The Girl in the Blue Beret - By Bobbie Ann Mason Page 0,39

boches! Every day we did the telephone lines. On several occasions we blew up the railroad tracks—and the canal locks.”

“And the alcohol distillerie,” Gisèle said.

“Yes. And the bridges on the highways, as well as those across the river. After you left here, we accelerated our clandestine activities, anticipating the débarquement of the Allies.” Pierre sipped his wine and was silent for some moments. “But after the Allies arrived on June 6, things grew worse—open combat with the boches. When the Allies came to Normandy, you understand, the boches were in panic for their marvelous Reich. I delivered all the arms to the secteurs and asked my men to leave their jobs and be prepared for widespread action against the enemy. More than ever, our efforts were necessary. This became very bad, for the Gestapo was on alert against all Résistance activity. This was especially hard for me, for many men came to the house and I had to be ready.”

“We received a warning,” Gisèle said.

Pierre had to go underground, to a friend’s house, seven kilometers away, for fifteen days, while Gisèle and Nicolas stayed at home. Gisèle was certain Pierre would be arrested.

“And you comprehend what this would mean,” Pierre said. Grinning, he drew his finger across his throat.

“But I was careful. I was thinking up here.” Pierre touched his forehead. “I was a step ahead of the boches. They were strangers here, but I knew the place. I knew what they might do next, where they might go.”

“He said that again and again, until I maybe believed it,” Gisèle said.

“You and Nicolas were my eyes and ears, too. You did your part.”

“I remember Nicolas and his reports,” Marshall put in. “Always busy.”

Gisèle, twisting her hands together nervously, said, “You will never know this ordeal, Marshall.”

“It turned out well, chérie!” Pierre said.

“I was happy to shelter the aviateurs. The rest was horrible.”

Pierre acknowledged the dangers, but then he laughed.

After his period underground, he was given another assignment—to investigate in his region of Aisne all the munitions and fuel depots for airplanes, the German army headquarters, and the railways. He had to mark these targets on aerial maps for American bombers.

“I traveled to Paris three times in two weeks to deliver these maps. They were taken to fields where couriers in small planes from England came for them. This was very gratifying to me. All of it was for bombing by your bombardiers!”

“Pierre was very brave,” said Gisèle. Pierre squeezed her hand.

“After Paris, I went into combat again with the Chauny organization, and our task was to prevent the boches from crossing the bridges. After setting the charges, I intended to reassemble my group, who had the weapons we had distributed. But when I set out alone on the Soissons road, I found myself facing maybe a hundred enemy soldiers! I was—how is it said?—shaking in my boots, but I did not reveal this. The lieutenant was only ten meters away. He called to me, and he lifted his rifle and aimed at me. ‘Raus!’ he said. Mon Dieu! But then someone interrupted him and he forgot about me. More and more the boches were disorganized. And so my life was spared!” Pierre smiled broadly.

“You were a lucky man!” said Marshall.

“I returned with my men to town, but we could do nothing there, for we were watched. Then two hours later the bridges blew up, and in the confusion we managed to get our weapons out of hiding—just in time to see the avant-garde libérateurs of Patton’s army! The rest of our work was to guide their way through town and to do away with the isolated boche, and to watch the roads to let our Allies make their triumphal advance toward Belgium.”

Marshall listened intently, “the isolated boche” echoing in his mind. “I want to say something,” he said, lifting his glass. He paused, trying to find words, knowing they were inadequate. “Thank you, Gisèle, for providing so well for me. Thanks to your son, too, for helping me with my French. Thank you, Pierre, all of you, for risking your lives. I propose a toast to you, my second family. Merci beaucoup.”

Marshall was amazed at himself. He had never offered a toast in his life until this moment. He felt warm from the wine, strangely happy, and slightly askew.

LATE IN THE AFTERNOON, Nicolas returned, bringing his wife.

“Angeline wished to meet you, Marshall, so I went home and retrieved her,” he said. Angeline spontaneously gave Marshall a two-cheek kiss. She was

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