Cold Lonely Courage (Madeleine toche Series Book 2) (15 page)

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CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN

Madeleine rubbed her chin and paced in her small holding cell. She was angrier with herself than frightened. Why haven’t I been turned over to the Gestapo or the SS? Maybe that’s coming, she thought.

She had come to in the back of the
Kubelwagen,
groggy and disoriented. Her jaw hurt but wasn’t broken. Little by little she recognized Willi. The other man must have been his partner. She was confused. Regardless, her first priority was escape. She remembered the incident back at the
chateau.
She was glad that she didn’t have to shoot Willi, although she had intended to. The reflex would have been automatic, however unfortunate the consequences.

“I think we need to talk,
mademoiselle
,” Stenger said as he carried a cup of coffee and a packet of cigarettes into the room, speaking in French.

“How about you talk, I’ll listen,” Madeleine said sarcastically, her eyes never leaving his.

“If you think I want to question you about your former activities, you’re wrong.” Stenger said, tossing the cigarettes through the bars to Madeleine. He placed a stool near the cell and set the coffee on it.

Madeleine slowly opened the cigarettes and smelled them. She also stuck her finger into the coffee and carefully tasted it. Stenger tossed her a box of matches and Madeleine lit a cigarette.

“What, no knockout drugs or poison, Major?” She smiled. It was an honest smile and the radiance of her beauty intensified.

“I am not an assassin,” Stenger said with a hint of condemnation.

Madeleine nodded, sparing them both any feeble attempt at denial.

“So, will it be the Gestapo or the SS for me, Major?”

“Neither. That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

Madeleine was surprised. She reached through the bars and picked up the cup of coffee and took a large swallow.

“God, I hate wartime coffee. Thanks all the same.”

“My plan is simple,
mademoiselle.
The Allies are rapidly advancing. I think France will be free very soon.”

“So, I stay here until the Allies waltz into town?” She said, surprised at the frank assessment Stenger had so easily admitted.

“No. When the time is right the three of us surrender to the first Allied forces that arrive in the area. You stay here with us on the condition that you don’t try to leave.”

“That’s it?”

“No, not entirely. I need your word that your killing days are over.”

“How do you know that you can trust me?” She asked, considering the enormous implications of what Stenger was suggesting.

“Because you won’t be giving your word to me, it will be to Willi. You spared Willi’s life and he spared your life. That means everything to a soldier.”

Madeleine knew that Stenger was right. She felt a sense of relief as she realized that there was an excellent chance that she’d survive the war. I missed any chance with Lammerding. Well, too bad, she thought. One miss out of countless kills. Perhaps it was fate. That possibility had to be seriously considered, given the present circumstances. What were the odds that she would cross paths with these particular policemen ever again, much less during the chaos of war? If she agreed maybe she would live to find Jack Teach and see the war end.

“So, where’s Willi?” she asked casually, leaning back and exhaling.

“Good. You must have much to live for. I hope you have a family and loved ones waiting for you at the end of this horrible mess. Willi’s in the kitchen,” Stenger said, taking a key out of his pocket and opening the cell door. “Let’s go find him.”

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CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT

Major Kampfe watched from his staff car as his men exchanged fire with a pair of Resistance fighters they had stumbled across. His orders had been to seek out and kill all Resistance groups. He scoured the countryside in an effort to try to compromise Resistance sabotage missions before they could be brought to bear on his division. General Lammmerding had been furious when his trains were rendered useless. His orders were to kill anyone suspected of terrorist activity. To Kampfe the
Maquis
fighters were an insult to him and the men under his command. War was fought between armies, not peasants suddenly emboldened by an invasion. He would gladly eradicate the scum. He had no compunction against it in the least. Dead saboteurs didn’t necessitate any additional consideration. He left them to rot as they fell.

