The Girl in the Blue Beret - By Bobbie Ann Mason Page 0,30
The coat fit too snugly over his flying jacket, but he was unwilling to get rid of his leather jacket in winter.
Loretta. When would she know that he hadn’t come back to base? How long would it take him to walk to Spain on back roads, hiding in barns?
The door opened and two middle-aged men speaking in loud voices roused him. He had been told in evasion class that most Frenchmen collaborated with the Germans. There was a reward for turning in downed airmen. Speaking gruffly, the larger of the two men grabbed Marshall by the collar. He wanted proof that Marshall was an American aviateur. Marshall showed him the U.S. Army label inside his flying jacket. Following regulations, he had not brought anything in writing with him. No names, no addresses, no photos. His dog tags were in his boots.
The men scrutinized him carefully, then whispered together, keeping their eyes on him. Leaving, they signaled that he should stay in the barn, and they latched the door behind them. Marshall wasn’t sure what to do. In a few minutes, the woman returned, bringing him another piece of bread, some cheese, and a corked green bottle with some wine in it. She put her finger to her lips and left.
Marshall thrashed in the loose hay, trying to sleep. Later, well after midnight, the two men reappeared, this time with a third man, who shook Marshall’s hand and addressed him in English. He grinned, showing uneven teeth.
“We will help you, but it is necessary to verify your identity and send it to London to determine if you are a spy.”
Marshall relaxed slightly. “Why would I be spying on you in an American flight suit?”
“The best disguise of all, perhaps. Where did you come down?”
“I don’t know. North of here. I don’t know if it was in Belgium or France.”
The interrogator studied him. “You will stay here until it is time to move you.”
“What are you going to do with me?”
The trio whispered to one another, then all smiled warmly at Marshall. The man who spoke English said, “We will move you to where it is safe. There is great risk in sheltering you. If you are not who you say you are, you will be shot. If you reveal who we are, we will all be shot. We will aid you, but only if you can prove to us your identity.”
Marshall volunteered nothing. He suspected that the man knew about the crash. What if he was a German agent? Or a Frenchman ready to capture him and turn him over to the Germans? Marshall was confused. But he knew he needed help. The man told him to remain in the barn, and that someone would be on guard so that he would not get away. “We will take care of you,” he said. Marshall wasn’t sure how to take that.
“Your identity tag, please. We will verify with London.”
Marshall took off his right boot and handed over one of the two dog tags hidden inside. Getting the boot off was a relief, but he pulled it back on. He needed to sleep in all his clothes, ready to run.
The man wrote down something. “We will see if you are a boche.”
He asked a series of questions. The name of his mother, his sweetheart. His height, weight. Marshall realized that a German would have hesitated, his mind running through conversion tables. Reluctantly, he answered.
“What is a cockpit?”
The place where I feel cocky, Marshall thought.
“Who won the World Series last year?”
Marshall was relieved to answer that. He was a Yankees fan.
The questions ended abruptly. He wondered if he had passed the grilling or if he would have to bolt.
IN THE MORNING, a different woman appeared with his breakfast. She was heavyset and wore work garb, a canvas jacket, and clog shoes. Speaking in heavily accented English, she explained that her sister had answered the door the day before.
“This is some real coffee,” she said. “We have saved it for two years, for a special occasion.”
“Thank you.”
She gave him some bread and some jam.
“There is no butter. The boches took our cow.”
The bitterness in her voice made him trust her somewhat.
“How do you know English?”
“I used to know an Englishman.”
“Am I in France or Belgium?”
“France, monsieur.” Her eyes were hazel.
She said, “We will take care of you until the Résistance arrives. You are safe here, but you must stay hiding. Do not make a sound.”