Free Once a Warrior by Fran Baker Page A

shook with emotion as he squeezed John’s shoulder hard in farewell. Then he dropped to his knees and began crawling behind the other crewmen through the choking smoke toward the escape door.
    John thought of his beautiful wife, Kitty. And of the baby he would never see. It was enough to make a grown man cry. But just before his bomber hit the railyards and exploded in a ball of fire, he smiled.
     
     

CHAPTER  FOUR
     
    Ste. Genviève, France
     
    “ Blessent mon coeur d’une langueur monotone ,” the announcer intoned.
    Kneeling beside her radio set in the attic, Anne-Marie Gérard was stunned by the impact of the words she’d just heard. “Wound my heart with a monotonous languor” was the second line of one of her favorite poems—“Song of Autumn” by Paul Verlaine. The first line had been broadcast two nights ago, putting French partisan groups on alert. Now this was the last half of the message telling them that the Allied invasion of Europe would begin within the next forty-eight hours.
    Which meant she had work to do.
    Before she got started, though, she had two other coded messages to listen for. Sitting back on her heels and clenching her hands together in her lap, she strained to hear the BBC broadcaster’s voice over the static created by the early June storm that was sweeping through the village. The messages she was waiting for would confirm that the underground’s prearranged sabotage plans against the Germans were to go into effect tonight.
    “It is hot in Suez . . . It is hot in Suez.”  The announcer’s solemn voice triggered off the “Green Plan”—the sabotaging of railroad tracks and equipment.
    Time seemed to drag out interminably in the crackling silence following that first message. Anne-Marie bit her lip to keep herself from screaming at the broadcaster to hurry up. Then she heard it, the second message.
    “The dice are on the table . . . The dice are on the table,” he said, calling for the “Red Plan”—the cutting of telephone lines and cables—to begin.
    Overcome by emotion, Anne-Marie bowed her head and allowed herself a moment to collect her thoughts. It wasn’t quite seven o’clock in the evening, and the attacks couldn’t begin before dark. But the freedom for which so many of her countrymen had been fighting and dying these last four years was finally close at hand.
    Fear prickled across the nape of her neck as she prayed for courage for everyone involved. It was going to be a long and dangerous night for French resisters. An even longer and more dangerous day lay ahead for the Allied soldiers who would soon be confronting the Germans.
    The announcer droned on, delivering messages to various other resistance units. Having already heard the ones that concerned her, Anne-Marie concentrated on her next move. She needed to contact Guy Compain, who’d been receiving airdrops of explosives and stockpiling them in a cave near the village, and tell him that the signal had been given. In turn, he would inform the demolition experts within their group that it was time to blow the main trunk line leading out of the village and into lower Normandy. Yet other subagents would go to work smashing the steam injectors on the railway cars sitting unguarded behind the depot.
    Then the Maquis, perhaps the noblest saboteurs of all, would step in to engage as many German patrols as possible before the Allies began disembarking on the beaches.
    Anne-Marie smiled—a small, bittersweet smile. While she still didn’t know exactly where or when the invasion would take place, she was elated to hear that it was imminent. At the same time, she was heartsick that it was coming too late to save Henriette’s brother, Maurice.
    Last month, a German company had attacked the forest camp where he and his comrades were training new recruits to the Maquis. By all accounts, the fighting had been bitter and brutal. Maurice had escaped with minor wounds, only to be discovered the next day hiding out