Page 41 of Love in the Shadows

“Good. Let’s go.”

They crossed to the far side of the track and made their way slowly towards the station. Once in position, they crouched down in the field, below the level of the track, hidden in the wet grass.

Fabienne glanced at her watch, eleven forty-three, then in the direction of the bridge just a kilometre down the track. They would hear the explosion. The train would be a few kilometres out from the station when the blast happened. The message had to get to them before they reached the station. They had to stop here, surely?

She was still plotting solutions to what-ifs when the blast came. She turned her attention to the track and watched for the train lights to appear, adrenaline pumping through her veins, her awareness heightened. There was no going back now. Time passed too slowly. Any sounds were muted by the mist, difficult to discern. The guards would arrive before the train. Putain!

She glanced in the direction of the bridge, men emerged from the fog, and she pulled out her pistol. As they came closer, she recognised Bertrand, released a long shaky breath, and put the gun back in her pocket.

Bertrand touched her arm. “The bridge is down but the train should be here by now.”

She nodded. “They must have stopped short of the station.”

He rubbed his hands together. “That’s good. They’ll be in the open. They won’t be able to get trucks near it.”

Fabienne had had the same thought. “It will be better for us. Let’s go.”

They followed the line of the track, eventually spotting the wide beam of the train headlights. She indicated for the men to veer left, down into the cover of the field, and position themselves for the attack. She was sure it would only be a matter of time before they had teams of guards in place at the station and pulled the train forwards.

It was impossible to see up into the engine room, or into the cattle-cars. The moans of women and cries of children became lost to the night. They approached slowly until they were at the side of the train, below the eyeline of anyone looking out.

She took a deep breath and prayed they would all live. “Go.”

Her words were echoed by the men closest to her, and down the line until they reached the last man.

Bertrand climbed quickly and effortlessly up the side of the driver’s cab, reached through the partially open window and blindly opened fire, then he yanked the door open. Shots were fired further down the train. Women screamed. Babies cried.

The driver was dead. The guard was bleeding from his stomach and directed his gun at Fabienne and pulled the trigger before she could shoot. A burning pain in her arm caught her breath. Another shot came from behind her. The soldier dropped the gun.

Bertrand stared at her. “We don’t have time to be nice.”

He was right. Her arm burned like hell, but they had to release the prisoners. She followed him across the top of the cattle-cars, releasing the bolts to the doors. Women fell or threw themselves onto the ground. Children jumped.

Fabienne and her men tried to break their fall, pulled them to their feet and indicated for them to run across the fields, telling them to head deep into the woods if they could and to the south. Barns with candles alight inside were safe. Houses with candles alight in their windows were safe. Stay clear of the main roads and move in small groups.

Their cries quieted as they ran.

It was like watching a herd of frightened deer scatter to the winds, only these weren’t animals. They were innocent people fleeing for their lives. Where in hell would they end up?

“Run,” she said. “Just run and don’t stop.”

She helped a pregnant woman carrying another infant to cross the field. The woman stumbled and dropped the child. Fabienne lifted her to her feet and picked up the infant, who hadn’t made a sound. She kept moving the woman on until they reached a narrow lane at the edge of the pine forest. They stood for a moment staring at each other. Her face was the colour of the fog but for the skin around her eyes, which was black and red. Her dress hung loosely over her distended belly. The yellow star pinned to her chest had come to define her. The child in Fabienne’s arms was as cold as ice, blue-grey and lifeless. He had been dead for a while.

“His name is Jacob,” the woman said.

“I’ll bury him,” Fabienne said.

The woman nodded.

“Follow the track to the end of the woods, go left and straight across the fields until you reach a cattle-shed. There is a bike inside. Take it. Stick to the narrow roads. South is in that direction. I’m sorry, I have no food, but find the lit barns and houses and people will help you along the way.”

The woman ran, haltingly.

Fabienne held the infant close to her. It probably wouldn’t be long before his mother and unborn sibling joined him. The sound of whistles and shots being fired jolted her into action, and she went deep into the forest. She didn’t stop moving until she reached a shepherd’s hut, far from any tracks that the Germans might use to hunt for the prisoners. Later, in daylight, they would extend their search, and then they would be relentless.

She scratched at the ground with her bare hands until they bled, but it was too hard. She lay the child down in the nook of a large tree root, took the paper flower from her breast pocket and tucked it inside his clothing. She ripped the yellow star from his shirt, sat with her back to the stone wall, took out her lighter and burned the cloth. Warm tears spilled down her cheeks until eventually the silence calmed her.

“God be with you, little one,” she said, and started the long walk home.

---