Kampfe was growing angry as he watched the action. The terrorists had been cornered in a small outbuilding, having been surprised at a roadblock. There was a man and a woman, interestingly enough. His patience was waning and the cocktail hour approaching. He glanced at his watch. He flung open the car door and got out.

“What’s the hold up?” Kampfe shouted to no one in particular.

“Major, one terrorist dead, one surrounded,” a platoon sergeant reported, saluting.

“Toss in grenades and blow the bastard to hell! Stop fooling around,” Kampfe said.

“The men think it’s the woman, sir.”

“The woman? Can’t the fearsome
Das Reich
overpower one woman!”

“Well, every time we get close she hits somebody. Two are dead and three wounded. She’s one hell of a shot sir.”

“A good shot? Intriguing, she must be highly trained. We might have ourselves a big fish here, Sergeant. Tell the boys to back off a little. We’ll make her use up her ammo and take her then.”

“Sir!” The sergeant saluted and ran back to the fight.

A prize indeed, Kampfe thought. He whispered to himself, “the Angel of Death? It can’t be.” Kampfe was SS and there wasn’t an SS officer in France that hadn’t heard about the shadowy assassin. Nobody could give much detail about her appearance. Must be military trained, he decided. I am going to catch this woman, and we’ll soon find out who she is.

SOE agent Violet Szabo crouched behind a door in the ramshackle building, squeezing off kill shots and mentally counting how much ammunition she had left. She pushed a strand of blond hair away from her face and sighted her pale blue eyes on the next target. She pulled the trigger, seeing the shot hit in her mind’s eye before it left her weapon. The bullet struck a soldier directly between the eyes. He immediately slumped. The war was over for him. He had foolishly raised his head and exposed himself to fire. She cursed her lack of ammunition, confident in her marksmanship. She had been parachuted back into France ahead of the invasion. How stupid it had been to run into this patrol, she thought. She and her fellow agent were armed to the teeth. If the vehicle had been searched they would have been shot.

Violet heard the sound of men encircling her. It seemed that they had wisely decided to wait her out. She smiled grimly, willing her enemies forward. She was the best shot in the SOE and she knew it. It had driven her fellow male agents mad. Finally she earned their respect, and her skill was openly celebrated.

She glanced down at the wound in her leg and could feel her energy and consciousness fading as the blood flowed out. The bullet had passed through and missed a major artery, but it bled profusely. She couldn’t afford to apply a tourniquet; she was out of time. I’m going to die anyway, she thought. Maybe they’ll recognize me for something other than a local
Maquis
and not kill me straight away. She didn’t have the option of escape. Her wound saw to that. Her head swam and her eyes rolled back in her head. Her last thoughts were of the beautiful little daughter she had left behind in her native England. With her father already killed fighting the Germans, and now her mother, the girl would be orphaned. How sad it was that she would be left to fend for herself in a world that might allow the madness of war to rise again. The gun slipped from her hands and she slumped to the ground. As her eyes closed she saw the soldiers moving carefully forward.

Kampfe stood over Szabo, telling his men to search her and put her in the back of his car. If she was going to survive she would need immediate medical care. A medic applied a tourniquet as Kampfe considered his prisoner. She was certainly beautiful enough, he mused, and there was plenty of fight in her. It was a pity that she would be turned over for questioning and probable internment in a concentration camp. He admired her courage. He personally had nothing against the British people. In his mind they were of pure race, and their historical ties to Germany and her royalty went back through countless generations.

“We’ll take her for interrogation. We’ll know her secrets soon enough,” Kampfe said as he stepped quickly towards his vehicle dismissing Szabo’s fate from his mind.

As Kampfe and his small detachment tore off in a cloud of dust, a young boy, no more than twelve years old, watched from the branches of a distant tree. When the soldiers were gone he carefully climbed down. If he fell, how would word get to his father? A person important to the Resistance had been captured. His father had to be warned. He silently dropped the last few feet to the ground and disappeared into the brush, ghosting his way towards home.

