‘Alors,’ said the leader. ‘Follow me.’
Fitz and the two Frenchmen set off through the woods, while the rest of the welcoming party went in the other direction, their part of tonight’s mission complete.
Ten minutes of trekking through the woods, with the faintest of light from the moon to show the way, meant Fitz was relieved when they stepped out onto a track. They were staying off the main roads as much as possible to avoid any German patrols, but now needed to break cover from the trees in order to get to a safe house for the night.
They tramped along the unmade dirt track for several minutes until they finally reached a farmhouse surrounded by several outbuildings.
A dog barked to announce their arrival and darted out from the open doorway of a ramshackle-looking shed. Fitz went to jump back but the dog came to a sudden halt and continued its somewhat half-hearted barking. She realised it was tethered on a long rope to a post outside the shed.
The Frenchman practically barked back at the dog, telling it to be quiet. The dog gave a final bark before skulking back into the shed. Fitz felt sorry for the poor animal and wondered when was the last time it had been able to run free.
The door to the farmhouse opened and an elderly woman appeared, her silhouette lit by the light from inside the building.
She spoke in rapid Breton that Fitz found difficult to follow. She had been schooled in French by Parisian governesses, so the local patois of this region was alien to her.
The old woman gave a cursory glance in the direction of Fitz and André, then waggled her walking stick towards the outbuildings adjacent to her house.
The Frenchman, who for security reasons, hadn’t introduced himself or his comrade, thanked the woman who then went back indoors.
‘Follow me,’ he instructed as he and the other man strode off across the muddy courtyard and disappeared around the corner.
André followed the man as did Fitz, but she stumbled on the uneven cobbles.
‘My shoelace,’ she said, noticing it had come undone. She knelt to fasten it. André made a tutting noise, clearly not impressed, and proceeded to carry on walking. Gosh, he was going to be fun working with, mused Fitz as she hurried to tie her shoelace.
As she stood up, the sound of a German voice shouting cut through the air. Fitz froze.
Voices were coming from around the side of the barn. Then there was more shouting from the Germans, but this time in French.
Fitz darted across the courtyard on tiptoes so that no one could hear her heels on the cobbles. The sound of gunfire rang out, followed almost immediately by return fire.
Without thinking, she bolted into an open doorway, pushing herself back into the shadows, trying to control her breathing.
Then she heard the low rumble of a dog’s growl.
‘Damn it,’ she muttered. She’d only taken refuge in the dog’s shed. ‘Good boy,’ she whispered. ‘Bon chien.’ It would be just her luck if she was mauled to death by a bloody dog.
The dog continued its low-level growling.
Fitz was debating whether to make a dash for it out of the shed in the hope of finding somewhere else to hide, when the sound of booted feet on the cobbles outside stopped her.
There was more shouting. Fitz tuned into the German language, listening to the commands being issued to the soldiers to search all the outbuildings. They were looking for another woman. She heard footsteps hurriedly approaching the shed.
The dog let out a fierce bark and Fitz nearly jumped out of her skin. She slapped her hand to her mouth, to stop herself from squealing in fright.
The dog was in full barking mode now, as if it knew the Germans were the enemy. One of the soldiers shouted at it to shut up and another called out that someone should shoot it.
‘It’s on a rope,’ called back the soldier. ‘I’m not killing it.’
‘Just leave it,’ came a third voice. ‘There’s no one in there, anyway, the dog would be going crazy.’
Fitz let out a slow shallow breath. The dog had stopped barking and had retreated back to the doorway where it was just offering the occasional growl now.
More shouting, and Fitz could hear the sound of a door being opened and closed.
‘I’m here on my own.’ It was the old woman’s voice.
‘Then who are these?’ asked a German.
