Lynne Carroll - First place
Crediton u3a
South West region
The Road to Lille
They hadn’t anticipated moonlight. The forecast had
predicted low cloud cover. They swooped onto the cornfield
like two jellyfish drifting to the seabed. Olivia dashed for
the hedge which bordered the field, scooping and wrapping her
parachute as fast as at any time during her training. She
stuffed the silken bundle into the base of the hedge, and
squatted down, checking her pocket for the map while
attempting to slow her breathing. Sweat was creeping down her
back and her mouth felt dry. She watched as Hopkins landed and
disappeared, leaving the field still and silent. Their orders
had been to separate and have no further contact. So far so
good.
There was too much light. The moon was clearly visible
over the strip of poplars which, as she knew from briefings,
bordered the road to Lille. They had been assured the night
would be overcast. How many times had she been told during her
S.O.E. training that moonlight was an agent’s most dangerous
enemy? At least there was no outward sign of their having been
spotted. She could not remain here. She broke from her bolt-
hole and edged along the hedge-line making for the roadside
and the third tree in the row. Was she being watched? No, the
only other shadows were the stripes of blackness cast by the
towering poplars. She banished the paranoia threatening to
engulf her.
Olivia knelt. She felt around the base of the tree,
snagging her hand on a dead twig and cursing silently.
Nothing. Her orders had said the radio transmitter would be
under the third poplar. She crawled around to the other side
and saw, illuminated by the moonlight, the hollow in the trunk
between the two tree roots. By lying on her stomach and
stretching her arm full-length, she could just reach the back
of the cavity. Her fingers touched leather. It was here. She
managed to grasp the handle and pull the bag out. Curiously,
it resembled her old school music case, but far heavier.
Now to make for Monsieur Barreau’s barn. Her contacts
would be waiting. She tugged the map from her pocket and
oriented the compass secreted in the back of her watch. Two
miles south west to the barn. She would have to stay close to
cover; with this moonlight it was too risky to cross open
fields. She stuffed the map high up inside the tree trunk. If
she was stopped and searched, the map would be as
incriminating as the radio.
Dodging from tree to tree, Olivia progressed along the
road. About three quarters the way to the end of the line of
trees, headlights appeared in the distance. They were heading
straight in her direction. Like a crocodile entering a creek,
she slid down into the ditch between the trees and the edge of
the field, tucking herself as low as she could, while still
being able to watch the road. Mercifully the ditch was dry.
A vehicle approached. From her vantage point, Olivia
could see it was a truck. A German army truck. She recognised
its bonnet’s distinctive rectangular shape. Unconsciously she
tried to make herself even smaller. It drove past her, the
lights acting like searchlights as they momentarily
illuminated her side of the road. There was at least a
dozen soldiers in the back and, shockingly, Hopkins was seated
amongst them. He had been captured. But, why was he untethered
and seemingly conversing jovially with the soldiers? Olivia
huddled even further down into the ditch.
The truck approached the third poplar and abruptly
halted. The soldiers leapt out and ran to the tree, their
rifles bared. Hopkins was left sitting alone. There was angry
shouting Olivia did not understand. Fluent in French and
passable in Dutch, German was lost on her. It was evident they
were searching the tree. More angry shouts. One of them
was kneeling now. Olivia gasped. The soldier had his arm
inside the tree hollow. Would they find the map? Had she
pushed it far enough for it to be undetected? The soldier
stood up again, brushing down his uniform with distaste. He
was shaking his head. His comrades poked about in the
undergrowth with their bayonets. Olivia shuddered. It seemed
she had moved from that location in the nick of time.
The Oberleutnant turned to Hopkins, ‘You informed us it
would be here. Are you positive you have not been mistaken in
the tree in question?’ Although heavily accented, the words
were barked in a clearly audible, accusatory tone.
