each other, but that bastard Kohl had figured it out, blast him. He interrogated us together, making each of us watch as he tortured the other. Jacques insisted that I not say anything, and I did the same. Neither one of us talked, in spite of the anguish we went through as we each saw the one we love suffer. During one such session, Walter Freitag happened to be the guard watching me while Kohl administered electric shocks to Jacques, his back to me. He had apparently been reassigned to guard duty after the naval base had been raided and taken out of action.

When Jacques screamed, the sound keeping Kohl from hearing me, I whispered to Walter: "You owe me your life. I'm calling in that debt now."

"What can I do?" he whispered back, uncertain.

"Let me take your gun. I'll do the rest."

He nodded. "Mark me. Make it look good."

Walter did not resist as I took his pistol from its holster and clubbed him over the back of the head with it. He collapsed, feigning unconsciousness. Then I sprang across the room, wrapped my free arm around Kohl's throat, and pressed the barrel of the gun to his head. "Make one sound and you die," I hissed. "Now it's my turn. We're getting out of here, and you're our hostage to make sure we do."

Jacques got up, took Kohl's gun, and listened at the door to the interrogation room. Hearing nothing, he opened it. There was a German soldier standing outside with his back to the door, but Jacques was able to knock him out easily. We made our way through the prison until we reached a door leading to the yard. A high wall surrounded the building, so we weren't free yet. "You go first," I said, "Once you're up top, you can pull me after you."

Jacques nodded and scaled the wall, straddling it. As he turned back to face me, Kohl made his move, wrenching my arm and twisting it. I pulled the trigger as he did, but the bullet zipped past him and struck the wall. "Guards!" he shouted in German as he tackled me to the ground. "Escape!"

"Go!" I called to Jacques, struggling in vain to break free.

"I love you!" he called back.

"I know!"

There was nothing he could do for me at this point. Guards were already flooding into the yard. He swung his leg over the other side of the wall and lowered himself down, vanishing from sight. Kohl finally wrestled the gun from my hand and struck me with it. "You will regret that," he said in a chilling tone.

"Never! But you will." Whatever he did to my from now on would be meaningless, for I knew that my love was free.

[Tabs]

Mathilde, prison, diamond



I haven't revealed anything, I think, but I know so little--a good thing that I've got nothing to tell or, I admit honestly, would confess all. I've been treated shamefully and look forward to the end--maybe I'll spend eternity with Marmalade as my familiar: an angel-witch! See, I'm losing it already. The key in the lock is being turned: here we go again.

[Mr. Handy]

"Hold her against the wall!" barked Kohl, his face contorted with rage. The guards complied, yanking me to my feet and pinning me to the wall. Kohl pressed the barrel of the gun against my head and fired. My last thought was that my death had not been in vain. Others would live because of what I had done.

* * *

Florence had not only helped Jacques escape, but the distraction she had created gave Mathilde the opportunity she needed to escape as well. She would remember Florence's story, and she would tell it to others.

Florence's parents were devastated to learn of her death. It was Major Michael Warren who personally broke the news to them. While he did not tell them how she had died or what she had been doing, he assured them that Florence's work was vital to the war effort, and that she had been killed in action serving her country. He presented them with a medal awarded posthumously to their daughter, the George Cross, the highest honor that could be awarded to a civilian. He would remember her, always knowing that he had helped send her to her death, but that she had saved others in the process.

Jacques managed to escape back to Britain, with help from Victor and the French Resistance. He was heartbroken to learn of Florence's death. She had been the love of his life, he owed his life and his freedom to her, and he would never forget her.

Valerie and Marcel Dubois carried on the fight after Florence was killed. After the liberation, they built a memorial in her honor and led a campaign to name a street in St. Nazaire after her.

Chantal Deschamps had thought of Florence as an older sister. She eventually married after the war, and she named her first daughter Florence.

Victor wrote a report detailing Florence's key role in doing reconnaissance on the St. Nazaire Naval Base, noting that her work was vital to making the raid possible. That raid had taken the naval base out of action for the entire remainder of the war. He also reported what Jacques had told him about how she had helped him escape, sacrificing her life in the process. It was Victor who recommended her for the George Cross.

Walter Freitag would always remember Florence, who had spared his life out of compassion. He would survive the war, and afterwards he would protect his mother and younger sister during the difficult postwar occupation, helping them get out of the Soviet sector.

Friedrich Kohl would also never forget Florence, but for different reasons. After his failure which resulted in not one but two prisoners escaping right from under his nose, he was transferred to a combat unit in the German Sixth Army. His unit was sent into Stalingrad, where it would be trapped by the Soviet Army and would ultimately surrender in early 1943. Kohl was sent to a gulag in Siberia, and he was kept there even after the war. For decades, he suffered far more than the suffering he had inflicted on others. During this time, he blamed Florence for his plight, and she and her last words to him would haunt him until his eventual agonizing death.

[Tabs]

Mathilde, epilogue, spade



I've been visited by an angel--my wishful thoughts have come true!

I was kept, yes kept, and all the connotations one may imagine can be attached to that word, for what seemed like a long time. Rather than executing me as I expected everyday, I was transported east--rumour had it that the Allies had invaded. Between the wooden bars of the carriage I spied a single-seat fighter, adorned with pretty stars on its wingtips. It fired a stream of glowing bullets at the engine, which derailed in a smash of steam and earth. I cheered at first, then the train bucked, one carriage at a time, until mine was thrown into a field.

So, as you've guessed already, I made my way back to England. I married Captain Fleming, it was a kindness of his to me, because we didn't fall in love and I was heavily pregnant,--God-knows why it had taken all that time.

We three are very happy indeed.