Night Fighters in France

Using sign language, he indicated that he and Pierre should leave the track and advance the rest of the way through the trees. This they did, encountering no one and soon emerging near the backs of the cottages.

From the open window of one of the cottages, they could hear a crackling radio on which someone was speaking in French. Though not familiar with the language, Lorrimer understood enough to realize that he was hearing news of the Allied liberation of the country. The advance seemed to be going well.

Stepping up to the house and glancing through the open window, Lorrimer saw that the kitchen was filled with people, all seated around a huge pine table, drinking wine or calvados, smoking cigarettes and. listening with obvious pleasure to the news on the radio. That they were doing so was a clear indication that the Germans had already left.

Sighing with relief, but still not taking any chances, Lorrimer checked the rear of the other cottages in the row, and found similar scenes inside, so he let Pierre lead him out into the village’s only street.

The street was no more than a flattened earth track running between two straight rows of stone cottages and a grocer’s, animal feed store and saddlery, bakery, dairy, blacksmith’s, barber’s shop, one bar and, at the far end, a church, graveyard and school. Many of the locals – mainly farmers and their wives, most surprisingly plump and red-cheeked given the spartan existence they must have led during the German occupation – were sitting either on their doorsteps or on rush chairs outside the houses, taking in the sun, eating and, like those Lorrimer had seen in the kitchens, celebrating with wine or calvados.

When those nearest to Lorrimer and Pierre saw them, they came rushing up excitedly to embrace them, kiss them on both cheeks or shake their hands, and then plied them with bread, cheese, alcohol, all the while asking about the Allies’ progress. After refusing the wine and telling them as much as he knew, Lorrimer asked if all the Germans had left the village.

‘They left two behind as snipers,’ he was informed in English by a solemn-faced, gaunt man wearing an FFI armband. ‘But they didn’t last long.’ Straightening his shoulders and grinning, he turned away to point along the street. Looking in that direction, Lorrimer saw two German troopers sprawled on their backs in the dirt, their helmets missing – probably taken as souvenirs – and their heads a mess of blood and exposed bone where they had been shot. The FFI man patted the pistol strapped to his waist and smiled again at Lorrimer. ‘Me,’ he said proudly. ‘I killed both of them. There are no more Boche here.’

‘Good,’ Lorrimer said. ‘We intend bringing our men through here, so please send someone back to warn us if any Germans return.’

‘Naturally,’ the man said, clearly relishing his role as protector of the hamlet.

Lorrimer thanked the man and walked back along the village street, with Pierre beside him. ‘A good man,’ Pierre said. ‘He hates the Germans. And those who fraternize.’ They were passing a crowd that had gathered around the barber’s shop and walked over to see what was happening. An attractive young woman of no more than twenty was having her head shaved by the village barber while the excited crowd, mostly women and children, looked on, laughing and occasionally spitting at the weeping woman. ‘She slept with a German soldier,’ Pierre explained, smiling brightly at Lorrimer. ‘A collaborator bitch.’

‘Probably just in love,’ Lorrimer said, turning away in disgust.

Pierre shrugged. ‘In love…a whore…whatever – she still collaborated. That’s all we care about here.’

‘Let’s get back,’ Lorrimer said.

They returned via the narrow, winding forest track to the jeep, where Jacko and Rich were keeping the bend covered in silence.

‘The village has been cleared,’ Lorrimer told them, ‘so let’s get back to the squadron.’

‘They must have heard you coming,’ Jacko said.

‘And got scared shitless,’ Rich added.

‘Any more fancy remarks and you’ll be walking back,’ Lorrimer said as he climbed into the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition.

‘These lips are sealed,’ Jacko said.

‘Same here, Sarge,’ Rich added.

‘Glad to hear it, lads,’ said the sergeant, waiting until Pierre was sitting in the seat beside him before releasing the handbrake and heading back to the first village.

Twenty minutes later they emerged from the gloomy forest and drove into the centre of the sunlit village, where Lorrimer told Jacko and Rich to remain in the jeep until he had reported to Callaghan and Greaves. The two captains were sitting in the shade of a tree near the remains of the fountain, studying a map.

Though disgruntled at being prevented from again fraternizing with the pretty village girls, Jacko and Rich received some consolation when they hurried up to the jeep, gave them more bread, cheese and wine and began flirting with them. Shaking his head in mock exasperation, but unable to conceal a grin, Lorrimer ignored them while he crossed to the square, accompanied by Pierre, and knelt in the dirt beside Callaghan and Greaves.

‘The next village has been cleared,’ he informed the officers. ‘The only Germans still there are the two dead ones lying in the street.’

‘The FFI took care of them?’ Callaghan asked shrewdly.

‘Yes, boss.’

‘Where would we be without our French patriots? Right, Sergeant, let’s get doing.’

The column of jeeps moved out shortly after, churning up great clouds of dust that descended on the men, women and children in the square, most of whom waved goodbye and threw flowers over the departing vehicles. Once back on the forest track, amid the now familiar gloom and silence, the men manning the guns in the jeeps carefully scanned the trees on both sides, on the lookout for snipers. In the event, nothing happened and soon they were rounding the last bend in the track and emerging on to the sunlit road that ran straight through the village.

The SAS men responded with understandable pleasure to the women and children who ran alongside their vehicles, throwing flowers and handing up more bottles of calvados. Their spirits, however, were momentarily dampened when they passed the woman who had had her head shaved and now, completely bald and streaked with blood, was kneeling in the dirt, covering her face with her hands and trembling as she sobbed. Thankfully, they were soon past her and circling around the two dead German troopers spread-eagled in the middle of the road; then they were leaving the village behind and heading out into open country again.

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