Free Churchill's White Rabbit by Sophie Jackson

innocuous.
    On 24 February 1943 Forest was informed that his mission would commence that night. Brossolette had gone on ahead, so he would travel alone with Passy. Forest started to wrap up his world, for at the back of his mind there was always the whispered idea that he might not come back. He had a farewell dinner with Barbara, who was now working on a civilian basis with the BCRA, and at 3 p.m. picked up Passy and drove through thick fog to Tempsford in the Midlands, from where they were to take off.
    Fortified by a strong cup of tea, they changed from their uniforms into the civilian French clothes they would wear on the mission. There was one last examination of all their belongings for any giveaway clue of their English origin. SOE had learned from hard experience that the German Gestapo would be amazingly thorough with any suspect they arrested and the smallest mistake could blow an agent’s cover. Clothing labels were examined and pockets turned out to make sure they didn’t contain a forgotten bus ticket or British receipt. Satisfied with the check the agents were given their last essential – a cyanide tablet. The suicide pill was in case of extreme emergency and needed to be carefully concealed. Forest hid his in a waistcoat pocket, while Passy had a Bond-like gadget of a signet ring with a swivel top where the pill could be concealed.
    The base CO treated them to a last decent meal and topped them up with a decent bottle of Burgundy. Then it was on with their harnesses, rubber helmets and spine pads. Special outer pockets had room for a revolver, compasses and knives, and then it was on with the heavy parachute. Feeling like beasts of burden, the two men were driven to a waiting Halifax bomber, half hidden in the swirling mist, and clambered awkwardly aboard.
    Inside the Halifax were several carefully wrapped packages containing the men’s suitcases, arms, wireless set and explosives, the latter of which it was doubtful there would be any opportunity to use. Each package, secured in rubber and canvas, had its own parachute and would be dropped with the agents and with a healthy dose of luck would land somewhere near them.
    As the Halifax opened its engines and taxied down the runway, Forest could do little but sit and contemplate his own thoughts. It was too noisy to talk to Passy and there was no window to look out of, so he thought of France and wondered how it had changed since he had last been there. What would it be like to walk the streets of Paris under German occupation? What would it be like to be constantly on guard and hiding your true motives from a hostile invader? It was a long journey to examine these dark thoughts in detail.
    It took the Halifax half an hour to reach the French coast and the first challenge of its journey. Anti-aircraft guns opened fire and the pilot jinked, dived and swerved to avoid the arcing spray of bullets. For an awful moment silence overcame the plane and it veered sideways in a wild motion. Forest was convinced that they had been hit and would have to bail out, his mission to France curtailed before it had even begun. Then, miraculously it seemed, the engines kicked in again and the plane righted itself.
    The flak guns faded into the background and within a short time the pilot began to circle, and Forest guessed that he was trying to pinpoint their chosen landing spot, which should have been illuminated by a reception committee waiting for them. But the plane circled and circled with no sign of anyone and finally the despatcher had to make his way to Forest and Passy and give them the bad news that low cloud cover meant it was impossible to find the drop site. They would have to turn back.
    Forest must have felt that France didn’t want him back the way he kept coming so close only to be disappointed. Passy sitting beside him was just as furious. They turned back, the Halifax having to run the gauntlet of searchlights and anti-aircraft guns yet again as they returned