Page 40 of Tides of Resistance
Stay calm.
The slightest show of nerves could arouse suspicion, and she worried her hands would shake under the pressure, but somehow, she acted as though what she was doing was perfectly normal.
‘Continue the good work, mademoiselle,’ he said eventually, close to her ear, and she was weak with relief when she heard his boots march away on the hard stone ground.
At moments like this, she worried she wasn’t cut out for such perilous operations. Her being an SOE agent must be some kind of mistake. It was one thing gathering intelligence, or sabotaging transport routes, but interacting with the German forces wasthe most terrifying of all. Doubts swirled in her mind, but she pushed them away like she always did.
After all, if she didn’t do this, then who would? No one was cut out for fighting the Nazi regime, but they had no choice.
By late morning, Lizzie had observed patrol patterns, harbour and port defences and potential landing sites for the Allies. She even spotted a couple of Jersey fishing boats, which brought tears to her eyes as she followed them with the powerful lens. The names of the little boats were familiar Jersey landmarks, which was how she knew they had come straight from the island of her birth and would probably return soon. This was outside the remit of her mission, and the SOE would not be interested in fishing boats travelling to and from the occupied Channel Islands.
But Lizzie was.
Nan and Pops.They were just a short boat trip away from where she stood now. The intensity of her feelings whipped through her like a wild storm, stealing her composure as she stood amongst the windswept ruins on the site of the ancient fortress, which would be a key piece of Hitler’s Atlantic Wall.
Satisfied she had photographed what Charles needed and gathered as much intelligence as she could, she repositioned the equipment next to her uncle and completed the next batch of photography.
Her mini camera was full of priceless reconnaissance shots and tucked safety in the lining of her coat, so she could breathe properly again.
A vision of Prime Minister Churchill and his War Cabinet pouring over the photographs and planning the Allied invasion to free France and win the war entered her mind.
Her insides fizzed at the realisation she had achieved what she had come to achieve. What had seemed impossible had become simple when Uncle Charles revealed the details of hisnext project. Lizzie kicked herself for not even considering he would be able to help her gain access, when it seemed so obvious now.
The Germans relied on local expertise and didn’t hesitate to use professionals who passed their security checks. If they discovered her uncle was born in Jersey, it was unlikely he would be allowed access at this level.
During the ride back to the house, Lizzie thought about her meeting with Father Guérin the following day. Her need of a radio set was urgent now. Without it, she couldn’t let London know she had a critical film in her possession and would need a way out.
Jack would be so worried, and she could feel his angst. They were entwined even when they were apart.
Did the priest know where the missing radio was, and if he did, would he trust her?
CHAPTER 24
Uncle Charles said he was pleased with the progress they had made, and after they arrived back at the house, he rushed to develop the film in his darkroom in the basement.
Lizzie asked to see the pictures when they were ready, and Charles looked delighted to have a family member take such an interest in his work.
‘Of course, my dear. I’ll call you when they are ready. It shouldn’t be too long.’
In the bedroom, Lizzie extracted the precious mini camera from her coat and sat on the bed, nestling it in her palm.
The Minox camera used by spies and agents was brilliant, and with the help of her uncle’s professional equipment, it had been easy to pinpoint what to photograph with the small device. But there was always the worry that the pictures wouldn’t come out well when she got back to London and then her mission would have failed. There were so many things that could go wrong. She hoped she had captured the fortifications clearly and that the lighting conditions were sufficient.
Lizzie could explain what she’d seen, and that would be helpful, but it was nothing compared to having photographsof the exact positioning. Her military knowledge was basic, so presenting the military experts with proof was at the heart of her mission.
There was the possibility of losing the camera during her extraction, or every agent’s worst fear—being caught with incriminating evidence of spying on their person, which would almost certainly result in her being sent to a Gestapo torture chamber.
Most agents who were caught were never seen or heard from again. In the early days of Lizzie’s work with the SOE, her undercover missions had been both terrifying and exhilarating, and she had tried not to think too much about what would happen if she was arrested.
The reality of espionage a few years into the war had caught up with them. There were too many missing agents, and they discovered many were dead through intelligence reports provided by those who had witnessed roundups of compromised agents in the field.
There was an ominous statistic floating around Baker Street that Lizzie couldn’t let herself dwell on but that nevertheless found its way into her head.
SOE wireless operators, orpianistsas they called them, were said to have less than a six-week life expectancy on missions in Europe.
Jacques Moreau hadn’t been in play for long, and his arrest and subsequent disappearance haunted Lizzie with evidence of this cruel statistic.
She put her own survival through many dangerous operations down to the fact that she rarely transmitted regular messages as a wireless operator. Yes, she used radio equipment whenessential, but it was only a small part of her missions, not her focus.
