Page 22 of The Dark of the Moon
‘Yes. I want to know how you got on when you went on that secret mission to France. Was that when you lost your leg?’
She laughed. ‘All in good time, my young friend. But in that case, let’s go and see if Kendra’s ready.’
I collected up the coding we’d done, so I could laminate it later on, and we went inside to find Mum.
Philly
I passed the day waiting in the cottage, sitting in the Rec Room, listening to the sounds of activity from the airstrip. I was wearing some new clothes that had been set out on my bed when I’d returned from my walk the day before. They were nondescript – a brown jacket, a beige blouse and skirt, underwear and stockings, and a pair of leather walking boots that looked as if they’d been well worn in. None of the items had any labels and I realised this must be to disguise the fact that I was British if I were to be caught. That brought home to me with force just what I was getting into. Although there were unlikely to be German soldiers in the area, the Vichy government was a collaborationist regime with its own agents, and I was well aware what would happen if I were to be arrested.
Major Bertram had arrived after breakfast that morning, with the news that it looked as if we were on for tonight. He led me through to the Operations Room and handed me a few more items that might be of use in the days ahead: a map of the area around the little town of Uzès, printed on thin material that could be stuffed into a hidden pocket in the lining of my jacket; some French money; a bar of French chocolate; and a packet of Gauloises cigarettes along with a silver lighter.
‘I don’t smoke,’ I said.
Without a word, the captain unscrewed the base of the lighter to reveal a concealed compass. I nodded, understanding.
‘Your cover name for this operation will be Eveline,’ he said. ‘It will be used by those whom you meet in France. As I’m sure you’ll understand, Miss Buchanan, the need for discretion is essential.’
After lunch, which I struggled to eat even though it was the best meal I’d had in a long time, I sat in my borrowed clothes – clothes belonging to Eveline, I kept reminding myself, trying to get accustomed to my alias – in an armchair in the sitting room, attempting to read a book. But the sounds of Spitfires taking off and landing were a constant distraction. I shut my eyes for a few moments, daydreaming, wishing I was up there flying with Teddy, or Amy, or Ben, in skies free of the deadly threat of enemy planes.
The low thrum of a different engine brought me back down to earth with a bump. This was no quicksilver fighter. It was something altogether slower and heavier. I knew the sound heralded the arrival of my ride.
A few minutes later, a pilot walked into the room. Secretly, I’d still been hoping it might be Ben, even though I knew the odds were against it. But it wasn’t him. ‘Wing Commander Jim Elliot,’ he said. ‘I’m your pilot for tonight. Is everything ready here? In that case, come across to the airfield and I’ll show you the ropes.’
The Lysander stood in front of a hangar, where the boxes from Bletchley sat in a small pile, ready for loading. I recognised the bulbous lines of the plane, but this one differed a little from the Lizzies I’d seen before. A sizeable extra fuel tank had been added to the undercarriage, and a ladder was welded to the left side, allowing easy access to the rear compartment.
Commander Elliot pointed to the ladder. ‘Give it a go,’ he said. ‘Get familiar with it. You’ll need to be able to disembark quickly when we get to the other end.’
I hitched up my skirt and nipped up with ease, clambering into the back. Then I did it in reverse, making sure I’d got the feel of it, sensing each rung through the thick soles of my boots.
Once the boxes were loaded, there was very little room in the passenger compartment. I’d have to sit on a jump seat with my back to the pilot, my legs folded to one side. I calculated the distance we had to travel – call it a round thousand miles, allowing for detours to avoid the main cities in Nazi-occupied France – and the air speed. I reckoned it would take us a good three to four hours, depending on the route. It wasn’t going to be the most comfortable flight I’d ever had.
When everything was ready, we went back to the cottage to wait for nightfall.
Over mugs of cocoa (another unexpected luxury) in the Rec Room, Major Bertram gave me my final instructions. ‘Someone will be back to collect you from France when the conditions are up to it. We’ll get a message to you via the contacts who’ll be meeting you at the other end. We’ve been lucky with the weather window of late, so all being well you’ll be back in ten days’ time. That’s the plan at the moment, anyway.’
Commander Elliot gave a hollow-sounding laugh. ‘Plans? What are they?’ he said. He must have noticed the flicker of doubt in my eyes because he quickly reassured me. ‘Don’t you worry though, we’ll be back for you.’ Then he drained the dregs of his cup and looked at his watch. ‘Right-oh, time to get going.’
