The dog rose and padded over towards her, but remained out of reach.
Fitz looked back at the farm, which was well and truly ablaze now. She really should put as much distance as possible between the place and herself. It might be the Germans came looking for her.
She got to her feet and the dog followed suit. ‘Gosh, I suppose you’re coming with me, then,’ she said. ‘You really should have a name. I think I’ll call you Scout.’ He reminded Fitz of an old, tatty teddy bear she had at home. One of the few remnants she had from when her mother was alive. It had been a Christmas present from her parents. And in the days and weeks following her mother’s death, Scout had brought Fitz much comfort. The only other person in Fitz’s entire life who had been able to engender that kind of reassurance was Sam. A wave of longing for human comfort washed over her and Fitz closed her eyes, and shook her head, to rid herself of the emotion. ‘What on earth is wrong with me, I’m getting awfully sentimental?’ she said to the dog as they began to pick their way through the forest.
Fitz knew that Josselin was thirty kilometres south-west from their landing strip. That much she had been told at her briefing before they left. The original plan was to spend the rest of thenight in a safe house and then travel by truck to a small village on the outskirts of Josselin the following day, where they would then walk into the town for their rendezvous with the local resistance.
Fitz hadn’t been told the details of where they were to meet the truck, and she couldn’t risk wandering around aimlessly in the hope of bumping into someone from the resistance. For all she knew, the Frenchman who’d taken them to the farmhouse, and who was now in the hands of the Germans, may have been the one to drive them to Josselin. Fitz had no choice but to make her own way to the town on foot. She had to make one of the rendezvous, otherwise she’d be stuck in France with no contacts and no means of communication. She wouldn’t be able to hide among French people for very long without being arrested.
With a renewed sense of hope and purpose, not to mention urgency, Fitz made her way through the woods for another hour, ensuring she didn’t stray too near to the road. She needed to keep her ears open for the sound of any German patrol. She didn’t know if they were looking for her, or if they really believed she existed. She probably had two days at the most before either André or the Frenchman cracked under interrogation. It wasn’t a case of if someone cracked, it was simply when.
Before any of that, though, Fitz needed some sleep before it got light again. Confident she was deep enough in the trees, she nestled down against a large fir tree, and patted the ground beside her. ‘Scout, come here. There’s a good boy,’ she said softly. The dog came close, but not within touching distance and lay down. ‘I guess that’s an improvement,’ said Fitz, resting her head back against the bark of the tree. She closed her eyes and allowed herself the indulgence of sleep.
It was the cold and damp that woke her. The morning light was poking its way through the forest canopy.
At some point in the past few hours, the dog had shuffled a little closer to Fitz but hadn’t quite been able to touch her.
She shivered. The damp ground had seeped into her bones. She got to her feet, checking around to make sure there was no one about.
Confident that she hadn’t been discovered and no one was lying in wait for her, she set off in the general direction of the town of Josselin.
She estimated it would take her three hours to get there. She didn’t want to arrive too early. The rendezvous wasn’t scheduled until midday and hanging around at the well for too long would only attract the wrong kind of attention.
Her stomach rumbled and she wished she’d been able to bring something to eat with her, but if she’d been caught it would have been harder to explain why she had food provisions. Not having André with her also meant her cover wasn’t as good as it otherwise would have been. She had to just hope she didn’t run into any German patrols or was stopped and questioned at any point between now and reaching Josselin.
The dog was following her, which, although she was comforted by, it also meant it could put her in more danger. How was she going to explain a semi-wild dog as her travelling companion? If any of the Germans from last night stopped her, they were bound to realise the dog was from the farm. She didn’t want to have to leave the poor animal tied up again somewhere.
While she mused what she was going to do about Scout, Fitz carried on through the forest. The trees were beginning to thin out now and she assumed she was coming to the edge of the woodland.
Within a few minutes she was on a dirt track, similar to the one they had used to get to the farm last night. Keeping to the edge so that she could dive for cover if needed, Fitz made her wayalong the track. These were like the English public footpaths and generally connected villages and communes together. Sooner or later, she’d come to a village or a farm and maybe she’d be able to get some food there. She had been issued with a ration book, a forgery, of course, but good enough not to raise suspicion and it would allow her to at least eat without having to use someone else’s rations.
Fitz carried on along the track until it came to an end at a road. There was the distinct smell of smoke in the air, and having stepped out onto the road she could see a small stone house a little further along. At first she assumed the smoke must be coming from its chimney but as she cautiously approached the building, she could see it was seeping out from the doorway and windows. All the glass had broken. The whole cottage was burnt out.
Fitz carried on walking, aware of the eerie silence around her. There weren’t any birds singing and, indeed, none flying in the sky. She looked back at the dog who was still following on behind her. Its ears were flat against his head, and he was stooping as he walked. He had clearly picked up on the odd atmosphere.
As Fitz rounded the corner, she stopped in her tracks. The village was ahead of her, and she could see smoke curling its way up into the sky from several of the buildings.
And there was another smell filling the air. An obnoxious, putrid smell that she couldn’t quite recognise. The village looked deserted and as she passed house after house, each was burnt out, some more so than others.
Where on earth was everyone? She headed towards the centre of the village where the church was situated in the square.
There were several shops in the centre, but they too had been burnt – one or two were still on fire. Whatever had happened here, had happened recently.
Fitz reached the entrance to the church and tried the iron ring on the door. It lifted and she pushed open the heavy oak. She was immediately hit by a stench that made her want to gag. She clasped her hand to her mouth and nose.
As her eyes adjusted to the dark interior of the building, it took her a moment to realise what she was looking at.
Sprawled across the altar and the first few rows of pews were bodies. Men, women, children. None of them moving. Some had their eyes closed, while others stared wide-eyed but seeing nothing. All of them were dead.
Fitz let out a cry and rushed out of the church, gagging so much she thought she was going to be sick but only brought up bile from her empty stomach.
Dear God, what had she just seen? She slumped down against the wall of the church, holding her head in her hands.
The whole village had been massacred. It had to be the work of the Germans. She had heard about such atrocities when she was training with SOE. Being told about them was one thing, but witnessing them first hand was another.
When she was finally able to open her eyes, she saw the dog sitting at the foot of the stone steps, watching her. It gave a little whine before lying down.
Fitz got to her feet and gently closed the door to the church. ‘God have mercy on your souls,’ she said quietly.
