Marie
England, 1944
Marie sat in her room in the barracks at Tangmere Airfield, trying not to sweat through the wool of her travel suit because she would surely be wearing it for days. As she waited, alone, she rechecked her papers: identification and ration cards, travel and work permits. Each was false—and each had to be perfect.
It was not the first time Marie had prepared to go. Three nights earlier, as she waited, she had watched the fog roll in, low and menacing. She knew there would be no flying that night. Still she’d gone through the motions, picking up her bag and walking dutifully outside to the car. She had made it to the side of the plane before the mission was called off.
Now Marie waited in her room once more, hoping that the rain she felt coming in the night air was not enough to stop the flight. It was nearly a month since that day at Arisaig House when Eleanor had given her the option of giving up and going home. Often she wondered if she had made the right choice. Each night before she went to bed, she told herself she might ask the next day if the offer to leave still stood. But there was something about the crispness of those mornings in the Scottish Highlands, the mist rising above the hills as the girls marched stiff-backed around the loch, that had gotten into her soul. This was where she was meant to be, and there was no turning away.
It was more than just the beauty of the Scottish countryside, which she would inevitably leave behind, that held her. And it wasn’t just about the money anymore either. After Josie had deployed, something within Marie had changed. She became engrossed in the training. She strained to learn her radio codes quicker and faster. “You might have to transmit from inside a toilet so quickly no one suspects anything more than a trip to the loo,” the instructor had once explained. She’d completed a three-day mission outside without food, forced to trap or scavenge from the brush whatever she needed to eat. She could feel the other girls watching and following her lead. It was as if she had risen up to take Josie’s place. She became so focused on her role and succeeding at the job that she forgot to be afraid.
Then a week earlier, she’d been called to the office at Arisaig House before the morning run and told to pack her things. Her departure was so abrupt she had not even had time to say goodbye to any of the others. There was no explanation, just a black sedan with a driver who hadn’t spoken. As the rugged coast faded behind her, she wondered if she were being sent home. But instead, they had brought her down to the military airfield in rural West Sussex to take care of the last-minute items. There was endless paperwork to be completed, which seemed odd for a job and a mission that wasn’t meant to exist at all.
The morning after she arrived at the air base there was a knock on her door. “Eleanor.” Marie had not seen her since her visit to Arisaig House. Eleanor, she had come to realize, was much more than just the recruitment officer she professed to be at their first meeting. In fact, she ran everything at SOE having to do with the women.
Eleanor had summoned her to follow and led Marie to a private office in a building not far from the barracks at the airfield where Marie had been staying. She produced a bottle of wine. It seemed strange that they would serve alcohol in the middle of the day.
But Eleanor didn’t mean for them to drink the wine this time; instead, she unwrapped the newspaper that covered the bottle and pored over the first page. “Ah, the ration cards are changing in Lyon!” It was the news, not the drink inside it, which interested Eleanor.
Eleanor continued, “You must stay current on affairs. Outdated intelligence is worse than no intelligence at all and will give you away twice as quickly.
“And you must never neglect the importance of open-source intelligence,” Eleanor continued. Marie cocked her head. “Information you can learn that is publicly available, from the newspapers, the locals. The flotsam method of intelligence gathering, it’s called. Little pieces of information gathered from the most mundane sources. Things that you can observe with your own eyes, like movements of trains and soldiers. Like when you see a bunch of Jerrys cashing in their francs, you know they are about to deploy.”
Eleanor looked up from the newspaper. “You are Renee Demare, a shopgirl from Épernay, a town south of Reims,” she began without introduction.
Marie understood then that she was being given her cover. Her heart surged with excitement and fear. “So you’re sending me after all?”
“It was always the plan. I just had to be sure,” Eleanor said simply.
“About me?” Eleanor nodded. Marie wanted to ask if she was sure, but even now feared the answer.
“So your cover…” Eleanor said. Marie’s excitement at going was quickly replaced by nervousness. Cover was the last step before deployment. When she had learned this during training, Marie had been surprised. It seemed to her that it would have made more sense to have the story well in advance and begin to wear it like a second skin. They didn’t want the agents talking about their cover during training at SOE school, though, knowing details about one another that they should not. “You are to say that your family was killed during an early air raid,” Eleanor explained. “And that you’ve come to live in an apartment owned by your late aunt.”