I followed him in silence back on to the airfield, deserted now but for the Lizzie sitting by the hangar. He did his final checks around the plane and then gestured to me to climb the ladder and take my seat. I squeezed in beside the wooden crate containing the Baby. I remembered Dilly Knox’s warning:Whatever happens, don’t let it fall into the hands of the enemy. It would be far better to destroy it than to allow that to happen.
The pilot clambered into the cockpit. Before putting on his headphones, he swivelled round in his seat and tapped me on the shoulder, reaching between the dense criss-cross of metal struts supporting the internal fuel tank. ‘All OK?’
I nodded, but the fear must have been evident on my face because he said, ‘It’ll be fine. Tonight’s a perfect night for flying.’
Then he turned his attention to his controls. A mechanic removed the chocks from beneath us and stepped back to salute. The engine coughed into action and the plane’s big propeller began to turn, slowly at first as we taxied to the runway, then gathering speed, the noise of the engine building to a deafening roar. I could feel the power as we surged forwards and the Lizzie left the ground, her comportment no longer ungainly but graceful as she climbed into her element, lifting into the night sky. And as we banked, turning out towards the Channel, the glow of the waxing gibbous moon filled the cabin and lit the way ahead.
I was too tense to try to sleep, but after several hours of flying the low thrum of the engine lulled me into a sort of trance. From my cramped, backwards-facing perch, I’d watched the Channel disappear behind us, the moonlight painting gold streaks across the dark water. And then we were flying over land again and I thought of the people on the ground below, the German soldiers and the French who’d lost their country to the enemy invaders. Our course switched abruptly at a couple of points, and I knew the pilot was following a carefully mapped corridor to try to avoid known areas of flak around the main cities. The silken threads of rivers drew us southwards, shining silver against the darkened earth.
At last, Commander Elliot tapped me on the shoulder again, then pointed towards the ground ahead of us. I swivelled as best Icould on my seat to look. In the darkness below, faint even from our low altitude, were four tiny pinpricks of torchlight.
Three of them formed an inverted L-shape. The fourth, off to one side, flashed a call sign in Morse code. The pilot circled, slowing the plane until I thought it must surely stall, but the Lizzie’s engine continued to thrum, as it had done since leaving Tangmere. Over the intercom, I heard the pilot ask for the second coded call sign to make sure our reception committee on the ground hadn’t been compromised. I craned my neck to try to see the lights again, but now the pilot had lined up for landing and so they were directly ahead of us, invisible to me. All I could see were indistinct, moonlit shadows etched on to the undulating field.
We touched down and I was jerked backwards quite violently against the seat as the plane’s speed was abruptly checked. Outside the window, I could see the dim beam of torchlight marking the end of the landing strip, held aloft by one of themaquisardswho awaited us. The pilot made a sharp U-turn and taxied back towards the first two lights, where he turned again, wasting not a single second in preparing for take-off.
As soon as we drew to a stop, one of the men holding a torch scrambled up the ladder as I opened the hatch. A heady wave of scent met me, the warm night air thick with it. We’d evidently landed in a field of lavender and the Lizzie’s wheels must have ploughed through the silver stems, releasing their dusty perfume.
I passed out the boxes, as quickly as I could, somehow finding the strength to heave them into the outstretched arms of the man so he could pass them down to the waiting group below. There were several more people, I realised, as my eyes grew accustomed to the shadows, and everyone lent a hand. Then the man climbed back down the ladder, gesturing for me to follow. As I clambered out of the plane, I took a deep breath of the lavender-laden air, grateful to fill my lungs with something other than the fuel fumes from thecramped cabin of the plane. But this was no time to appreciate the night air and the surroundings. As soon as I let go of the ladder, three people stepped forward, hurrying to take my place in the plane. As there were only two seats in the rear compartment, one had to sit on the floor. Some smaller parcels were handed up – more packets of French cigarettes and chocolate, I imagined, to be used to lend credibility to the next agents to fly in – and then those of us on the ground stepped back. The torch-bearers resumed their positions, and the pilot gunned the engine. I checked my watch as the Lizzie rose into the air, banking as the pilot turned for home again. The whole landing, unloading and reloading of the aircraft had taken less than five minutes.
The torches were switched off, the man at the end of the makeshift runway sprinting back to join us. The group gathered up the boxes and parcels I’d brought, and I picked up my bag. ‘Quickly, Mademoiselle, we must move fast in case the plane was seen,’ hissed one of themaquisards, in thickly accented English. He was carrying the wooden crate containing the Baby.