Olivia’s heart was hammering again; hammering so hard
she thought they would be sure to hear it. Once again, she
concentrated on slowing her breathing as she had been taught
during training. She watched in astonishment as Hopkins stood
and replied,
‘Those were her orders. She must have collected it
already,’ Hopkins’ cut-glass accent carried across the
watchful French countryside. ‘and be making her way to
Barreau’s. We can intercept her there.’ He sounded anxious.
‘I hope for your sake you are correct. We will return to
base and collect the dogs. She will not evade us then. We must
find the transmitter.’ The Oberleutnant climbed back into his
seat in the passenger side of the truck, his shout of
‘Eingeben’ being the order for his men to return to their
places alongside Hopkins. The truck grunted into life,
executed a multi-point turn, then accelerated fiercely and
roared past Olivia’s huddled form.
So Hopkins was one of them. The pieces dropped into the
puzzle in her mind. Hopkins seemingly wanting to be so chummy;
being so keen to disclose his own orders while pushing for
Olivia to do the same. At least she was confident in her own
conduct. He had coaxed nothing from her. In truth, she had
found his attention irritating, bordering on salacious, so had
done her utmost to avoid spending more time than was
absolutely necessary with the man. Somehow, though, Hopkins
had gained access to her orders. Perhaps a bribe to a
secretary? There was no time to dwell on the whys and
wherefores, her priority now was to warn Baptiste’s resistance
group waiting at the barn.
She clambered up from the ditch, relieved her clothes
were only slightly dustier than when she had landed. Her
disguise of rough navy dungarees, patched cream calico shirt
and navy jacket, so befitting of a female farmworker, would
look all the more authentic with the addition of this little
extra dust. Keeping low to the ground, Olivia headed for a
group of boulders at the far end of the field.
She flipped open the lid of the battered bag and
systematically prepared for transmission. Headphones on,
battery engaged, various knobs turned in sequence, she
flicked the ‘on’ switch. Bingo. The light signalling its
readiness, glowing reassuringly. It was a process she had
practised countless times during the past months, but unlike
during training, she found her hands were shaking almost
uncontrollably. Those breathing exercises again. Her hands
steadied. She began transmitting. No response. The resistance
group were expecting her in person, they may not have their
receiver connected.
‘Langoustines’, still no response. She tried again and
again, ‘langoustines.’ Finally, a faint crackle followed by
another. She could just make out the word ‘crevettes.’ Time
was precious. Olivia warned her contact of Hopkins’ betrayal
and the imminent arrival of troops at the barn, relieved her
command of French stood up to the pressure of the situation.
The exchange took no more than two minutes. She quickly and
efficiently re-stowed the equipment, hoisted the bag onto her
shoulder and prepared to make her way to the new meeting
point.
‘Friedrich, over here. Well, what vermin have we found
so comfortable in this patch of dirt?’ The German voice came
from behind Olivia. She froze, not daring to turn.
‘A little sewer rat, don’t you think Friedrich?’
A laughing voice replied ‘And we know what we do with
sewer rats, don’t we?’
She heard the unmistakable click of a rifle safety catch.
‘Your little game is up, my dear.’
Olivia waited for the cold steel against her neck.
Nothing. She turned slowly. Blind terror pasted across her
face.
‘Cut! It’s a wrap. Fantastic stuff guys.’ Jason, the
director was striding towards her and the two uniformed
actors. ‘That was A-may-zing. Tough luck, Olivia, you won’t be
making it to Round Three. Pity really, you’ve certainly made
your mark on S.O.E. Agent, Behind Enemy Lines. You’ve been a
popular contestant. I’m sure many of our viewers would have
liked to see you get to the final. Well done guys, as far as
reality TV goes, it doesn’t get better than this.’
Olivia was baffled. ‘You’ve got to be joking. Where did I
go wrong? I told Hopkins nothing. I found the transmitter. I
used the correct codeword. I even warned my contact.’
‘One careless mistake. You didn’t check that all the
soldiers had got back onto the truck. Two didn’t!’