“But if they check the records in Épernay…”
“Impossible. The mairie has been destroyed by fire.” The location had been chosen deliberately for the lack of records available from the town hall. So much detail and thought. “If you are captured, you must maintain this identity. If impossible, you may reveal only your name and rank, nothing more. You hold out for forty-eight hours. That will give the others time to recover from the damage.”
“And then?”
“And then they will break you. The region you are going to is controlled in part by a high-ranking German officer called Hans Kriegler, who heads up the Sicherheitsdienst, or SD, German intelligence. They are ruthless and absolutely committed to hunting down every last one of our agents. Do not expect to be treated any differently because you are a woman. If you are caught, they will torture you, and once they have learned all that they think you know, you will likely be killed. You should kill yourself first if it comes to that.” Eleanor stared at her levelly, not blinking. Marie struggled not to show emotion on her face. Though she had been warned of the danger before, it never got easier to hear. Eleanor continued, “You’ll be landed by Lysander.”
“What about parachute training?” Marie asked. She had heard that this was how some of the girls had been sent.
Eleanor shook her head. “There’s no time. You are needed on the ground sooner.” Josie had gone in a rush, too, Marie recalled. What had given rise to the sudden need? “You will be deploying as a radio operator with the Vesper network. Vesper is one of our most important circuits because it covers Paris, as well as so much of the ground the Allies will need to cross after the invasion. The network is engaged in a very aggressive campaign of sabotage and their need for radio communication is frequent. At the same time, it is one of the most heavily occupied regions in France. You will have to avoid detection by both the SD and the police.” Eleanor’s voice was sharp with intensity and her pupils narrowed as she focused. “Do you understand?”
Marie nodded, taking it all in. But her stomach had a queer feeling. This was the most she had learned about her mission. In some ways, it had been easier not knowing. “You’ll be working for Vesper himself,” Eleanor said. “He fought in Marseille, survived many battles. He’s an excellent commander. He’ll expect the best from you.”
“Like someone else,” Marie said, realizing her mistake too late. She had never joked with Eleanor before and she waited for her to bristle at the familiarity.
But the older woman smiled. “I suppose I should take that as a compliment.” Marie saw then that Eleanor was neither rude nor mean. She had been hard on the girls because they could not afford an accident that might cause themselves or others their lives.
There came a knocking at the door, drawing Marie from her memories of her conversation with Eleanor days earlier. “Yes?” She rose, but before she could reach the door, it opened a crack.
“Hearse is here,” a man’s voice called. Marie cringed at the reference to the car that would take her to the plane. He reached in the room and picked up the case containing her wireless radio, which had been brought from Scotland along with her.
Eleanor waited in front of the barracks in the darkness. Marie was surprised to see the tip of a cigarette gleaming just above her hand. Eleanor did not speak, but started toward the black Vauxhall. Marie followed, handing her bags to the driver. She and Eleanor climbed into the back of the car. “The curfew in Paris has been changed to nine thirty,” Eleanor said as they drove through the military base in the darkness.
The night air tickled Marie’s nose and she sneezed. She reached into a pocket. Her hand closed around something unfamiliar. She pulled out a tailor ticket and a cinema stub, both printed in French. Little things designed to create authenticity.
“Here.” Eleanor passed Marie a purse. It contained a compact, lipstick and wallet. Marie realized these were not simple toiletries, but devices like those she had seen in Professor Digglesby’s workshop at Arisaig House during training, tools she might need to survive once deployed.
They passed an RAF sentry holding a lantern and stopped at the edge of the aerodrome. Marie stepped from the car and walked to the boot where the driver was unloading bags. She picked up the case containing her radio, but Eleanor reached out and stopped her. “I don’t understand…”
“The radio is too heavy for the Lysander. It will be dropped separately.”
“But…” Marie was dismayed. She had grown used to the radio being by her side these past few months, felt attached to it. It was like a kind of armor and without it she would be exposed. She let go of the radio reluctantly, then looked up toward the tarmac at the tiny Lysander. How could a plane be unable to manage her thirty-pound wireless set but transport her safely to France?
