Page 66 of Summer of Fire
‘It is, but these need doing urgently, so just copy the German words. You don’t have to understand the meaning. It’s lots of numbers, anyway,’ she said, shrugging her shoulders.
There was a pile of documents on a table and the woman explained what Lizzie had to do. ‘If you need anything or have questions, I’ll be at my desk.’
Lizzie sat down and laid her hands on the pile of papers, her brain turning over at a frantic pace as she tried to figure out the best way to thwart the Luftwaffe’s bombing sorties.
In her preparation sessions with Jack, they hadn’t dared hope for anything as obvious as this. Jack said she would probably type routine documents. The Nazis coordinated their operations with local government offices and the French police. He said that would be why they needed French secretaries. ‘If there’s one thing the Germans pride themselves on, it is accurate record keeping.’
It was an ingenious system. Rather than doing the work to keep occupied territories in order themselves, they let the locals do their bidding. Those who didn’t like it would risk a bullet to the head. Lizzie sympathised with the people who were too scared to resist. What she couldn’t condone were those like this woman who were overjoyed to do the Nazis' dirty work.
Lizzie flicked through the pages of numbers and tried to make sense of the German words and coordinates. She guessed they must be some type of code for landmarks. Therest were lines of numbers written by hand. If the woman hadn’t mentioned so casually, they were the London bombing targets, she wouldn’t have known.
Three days she had to stick this job out. On the one hand, it seemed like a lifetime. On the other, it was only three days to observe the internal workings of the base so Jack and the Resistance could get in and blow up as many aircraft as possible.
The woman poked her head around the corner. ‘I can’t hear any typing. Herr General will be back soon. I wouldn’t be idle if I were you.’
Lizzie began typing, trying not to think about her head on a block.
Londonwas scrawled at the top of the pages and the keys clattered as she typed. She was no skilled typist and had been practicing on an old typewriter of Camille’s. By the time they realised how poor a typist she was, she would be gone.
Or she would be dead.
But she couldn’t dwell on that.
There were various September dates on the sheets, and when she saw the one dated the following day, a chill ran through her.
If she didn’t tamper with it somehow, the bombing and the subsequent deaths of Londoners would be partly her fault. But if she changed them on her first day, and the target was incorrect, they might realise it was her doing before she’d carried out her primary mission.
What was more important? Savingsomelives tomorrow or taking out the airfield to save a greater number of lives by paralysing the Luftwaffe’s ability to fly from what had recently become one of their main bases?
There seemed no right choice, and her head swirled as she tried to reason what would be best. What would Val do? What would Jack do?
She was on her own and must decide for herself. With that, she typed up the first list with the correct details.
On the list for the following day, she transposed some of the numbers. If she was discovered, she could claim it was an honest typing error. The real problem was she didn’t understand what the coordinates and codes meant.
Around lunch time, she heard voices, and she kept her head down, typing as the sound of heavy boots hit the floor.
Lizzie raised her eyes and saw a tall, formidable looking man in German uniform enter the office.
‘Ah, the replacement secretary,’ he said. ‘Marie LeClair, I believe?’
‘That’s correct, Herr General.’ Lizzie said, standing.
He talked to her in almost perfect French for a few minutes and was charming, which unnerved Lizzie further. It was easier not to think of the Nazis as individual people when they were obnoxious, like the soldier who attacked her.
The general picked up the pile of papers on her desk and leafed through them.
‘I must sign off on these today. How soon can you have them ready for me?’
Not being a typist, Lizzie didn’t know how long it would take her to work through the pile, so she said, ‘As soon as they are ready, I will bring them to you, Herr General.’
He appraised her for a moment and said, ‘Very well. I will be in my office.’
Lizzie turned her attention back to the typewriter. It was hard to concentrate when she was so nervous.
The woman coordinated deliveries and then said she had to go out for a minute. She showed Lizzie into a small backroom where she could make herself a hot drink. ‘Did you bring lunch with you?’
Lizzie nodded. Jack insisted and had made her a sandwich in Camille’s kitchen. ‘Act like a normal secretary.’
