Page 55 of Summer of Fire
That afternoon, Lizzie was assigned a large comfortable room with high ceilings overlooking the gardens at the back of the house. After settling in, she sat on the grass in the orchard with the others, beneath the shade of an apple tree, listening to the instructor.
‘You are a plucky group,’ he said with a cheeky smile. ‘And you’re the first bunch to be trained here, so this may well be an historic event when we look back on it in years to come. Someone had the bright idea that stately homes offer the perfect training ground for SOE, so here we are.’
Charlie was a mountain of a man with huge shoulders, who immediately put them at ease. Lizzie guessed he must be in his late twenties, but the wisdom in his eyes made him seem older.
‘Mr Churchill tasked SOE to set Europe ablaze. Our job is to wreak havoc on the Boche by destroying their infrastructure by whatever means possible. This week willnot be a walk in the park, no, no, no. Just because you’re in a stately home, don’t expect cream tea with scones and jam every afternoon. It does mean, however, that you’ll leave here knowing exactly how to conduct sabotage in occupied territory, and how to defend yourselves and have your best shot at staying alive and making it back to Blighty.’
One girl raised her hand and smiled at Charlie coquettishly. ‘Will you be our instructor for everything?’
‘No, I’ll take you through some of the advanced sabotage and guerilla warfare lessons,’ he said. ‘You know, the easy breezy stuff.’ The girls laughed, and he continued. ‘There are other instructors you’ll get to meet in due course who will cover more of the basics.’
His eyes evaluated the circle of women in front of him and came to rest on Lizzie. He shot her a disarming smile, and she shifted on the grass.
‘It’s only fair that I warn you. Some of you won’t make it to the next round. What we’ll be doing here for the next week will be so tough, you’ll want to cry for your dear mummy, and you’ll wish you never agreed to come. Our aim is to see how easy it is to break you and to prepare you for the worst. Better you be broken by us than by the Gestapo, understand?’
Lizzie saw the other girls nodding, some of them already losing enthusiasm.
‘Any other questions before we get started with the first session?’ he asked, his eyes seeking out Lizzie’s.
Lizzie shook her head and looked away. Charlie seemed nice enough, but the last thing she wanted was to attract more male attention. The German soldier’s face still plagued her in her nightmares. She tried to banish the incident from her thoughts, but it lurked there in the recesses of her mind and would rear its ugly head when she least expected.
‘There’ll be sessions on weapons’ handling, demolitions,map reading, tradecraft, and basic signalling. We’ll also throw in some unexpected tricks. Let’s call them bonuses!’
Charlie smiled again. Somehow, he had the knack for saying grim things as if they were the best news they’d ever heard.
Lizzie’s mind wandered back to Jack as it so often did. What was he doing at that moment? Val said he was readying things for the Resistance to sabotage Nazi operations. She would have loved to ask more questions but was too scared Val would spot how interested she was in Jack.
That wouldn’t do at all. Them being romantically involved was forbidden, so she suppressed her urge to ask for more information, and as a result, she still didn’t know if she would see him in Reims.
The day of activities was exhausting and after a late supper with the other girls and the instructors, they retired to their rooms. Her whole body ached after the physical exertion of the combat training and for once, she drifted off almost as soon as she got into bed.
She was fast asleep until a noise awakened her suddenly and for a minute she wondered if she was in the middle of another nightmare.
‘Who’s there?’ she said, her heart clattering.
CHAPTER 27
The large bedroom was dark, with not even a ray of light from the blacked-out windows. Lizzie felt two large hands grip her feet beneath the cover and tug her towards the bottom of the bed. She cried out and one of the hands clapped over her mouth like a muzzle.
She bit into the soft flesh and was rewarded with a sharp curse in a deep voice, which she guessed was Charlie’s. The hand momentarily released its pressure, then a piece of rough material pressed onto her eyes, and she was thrown over one broad shoulder like a sack of laundry and marched out of the room. She lashed out with her legs and shoutedMon Dieu.
Her captor was so big, her attempts to free herself were useless as he gripped her effortlessly with his meaty hands so she could barely move. The blindfold disorientated her even more, and she didn’t know where he was taking her, but she felt the movement of his legs walking downstairs. She heard the swing of a door and the cool night air hit her face and her bare legs beneath her nightdress.
Then there was a sliding sound she identified as that of avehicle door. She was dumped onto a cold leather seat, and her blindfold removed.
Lizzie blinked and tried to make out the details of the faces in the back of the van. She saw the other girls were with her, all in various states of dishevelled nightwear.
‘What the hell is this?’ squealed an outraged voice with an east London accent. ‘You can’t bloody do this! You gave us no warnin' at all.’
Charlie growled. ‘The Gestapo won’t be serving you breakfast in bed before they capture you, missy. You’d better buck up your ideas or you won’t last ten minutes in enemy territory.’
Lizzie shivered, partly from the cold and partly from the fear of what might be ahead of them. It was pitch black out the window, the moon lurking behind cloud and not even a glimmer of light from the big house.
She guessed this wasn’t called Intensive Training for nothing. She’d had it easy with Jack and Val because of the urgency of the courier operation. Now she was in with the other girls. Val had warned her it would be tough. She’d also reminded her to only speak in French if the instructors sprung any night-time surprises on her.
Thank God for Val, who was so obviously rooting for her. Otherwise, she may have lapsed into English like the Eastender.
‘But I’m wearing my nightie,’ the girl spluttered, running her hand through her tousled curls. ‘Surely we can change for whatever you’re planning.’