“It will be dropped from a separate flight,” Eleanor promised.
“How will I find it?” Marie asked, dubious.
“They will get it to you,” Eleanor reassured her. “Don’t worry. They’re very good.”
Whoever “they” were, Marie thought. All she had heard was one code name: Vesper. She knew no one.
They stood on the edge of the airfield, the dampness of the grass soaking through Marie’s nylons at the ankle. The sickly sweet smell of early dogwood roses wafted moist across the field. Eleanor checked Marie’s cuffs to see that they were folded just so. She was calm as ever, nonemotional. But her hand trembled slightly as she fixed Marie’s collar and there was faint perspiration on her upper lip—little signs of nervousness Marie wished she had not seen because they scared her more than anything else had.
At last Eleanor led her toward the plane. The words batting order were chalked on the side of the plane, followed by names she didn’t recognize. “What’s that?” Marie asked.
“The priority of persons to be extracted if they are at the landing site. We can only fit three and the plane can’t wait more than a minute.” Inwardly, Marie blanched. Even as she was going over, there were countless others trying to escape. She wondered when she would be on the return flight home to Tess. She had to believe it would happen in the end, or she wouldn’t be going at all.
“Here.” Eleanor passed her a neat stack of francs, wrapped with a rubber band. “Half your pay comes in cash when you are in the field to use for things that you need. The rest will be paid for you in pounds sterling when you return.
“And one other thing,” Eleanor said. She held out her hand, palm opened and upturned. Marie knew she was asking for the butterfly necklace, the reminder of Tess that she secretly wore.
Reluctantly, Marie took it from her neck. Then she hesitated. It was the one bit of her old life Marie had held on to these lonely months of training. Now it was being stripped from her. But she knew she had no choice; it was time to let go.
“I’ll keep it safe for you,” Eleanor said, her voice sounding as though she was talking about something much larger. Marie let her take the necklace from her fingers. “You’ll want this instead.” Eleanor produced a necklace with a silver bird charm and held it out. Marie was surprised. But it was not a gift; Eleanor twisted the necklace and it unscrewed to reveal a cyanide capsule. “The final friend,” Eleanor declared. “You have to chew it quickly because the Germans know the smell and will try to make you spit it out.” Marie shuddered. She had trained for it, of course. If she found herself captured and unable to hold out from talking, she was to end her life. But she could not imagine actually doing it.
Marie took a last look at Eleanor. “Thank you.”
Eleanor stiffened, a slight dip of her chin the only response. “Thank me by getting the job done.” She took Marie’s hand and pressed it a second too long. Then she turned and walked off across the field.
Marie approached the plane warily. She had never flown before and even this small plane, a metal contraption with a glass dome top, seemed strange and intimidating.
A man sat in the cockpit. He gestured to her impatiently to come aboard. She had expected a military pilot but the man’s hair was longish, curling against the neck of his American-style brown bomber jacket. His face was stubbled with whiskers. Was this the man who was to fly her to France? As she squeezed through the narrow door of the plane, Marie looked back over her shoulder for Eleanor. But she had already disappeared across the airfield.
Marie took the narrow seat behind the pilot and felt for a seat belt but found none. She had scarcely sat down before the ground crew closed the door from the outside. “Change of plans,” the pilot announced without introduction, his accent Irish.
Her skin prickled. “What is it?”
“You’ll be landing blind.” He turned to the controls, dozens of unfamiliar dials and gauges. Through the front windshield, Marie saw the propeller on the nose of the plane begin to turn. The plane rolled forward, jostling her as it rolled over the uneven earth.
“Blind?” she repeated before the meaning caught up to her. That meant she would be on her own, without the customary reception committee to meet her and help her rendezvous with her circuit. “But I was supposed to be met.”
The pilot shrugged. “Nothing goes as planned in the field. Something must have happened and it isn’t safe for them to come.” Then how, she wondered, could it possibly be safe for her to arrive? For a minute, she wanted to ask to turn back and cancel. But the plane was picking up speed, the engine growing to a deafening roar. She fought the urge to cry out as the ground seemed to slip from beneath her. Feeling the strange sensation for the first time, she almost forgot to be afraid. She looked out the window, hoping to catch sight of Eleanor. But she and the Vauxhall had already gone. The separation between Marie and England grew greater by the second. There was no turning back now.
