Page 21 of Tides of Resistance
The soldier didn’t seem aware of any danger, or he wouldn’t be smoking. Then she heard the other soldier call out and say they should get a move on.
‘All clear here,’ replied the smoking soldier, and the beam of the torch gradually retreated, and darkness consumed the cave once more. The sound of the two sets of footsteps on the rocks outside grew fainter until Lizzie could no longer hear them, and only then did she let herself breathe properly.
She collapsed against the wall, shaking as the adrenaline that had fired her up at the height of danger, deserted her as quickly as it had rushed through her veins.
She checked her watch. Tentatively she picked her way over the rough ground towards the opening of the cave and gazed up at the sky. The stars were already fading with only the biggest, brightest ones still visible. The dense blackness was morphing into a paler shade, and with it the dark cape of invisibility she was counting on to conceal her on her way into the city. It would soon evaporate into daylight, and she would have a target on her back if she didn’t get out of sight before the garrison sprung into morning action.
Heart pounding and mouth dry, she checked her critical belongings were still in place. There had been no possibility of her bringing a handbag, so the dressmaker had to get very creative.
Lizzie patted the padded cups of her brassiere, where she had concealed the precious radio crystals, which would be her lifeline to London. Her lifeline to Jack. Without them, it would be close to impossible to get a secure message to the SOE from a centre of Nazi communications like St. Malo.
She hadn’t been able to bring as much money as usual. What francs they could conceal were hidden in the hem of her dress and her identity papers were in her pocket for she may need to produce them at a second’s notice.
Her canvas shoes, though critical for her emergence in the city, would prove too dangerous for the rock climb, so she tiedthe laces together and threaded them through her belt until they hung at the back of her dress.
Scanning the rocks for any sign of other members of the night patrol, Lizzie stood at the mouth of the cave preparing herself for the next stage.
It was time for her to make her move or she would miss the brief window of opportunity before sunrise. With the tide still high, she could only climb upwards over the rocks to what she knew as the smugglers’ path. With only the clothes she stood in, she began her ascent, feeling in the darkness for clefts and ledges in the rocks to get a grip and pull her weight up to the next level. Another trainer had taken her through intense rock-climbing practice wearing a thick blindfold to create similar conditions on the coast and she was grateful for it because it gave her confidence. Climbing rocks on sunny days with her cousins in her childhood was a world away from the hazardous climb she faced now.
Lizzie inched up the craggy rocks as salt spray lashed at her bare skin. The rock surfaces were slippery to touch, with intermittent clumps of slimy seaweed and sharp barnacles.
Just as she thought she’d got her next safe position, a high wave slapped against the rocky outcrop below and seawater splashed onto the granite. Her bare foot lost purchase, and she clung to the rock, desperately trying to find a secure ledge.
Puffing and panting after several near falls, and with her heart clamouring, she reached the summit and pulled herself over the edge and lay there exhausted on the gorse-covered cliff top. Coarse grass tickled her nose, and the ground was damp, so she dragged her aching limbs and cautiously moved away from the edge.
Lizzie wished she had her brandy flask now, but she pushed the thought firmly from her mind. There was no place for weakness when you were trying to survive. She would rest whenshe reached her destination. There was still a considerable way to go, and she must ignore the aches and pains shooting through her body.
Untying the laces, she slipped her canvas shoes onto her cold, sore feet and breathed a sigh of relief that at least she had dry footwear. Entering the city without shoes would be like waving a sign proclaiming she was a suspicious new arrival.
Lizzie fumbled for her tiny compass that was disguised as a button on her dress and unscrewed the back with her fingernails.
Checking she was alone, she jumped when an owl hooted loudly, its beady orange eyes glaring at her when she looked up. Apart from the owl, the only sound was the crashing of the waves.
She held the compass steady in the hazy light of the moon and watched the needle swing until it settled to magnetic north. She oriented herself, screwed the compass back into place and set out in the direction of the walled city.
The moonlight cast a faint silvery glow over the dark landscape, and she could make out the buildings as she hurried along tracks and country lanes under cover of hedgerows like a ghost in the night.
The steady sound of waves churning against the rocks grew fainter as she moved inland. Lizzie entered a small field and stuck to the perimeter to avoid what she guessed would be spring crops. Muddy shoes would be as much of a danger sign as no shoes when she entered the city. Her shoe caught on a jagged stone, and she bit her tongue to stop herself cursing in the early morning silence.
After stumbling through several fields, she searched for shapes of familiar landmarks in the distance, but none revealed themselves in the ethereal pre-dawn light. Lizzie followed the natural curves of the peninsula and, stopping once more to check the ingenious little compass that Val told her was the verylatest technology, she made steady progress towards the walled city.
By now, she had been walking for some time and squinted at her watch. Sunrise was her enemy, and the hour was 5.15 a.m. so it was fast approaching. Her breath caught in her throat when she glimpsed a familiar vision in the distance. The dusky shape of the St. Vincent Cathedral spire shimmered in the indigo sky, and the chilly breeze whipped around the nape of her neck, making her shiver.
The plan depended on her retracing the steps of her youthful adventures, when she and her siblings would sneak away with their cousins to explore the rocks at low tide. The thrill of those innocent days when they sneaked around purely for the fun of exploring, and getting one over on their parents was like a palpable taste on her lips. For a second, she yearned for those visits when war hadn’t yet entered her consciousness.
Lizzie and Val had been over this part of the mission meticulously. This was the magical window when darkness still ruled with its shades of black and grey. The medieval walls reared up in front of her like silhouettes from an ancient past, juxtaposed against the sky, which was decorated with a sprinkling of stars.
The timing was perfect for her entry into the city. Porte St. Vincent was the main entrance of theIntra Muros, the walled city, and it likely would be a guarded checkpoint even at this hour. Lizzie melted into the shadows of the buildings on the outskirts of the city. It was still too gloomy to see soldiers clearly, but she heard them talking in low voices, and the glow of a cigarette marked their location. Her senses screamed as she crept past the checkpoint, holding her breath.
She would have to rely on her muscle memory to reach the section of the wall she aimed for. The sky was gradually morphing into lighter shades of grey and purple, but she hadthe advantage of surprise. At this hour, the guards would be more concerned with spies slipping out of the city rather than entering, and after a long night they would be weary.
Lizzie continued her stealth-like journey past the gates and around the walls, and then crossed to where she hoped there was still a gap in the wall, which the invading force hadn’t repaired. She touched the wall, first lightly and then with more purpose. The last time she had breached this hole in the wall, she was a young girl, but thanks to all the physical exertion and rationing, she was still slim and wiry.
Her head ducked under one section of the cold granite, and she hunched over as she scanned the narrow street on the other side. She calculated she was far enough away from the main gate to exit undetected if luck was on her side. The city still slumbered at this twilight hour, so she was counting on at least one of her relatives being at home to receive her, if they still lived at the same address.
Lizzie unfurled her frame from the cramped space, more suitable to the crossings of high-spirited children than an exhausted agent, desperately in need of food and rest. After she emerged, she darted down the narrow medieval street, blending into the shadows as she wound her way towards Rue St. Vincent, leaving a wide berth from the city gates. The pale granite of the buildings glimmered in the dawn light, and the sky merged from indigo to glorious shades of pink and purple as though a painter had stroked their brush across a canvas in bold stripes.
Lizzie arrived outside the Beaumont family home on Rue St. Vincent a few minutes past 6. a.m. just as morning broke. The undercover agent from London, crept along the narrow alley at the side of the tall stone house through to the courtyard at the back, keen to be out of sight of curious neighbours with an early rising habit.
