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“Physician. Medical consultation for the staff at Église de Saint-Nazaire.”

The officer hands back their papers.

“Saint-Nazaire is a restricted military zone. You will report to the commandant’s office upon arrival. You will not photograph military installations. You will not speak to military personnel without authorization. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly clear,” Louis says.

The officer moves on. They exchange glances. The restrictions tell them everything they need to know. The Germans are nervous. Paranoid. Good. Paranoid occupiers make mistakes.

Saint-Nazaire appears in the early afternoon. Even from the train, Louis can see the devastation. Entire blocks reduced to rubble. No attempt has been made by the occupiers to clear or rebuild residential areas. But where the port has been scarred and blackened they see reconstruction. Cranes. Workers. German efficiency rebuilding what British bombs destroyed.

They disembark, show their papers again at the station checkpoint, and are directed to a waiting German corporal.

“Follow me,” he tells them, after they’ve given him their story. “You must report to the commandant’s office.”

Not a request. An order. Louis and René follow, carrying their bags, trying to appear grateful for the assistance rather than alarmed by the surveillance.

The commandant’s office is in a requisitioned hotel overlooking the port. Commandant Weber is a career officer, perhaps fifty, with the exhausted eyes of a man trying to manage an impossible situation. He examines their papers, makes notes, stamps additional authorizations. Too tired or bored to ask questions.

“You will stay at the church, yes?”

“Yes, sir. Église de Saint-Nazaire. Sister Bernadette is expecting us.”

“Good. The sisters do excellent work. Very cooperative.”

He hands back their papers. “You have three days. Submit your reports to this office before you leave. Any observations of military significance will be reported to me immediately. Failure to comply with all requests will result in arrest. Do you understand?”

“We understand, Commandant.”

“Corporal Schmidt will escort you to the church.”

The journey through Saint-Nazaire is illuminating. Louis counts guard posts, notes defensive positions, observes troop movements. The port is swarming with activity. U-boats are visible in the pens. There are cranes reconstructing the damaged dry dock and building more pens. Hundreds of workers, some French, some German, are all watched by armed guards.

The Église de Saint-Nazaire sits on a hill overlooking the harbor. It’s a small church, Gothic stone, one tower partially collapsed from the bombing. Attached to it are a convent and a modest hospital building.

Corporal Schmidt deposits them at the gate. “Report to the commandant’s office in three days. Do not attempt to leave Saint-Nazaire without authorization.” He salutes, leaves.

Louis and René stand at the gate, looking at the church. Somewhere inside, Sister Bernadette is waiting. Their contact and lifeline. Their only hope if things go wrong.

Louis knocks on the heavy wooden door of the convent. It opens almost immediately to reveal a young nun, perhaps twenty, her face serene.

“Doctor Martin and M. Lavigne?” she asks, using the names she has been given, the names on their false papers.

“Yes, Sister.”

“Sister Bernadette is expecting you. Please, come in.”

They enter, and the door closes behind them with a solid, reassuring click. Inside, the church is cool and dim. Candles flicker. The smell of incense permeates the air. Walking toward them is a woman in her sixties, her habit perfectly arranged, her eyes sharp and intelligent.

“Gentlemen, welcome to Saint-Nazaire. Or as I prefer to call it, the armpit of occupied France.” She extends her hand. “Sister Bernadette. Delighted to meet you, despite the circumstances.”

Louis blinks. This is not the demure, pious nun he expected. René laughs outright.

“You can call me Benny.”

“Now, let’s get you settled before some overeager German decides to search the church. Again. They do so love their searches. Keeps them busy, I suppose. Follow me.”

She leads them through the church, into the convent, up a narrow staircase to a small room with two beds, a table with the prerequisite Bible, a crucifix on the wall.