Fitz had never known time drag like the following twenty-four hours had. She had barely been able to sleep the previous night, despite feeling physically exhausted. Frédéric had taken them to a safe house, and they had slept in the hayloft of the adjacent barn. On the 3rd January, when daylight finally broke and the cool, hazy sun rose, Fitz was still awake.
For the rest of the day, they had to stay hidden in the hayloft. It was too dangerous to venture out in daylight in case any German patrol was out looking for them.
Every time Fitz heard the sound of an engine, whether it was in the distance or passing by the farm, she could feel herself breaking out into a sweat. To be caught now would be devastating. They had come this far, they deserved to make it home.
Finally, the time came for them to leave the safety of the hayloft and make a short hike across the fields to the rendezvous point. Fitz would have liked to have known exactly where they were going in case they were somehow separated from Frédéric, but he said he was under strict instructions not to divulge any information in case they were caught before they had made it. That way the Allied plane was still clear to make their drop-off.
Fitz was glad to be moving. Her nerves were nearly shot to pieces with the anticipation of going home. At least the physical exertion, albeit painful at times due to the injuries she was carrying, helped to channel those nerves in a positive way.
By the time they reached the field, which was the designated landing strip, Fitz thought she was going to be sick. Her stomach was churning like a tombola at a church fete and any minute now she was going to throw up.
They were greeted by a small group of resistance members and ordered to stay hidden in the nearby woods until the plane had touched down. Only then were they to break cover to board the aircraft.
‘You will only have one minute,’ said Frédéric. ‘They will barely stop.’
Fitz nodded. She knew the drill.
She clutched Yvette’s hand. ‘Don’t let go,’ she said to her. ‘Whatever happens, don’t let go.’
The sound of the aeroplane rumbled in the sky, getting louder and louder. Fitz got to her feet.
‘Not yet,’ ordered Frédéric.
‘I’m just getting ready,’ replied Fitz. She could barely stand still, sitting still was impossible.
She watched as the resistance welcoming party lit the torches in the field to guide the pilot down onto the grassy runway. Fitz knew that the Germans would already be sending soldiers out to find them and round them up before they could take off. She’d heard of shoot-outs on landing strips and people being killed just as they were about to board the plane. Nothing was guaranteed until the plane touched down back in England.
It seemed an age before the plane came in to land. And then suddenly Frédéric was commanding her to run. For a moment, Fitz didn’t think her legs were going to respond. She had lost all semblance of co-ordination.
But Yvette pulled at her hand and then she was back in control. Racing across the field, lengthening her stride, towing Yvette along with her. How they made it across the open field without falling, she didn’t know but then the door of the plane was opening and two men exited the aircraft.
She didn’t have time to see their faces. They were off into the night within seconds.
‘Get in!’ shouted the co-pilot who was at the door. ‘Now!’
Frédéric grabbed Yvette and practically threw her into the aircraft, which was beginning to move and pick up speed as it readied for take-off.
‘Claudine!’ cried Yvette from the doorway. The little girl stretched out her hand, before the crew member, pushed her away from the door.
‘Run!’ shouted Frédéric.
Fitz broke into a sprint. Where she found the energy from, she had no idea but she was not going to be left behind. She launched herself at the doorway and for an awful moment, thought she was going to be dragged back out but the crew member grabbed her and pulled her into the plane, before slamming the door shut.
‘Glad you could make it,’ he said, rather too cheerily for Fitz’s liking.
Yvette threw herself on top of Fitz, sobbing in relief.
Fitz cuddled the child tightly. They had made it. They were on the plane. She was going home.
Part 3
England
Chapter 28
January 1942
As the Lysander bumped down onto British soil, Fitz let out a long sigh of relief. Was it really only two weeks ago that she’d been about to set off on her mission to France? So much had happened in that time. Her whole world had been turned upside down. And she’d returned home with an orphaned French girl. If someone had told her what was in store for her, she would never have believed them.
