Fleur De Lies(16)
Click-clack click-clack.
“It’s a cricket!” marveled Osmond.
“THERE’S BUGS IN HERE?” squealed Bernice, jerking her feet off the floor.
“Where’s it coming from?” asked Osmond, hardly able to contain his excitement as he came to attention like a quail-sniffing bird dog.
Smiling precociously, Madeleine waved her hand in the air, revealing a flat, stubby gadget that was shaped like a pack of gum but measured no longer than a child’s whistle. Holding it between her thumb and index finger, she depressed the snapping plate and clicked it again. “You are quite correct, Monsieur Osmond. You have heard of the crickets, yes?”
“I sure have. The army handed them out to the troops who parachuted into Normandy the night before the D-Day invasion. Clicking those things was the only way the landing force could tell if a fella was friend or foe in the dark. That one sure is shiny. What’s it made of ? Brass?”
“Oui. I found it in a meadow when I was a child, but others have found them in forests and apple orchards, graveyards and roadside ditches—anywhere they can use their expensive metal detectors.” She pressed it to her chest. “It is my most prized possession … and a reminder of the sacrifice that so many strangers made for my country. Parisians may be guilty of having short memories, but here in Normandy, where the liberating forces fought such bloody battles, we will never forget.”
“What about the French Resistance?” asked Tilly. “Was your family involved in the Underground efforts to sabotage the Nazi war machine? Or is that too personal a question to ask?”
“Mais oui!” Madeleine enthused. “My family played a crucial role in the liberation effort. My grandmother rode her bicycle through Nazi enclaves to deliver coded messages about the expected Allied invasion to other members of the Resistance. Her brother removed railroad ties, loosened spikes, and planted explosives to derail the trains that carried their munitions and fuel. My family placed itself in grave danger to defeat the Nazis, and for their efforts, they paid a very dear price.”
The room grew so hushed, I could hear the mechanical whirr of individual seconds ticking by on an antique desk clock.
“It was a devastating time for my family,” Madeleine confided in a pained voice. “When the BBC delivered the message that all of France had been waiting for—that the invasion was upon us—the Resistance took action. They blew up bridges, cut telegraph and phone lines, shut down nearly all communications between the occupation army and Berlin. Everyone knew their role. Several members of the Underground from our town made their way to the cliff at Pointe du Hoc, the coastal stronghold that the Germans had fortified with their most powerful artillery guns, which were aimed toward the Channel, ready to open fire on an invasion fleet.”
“I’ll say they were powerful,” Osmond agreed. “They were hundred and fifty-five millimeter cannons.”
Irv let out an off-key whistle. “That’s not a cannon. Ish a Death Shtar.”
“They hoped to create a distraction large enough to draw troops away from their bunkers and gun emplacements. The only way the German guns would be stilled was if no troops remained alive to fire them.”
Virginia Martin clucked her disapproval. “Sounds like a recipe for suicide if you ask me.”
“It was a great test of courage, my pet.” Victor’s tone was harsh with censure. “Something that few people know anything about.”
“I hope enough folks went to get the job done,” said Woody. “The Jerrys had a machine gun called the MG-42 that could mow a whole squad down in half a second.” He punctuated his statement with an emphatic nod. “I oughta know. I spent a helluva lot of time diving out of their path in Italy.”