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CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE

“Do you know who I am?” Kampfe screamed as he looked down the barrels of several
Maquis
guns, in part angry with himself for falling into the hands of the Resistance.

“Yes. You are a Nazi war criminal and you will be treated as such,” a burly, middle-aged man curtly responded.

Kampfe was about to let fly with another tirade when he felt a gag thrust over his head and into his mouth. His arms were roughly tied behind his back. He glanced over and saw Lieutenant Gerlach, his junior officer, receiving the same treatment. The remainder of Kampfe’s detail lay dead on the ground. The
Maquis
ambush had been successful and well executed. It had taken place along an area of road that should have been safe for travel.

Kampfe and Gerlach were pushed into the back of a, nondescript sedan. The German staff car was pushed off the road and hastily covered with brush. The dead soldiers were dragged off the road and their bodies hidden. Kampfe’s captors realized that it wouldn’t be long before the officers were missed. Their plan was to hold them in case they were needed as hostages. Things were happening very quickly now that decisions were made hastily and their consequences or advantages dealt with later. Right now, the SS was rampaging against the
Maquis
throughout the region. A ranking officer like Kampfe might just give them some leverage.

As a final precaution, Kampfe and Gerlach were blindfolded. There was little discussion as the car drove on. Initially, the prisoners were thrust down in the back seat.

During the car ride, Gerlach managed to sit up for a brief moment, trying to orient himself as best he could. Just as the vehicle turned, a rough hand from the front seat pushed him back down and out of sight. The man’s hand brushed Gerlach’s blindfold and pushed it down allowing him a quick glimpse. He saw a road sign! Oradour sur Glane. The car continued past the intersection with the road leading to Oradour sur Glane. There was no comment among the Resistance members as they passed. The town was of no interest to anyone. There was no local
Maquis
organization in town for the men to deliver their prisoners to. They were headed towards Tulle. Many of the inhabitants of Tulle had some involvement with the Resistance. They were organized and well suited to hold the German officers until their utility as hostages had been determined. In the event they were of no use, they would be shot. Years of Nazi murder and cruelty had sealed their fate.

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CHAPTER
FORTY

Richard and his “boy scouts,” as he called them crouched in the thick brambles at the side of the road and surveyed the territory. It was an important route and the fastest way towards the fighting from the South. Richard trusted in the predictability of German behavior. That meant that, being efficient and precise, they would take the most direct route. Richard’s information was reliable. It had come directly from a British operative working clandestinely in the area for months. The agent told Richard that an SS Division would be coming by road as their rail options had been destroyed. Richard knew better than to ask for specifics but the man volunteered that the convoy was huge. It was an entire division of men, tanks, and equipment. Richard wanted to do as much damage as possible and slow the convoy down. He wanted to harass these bastards all the way to Normandy like hornets stinging a bear. The Germans would arrive at the battle anything but rested and fresh. He glanced at the young boys.

“Do not attack any Germans that you see on the road. The convoy we’re after won’t be coming all at once. We can’t attract attention to this area. I’m not after a couple of cars and men, I want to take out tanks. Get to know the road. The purpose of our mission is to watch so that we can plan appropriately. We’ll come back and put enough explosives around here tonight to make them curse the day they declared war on France.”

The eager expressions on the faces of the boys were heartening but also alarming. God, I hope there aren’t any slip ups, he thought. Before the mission he had passed out a few grenades and each boy was armed with a rifle. He had no choice. They can’t go into the field unarmed. I don’t like it, but under the circumstances it’s the best I can do.

In the distance Richard heard the distinctive sound of a truck approaching. He peered out of the undergrowth and saw three vehicles. The middle vehicle was a medium sized truck covered with a tarp. Two other smaller cars sat both in front and behind it. This is only a small detachment of men. The convoy certainly doesn’t look too important, and it doesn’t seem to be in any particular hurry, he thought. It would be stupid to attack this group. It will only attract attention and ruin our chances for a larger score later. This is not part of the convoy that was coming.

