just as towering as I remembered, shooting up from the ground in columns.
We headed up switchbacks into a forest with many kinds of trees, finally coming to a stop at the end, marked by a boulder of granite. ‘The Free French come here for the transfer,’ she said, slinging a rifle over her shoulder. ‘What the Alliance hoards, and then gives to the Maquisards.’ She pulled a hunk of crusty bread from her pocket and handed it to me as we walked down a long footpath that cut in between some trees.
‘Transfer?’ I shoved the bread into my mouth, my stomach growling, chewing as she talked.
‘The guns in the crypt,’ she said. ‘We give them the intelligence we’ve collected and the guns. Weapons to fight with… the ones we steal from the Germans.’ She stopped and touched my shoulder. ‘The codes you got from Gérard’s office unlocked the largest load we’ve had in a single collection.’
I gasped, smiling, and she patted my back.
A camp came out of nowhere at the end of the path; fabric draped from tree limbs and sparking fires cooked meat on a spit. The women, some old as grandmothers, others younger than the delinquents at the convent, smoked and passed guns to men wearing berets in vehicles who had their sleeves rolled up to their biceps, which bulged under the tattered fabric of their old French uniforms. Unshaved faces and the grittiness of an underground war thick on their skin was their patch.
‘Remember, they call me Chameleon here,’ she said.
‘What’s my name?’ I joked, but then started to wonder if I did have a code name.
‘I’ve been calling you Catchfly,’ she said. ‘When we hid in those bug-infested weeds, wanting to itch but couldn’t for the sake of our lives… It’s not an animal name, but I’m sure the Alliance can make an exception.’
‘It’s perfect.’
Marguerite walked me over to a small group where she introduced me by my new name. One was a man who looked dirtier than dirt with bloodshot eyes. ‘This is Gill,’ Marguerite said, pointing with her head.
‘Like a fish?’ I asked.
He popped an unlit cigarette into his mouth and pulled back his shirt, exposing what looked like healed bullet holes above his collarbone.
‘He’s been known to breathe underwater,’ she said.
Gill laughed, which turned into a hacking cough when he lit his cigarette. Marguerite adjusted her collar, pulling it from her neck, and I wondered if she had scars. She caught me looking, and dropped her hand.
‘We heard you knew about Hedgehog, that she was arrested late last night. Coming in her place was very brave,’ Marguerite said.
‘Not any braver than you,’ I said. ‘Saving me from the dirt.’
There were no more words about bravery.
‘There’s a man I’m looking for,’ I said, ‘someone in the Résistance who…’ Two men emerged from the tree line, carrying cases and wearing headphones around their necks. I lit up, heart fluttering. Luc.
He glanced up, catching sight of me, ripping the headphones from his neck, and I ran into his arms. He squeezed me tightly before pulling away, looking dreamily into my eyes. ‘Why’d you do it? You could have been arrested, or worse!’
‘Did I have a choice?’ I smiled. ‘You still haven’t told me where you’re from.’
He pulled me in for a kiss, a quick peck. ‘Come on,’ he said.
‘I’ll be right back,’ I said to Marguerite, but we’d walked away from camp and into a secluded part of the woods where we could have some privacy. Our feet dangled over the edge of a basalt cliff, catching the last tailings of sunlight as the sun dipped into the hills.
‘I thought about you every day since we drank whisky in your mother’s kitchen,’ he said.
‘But you left,’ I said. ‘Not even a goodbye.’
‘That night I watched you sit in your mother’s kitchen from the field. I smoked all my cigarettes in the dark, wondering what you were thinking, and how the hell I was going to stay away from you.’
‘You watched me?’ I breathed, and the rest of the world seemed so far away.
He held me in his arms.
‘Does this mean you’ll tell me where you’re from?’ I said.
Luc laughed. ‘I’m from Nancy. I was born there.’ I rested my head on his shoulder.
‘And your voice?’ I said, and he laughed again. ‘Where’s the accent come from?’
‘As for my voice, well, that’s what happens when you spend time in Britain, talk to them on the radio. They rub off on you—those Brits—like shoe polish. But we need