As the plane shot up at a steep angle, Marie’s stomach dropped, and it occurred to her for the first time that she might be one to get airsick. Taking shallow breaths as they had been instructed in training, she looked down at the houses below, muted by the blackout. She imagined if she gazed far enough north she might see the old vicarage in East Anglia, Tess asleep beneath a thick plaid duvet in the attic room with the sloping rafters.
Neither Marie nor the pilot spoke further, for there was no chance of being heard over the incessant rattling of the engine that caused Marie’s teeth to chatter painfully. The air inside the plane grew colder, almost frigid. Below the earth was a sheet of perfect black. A silver ribbon broke through like a beacon, the Channel waters illuminated in the moonlight with a brilliance that no rules or blackout could dim.
The plane dropped suddenly, then listed sharply to the left. Marie grasped the seat hard to avoid being sent sprawling by the unexpected jolt. She had not imagined flying to be this rough. She tried to conceal her nerves, but a cool sweat broke out on her skin. “Is anything wrong?” Marie called. She tried to see the pilot’s face, searching for some sign of panic.
He shook his head, not looking up from the controls. “You feel every bump in this baby. That’s the thing about the Lysander—it’s small and slow and a German could shoot it with a slingshot.” He patted the control panel. “But I can put it down on a mosquito’s ass or in five hundred yards of shit.” Marie cringed at his crudeness, but he did not bother to apologize.
As they neared the French coast, the pilot eased forward on the throttle. The plane lowered and a thick fog seemed to encircle it. The pilot looked out the window, trying to get a better view of the ground below. Surely, Marie thought, there had to be a better way to navigate. “We may have to turn back,” he said.
“Can we wait until it clears?” Marie asked, relieved and disappointed at the same time.
He shook his head. “We’ve got to make sure we’re back in Allied space before daylight. If we’re spotted over France, there’s no way to fly high or fast enough to escape enemy fire.” Marie’s skin prickled with fear. She might actually die before landing. The pilot wrinkled his brow as he studied the earth below. “I think we’re in the right spot, though, or close enough. I’m going to make a go at it.”
“That hardly inspires confidence,” she replied, before thinking better of it.
He turned to give her a wry look. “You’ll want to hold on tight.”
The plane dropped, then shot downward nose first at a sharp angle, so unexpected and steep Marie thought they might be crashing. The earth raced at them with alarming speed. She clung to the seat, closing her eyes and preparing for the worst.
Marie braced herself for a hard jolt as she had been trained as they neared the ground. But the pilot leveled the plane at the last minute and set it down gently, gliding over the uneven field with deft hands so that if she hadn’t looked out and seen the earth she might not have believed they had landed at all.
The brakes screeched loudly as the plane ground to a halt. Surely someone would hear the landing, which was meant to be covert. But the air outside was still. The pilot opened the door and peered out into the darkness. “No one for the return.” Remembering Eleanor’s explanation of the names chalked on the side of the plane, Marie wondered if that was a bad sign. He continued, “You’ll want to head east for the train station. Keep low, move quickly and stay in the cover of the trees. There should be a blue bicycle chained behind the station, a shopper. You’ll find further instructions inside the handlebars.”
“Should?” Marie repeated, wondering how he could know this. “And if it isn’t there, then what?”
“This is Vesper’s circuit,” he replied firmly. “Everything will be in order.”
If that were true, Marie wanted to say, then someone would have been here to meet her. But she didn’t, sensing it would go too far.
Marie hesitated, fearful of the prospect of making her way across the strange countryside alone. The pilot was watching her expectantly, though, and she had no choice but to get out of the plane.
“I’d come with you if I could,” he said apologetically as she stood. “But the Lysander…”
“I understand.” Every minute the plane sat on the exposed field risked greater detection.
“Good luck…” He trailed off. They did not know one another’s names. It was the first rule she had learned, never to reveal her identity lest they compromise one another. Was this some sort of test?