“Let this one pass,” he hissed, glancing down the row of eager faces. He motioned them back. “It’s not the big one we want.”

Richard could see the tension build in the boys. They were bursting with adrenaline. Just as the lead vehicle approached, one of the youngest boys leaped up and darted out into the road, clutching a grenade.

“No,” Richard yelled. It was too late. Like lemmings the other boys ran out, firing wildly. A German soldier in the lead car calmly rose in his seat and opened up with a machine gun like he was swatting at a fly. The first boy tossed his grenade into the car in front of the truck. It exploded, igniting the gas tank. The flaming vehicle lazily rolled to the side of the road and burned, oily black smoke billowing into the sky. Richard ran towards the front of the convoy and tossed his own grenade into the cab of the truck. The soldiers inside scrambled to find the explosive. The passenger was grabbing at it in an attempt to toss it out when it detonated in a blinding flash, ripping the men apart with shrapnel driven by the force of the concussion.

The driver of the second car slammed on his brakes. Richard spun and fired through the windshield, killing the soldier in the front passenger seat. The driver fired back, scrambling out of the vehicle. He backed away into the underbrush as Richard dove back into the ditch at the side of the road. He fired repeatedly at the retreating soldier, not knowing whether he hit the man or not. Without a radio the German would have to walk to find help. With
Maquis
groups marauding all over the countryside he would keep off the road if he had any sense.

After a short time Richard raised his head over the top of the ditch. He looked around, nothing but dead boys and men. He stood up to take stock of what had happened.

He walked toward the front of the convoy. There were bodies strewn around. The boys were ripped apart by machine gun fire and the grenade blasts. They hadn’t even lived long enough to learn how to fight, he thought as he shook his head. He pulled the boys’ bodies out of sight and under the cover of the dense undergrowth alongside the road. He was confident that the surviving German soldier was long gone. He cared less for the German dead and turned to see what was in the truck. He opened the tarp and reached in to slide a box towards him as he stood on the road. He could barely move it. He jumped up into the bed of the truck to get a better grip. He saw that all of the boxes were marked “records” and bore the standard SS insignia.

“Records?” He muttered aloud. “Not unless they’re written on stone tablets.”

He shoved the corner of a trench knife into a crack in the lid of the nearest box. He pried up carefully. The contents glowed as the sunlight danced on the bars of gold neatly stacked inside.

“My God,” he barely breathed. “Gold?” He saw the insignia of the SS stamped into one of the bars and lifted it up reverently to inspect it. He was astounded. “Somebody is going to miss this,” he said to himself. War or no war, he stood transfixed as visions of wealth darted through his mind.

Coming to his senses, Richard stood up and jumped back down out of the truck. He made his way over to one of the dead soldiers and found a small shovel. He had few options. He made up his mind immediately to hide as much of the gold as possible.

Working furiously Richard managed to move the heavy boxes and hide them a good distance from the side of the road. Thankfully the soil was loose and he had little trouble digging a sufficient number of holes. He worked in a near panic, expecting to hear the arrival of more vehicles at any moment. The sweat poured off of him as he dug furiously.

Once the boxes were buried, each in its own shallow hole, Richard spread leaf litter and branches to cover their location. It’s at least 600 kilos of gold, he thought, his mind racing with ideas. The one he kept coming back to was that this was German gold. He knew it would never replace the family the Nazis had taken from him, but he wasn’t about to share it with anyone. If I survive the war, I’m coming back for it. I’ll be patient and claim it for myself.

As he finished, he took his bearings. One good rain and all evidence will be washed away as the soil compacted. Even if they come looking for it there was a lot of ground to cover, he thought. The boxes are a good way into the forest and on a diagonal path. The Germans will think a second vehicle had cleared out the contents of the truck. His aching back told him that that theory might be believed. With little hesitation Richard decided that the war was over for him. He made his way towards the south, and Spain.