Madeleine's War Read Online Free PDF Page B

rooms, except the great rooms which had fireplaces, too few bathrooms (that were, in any case, so far from the boilers that the hot water arrived tepid and brownish), leaks in the roof here and there, windows that rattled in the wind, and freezing flagstone floors in the halls downstairs, making the house as emotionally cold as it was physically. Obviously, the War Office, or whoever owned the damned place, had got it on the cheap.
    It was, as I explained to the recruits, the training establishment for SC2, Special Command Two, the specialist sabotage outfit created by Churchill at the beginning of the war to operate behind enemy lines. I was second in command of the French section of SC2, but because of my time in France, I was in charge at Ardlossan. My commanding officer remained at our headquarters in London. At Ardlossan, it was my job to teach the recruits “security”—how to survive in Nazi-occupied France, how to operate communications equipment, how to live off the land if needed, how to avoid standing out, how to spot when they were being followed, and how to lose the people tailing them when they were. How to survive—and resist—interrogation. Beyond that, my job was to instill in them initiative, self-reliance, cunning—and more cunning. I also taught a selection of sabotage techniques.
    â€œNow,” I said, moving to one side as Duncan eased out of the way. “Bend down here, near the axle. You need to see exactly how this works.”
    We all sank to our knees. In the damp it was dirty but there it was.
    I pointed to the wheel of the wagon. “Look inside the wheel. You will see what I can best describe as a circular box, like a collar around the axle. See?”
    They all craned forward.
    â€œCan you see it?”
    One by one they nodded.
    I leaned forward again, stretched one arm through the spokes of the wheel, and passed my hand around the metal collar. “Somewhere here…there is a spigot, a sort of tap. Ah, I’ve found it. Major Kennaway, the tin, please.”
    Duncan passed me a tin, in effect a small bucket.
    â€œI’m going to open the spigot and then you’ll see the axle oil pour out, into the can.” I took a small hammer from my pocket and tapped the spigot. After a few taps it swiveled, and oil began to drain into the bucket.
    I fixed the recruits with a stare. “You need the bucket because you don’t want the oil to pour on to the ground. That would give the game away that the axle has been tampered with. Carry the oil away with you to a place where the Nazis will never stumble across it.” I sat back on my heels. “Now we wait for all the oil to drain into the bucket. It should take no more than two or three minutes. Then we close the spigot.”
    I waited until the flow of oil slowed, then became intermittent, then just drops, then stopped.
    Duncan took the bucket away as I tapped the spigot closed with the hammer.
    I reached forward again. “Now, I need to find the depression where the oil is put
in
.” My fingers scratched around the collar. “Ah, here it is. All of you: feel here…Feel the depression where my hand is now.”
    One by one they reached forward and put their hands through the wheel to the collar.
    â€œCan you feel it?” I asked.
    Again, they nodded, one by one.
    â€œNow I need some pliers to twist off the cap. Major?”
    Duncan handed them to me.
    The cap was fitted tight but, eventually, I managed to undo it.
    â€œNow, with the cap open and the spigot closed, I pour the ‘oil’—‘oil’ in quotation marks—from this tin into the axle box.”
    They all watched. Soft rain pressed against my cheek as I poured in all of the contents of the tin.
    Finally, I tightened the cap and stood up. Everyone else did the same.
    I turned and waved across the yard. Straightaway, the small shunting locomotive started to trundle towards us, stopping when it