“Renee,” she said finally, trying on the new name Eleanor had given her.
The pilot blinked twice, as if not convinced. Her first attempt at subterfuge had been a failure. “I’m William. They call me Will,” he said, and she sensed from the sincerity in his voice that it was his real name. Perhaps there were different rules for pilots—or he simply had less to lose. He gestured toward the trees with his head. “You had best go now.”
“Yes, of course.” She climbed from the plane and as she started away, she could feel him watching her. When she turned back again, the door to the plane was already closed. The Lysander engine revved and it rolled forward, picking up speed. It had been on the ground all of three minutes.
Marie started across the field in pitch darkness, feeling for the cover of the trees. The sweet smell of daffodils rose from the damp earth to meet her, and for a moment it was as if she had stepped into her childhood, playing in the French countryside as a girl. But she had to move quickly, the pilot had said. She looked in all directions, trying to remember the exact direction he had pointed when he’d told her to head east. She reached for her torch. Then recalling their training, thought better of it. Instead, she pulled out the makeup compact equipped with a compass at the bottom and lifted it out, trying to see by the light of the moon. But it was impossible. She reached into her purse and found the lighter and flicked it on, holding it above the compass just long enough to see the north marking on it.
Orienting herself east, Marie started through the trees. She stumbled over a rock, and the pain in her ankle carried her back to the early morning run at Arisaig House when she had fallen. If only Josie were here to help her now as she had been that day. Marie righted herself and started walking once more.
“Halt!” a voice ordered in French. Marie froze, certain she was to be arrested. There was no way to know if it was the Germans or the French police, who were sympathetic to the Germans. Equally bad either way. Should she reach for her cyanide capsule? she wondered. She had not imagined needing it so soon.
She turned and a tall, imposing man emerged from the shadows. She froze, seeing his gun leveled at her. “Fool!” he said in English, his voice a growl. “You never should have done as I said. Run or fight, but for God’s sake, don’t obey.”
Before she could reply, he grabbed her elbow and began to lead her roughly through the woods. Instinctively, she pulled back, unable to stand the stranger’s touch. “Come!” he commanded, as though ordering a stubborn horse. “Or you can stay here to be found by the milice.” For a moment, she hesitated. She had been given no information about anyone she was to meet. In fact, the pilot had said no one was meeting her at all. Was this man really one of them, or was it some sort of a trap?
But the man urged her on and it seemed Marie had no choice but to follow. They padded through the moonlit forest not speaking, his silhouette cutting the sky above.
They reached a clearing on what seemed to be the edge of a farm. There was a small, windowless gardener’s shed. “This is yours,” he said. Marie looked at him, not understanding. “You are to stay here tonight.”
“But I was instructed to go to the train station and find a bike. And where is Vesper? I was told I would be working with him.”
“Quiet!” the man ordered, anger flaring. He had a heavy brow and deep-set blue eyes. “Never say that name—or anyone else’s—aloud.”
Heedless, Marie continued, “I need to speak with him. And I need to find my wireless.”
“You’re to follow orders and stay here.” He raised his hand, warding off further questions. “Someone will come for you in the morning.”
He fiddled with the lock on the door, then let her in. There was no light and the thick, warm air was stifling. As she stepped inside, the heavy smell of manure assaulted her nostrils. There was no bed and no toilet.
Not speaking further, the man walked from the shed and closed the door. On the far side, she heard a key turn in a lock, trapping her inside. “You’re locking me in?” she called through the door, not quite believing what was happening. She realized then that she did not know his name. He could be anyone. To place her life in the hands of strangers—how could she have been so naive? “If you think I’m going to be locked up by some courier, you are sorely mistaken. I demand to speak with Vesper immediately!” she insisted, ignoring his warning not to use names.
“It’s for your own good, in case someone should come along. Stay low and out of sight. And for God’s sake, be quiet!” She heard his footsteps growing softer on the other side and then there was only silence.
As Marie turned away from the door, something scurried nearby in the darkness. A mouse or a rat? she wondered, thinking of the decoy she’d almost destroyed in training weeks earlier, how she and Josie had laughed about it afterward. If only Josie were here now. She sank down to the floor, never in her life so alone.