Page 14 of Tides of Resistance
Lizzie summoned all her strength to fight the tides pulling her towards the rocks. Her breathing grew more laboured, and she didn’t seem to be making progress. She had heard stories of swimmers meeting a terrible end, mostly when her grandmother had been trying to instil in her the need for caution when she was younger. Suddenly, a powerful wave swept Lizzie away from the rocks and towards the cove.
The sounds of the crashing waves filled her ears, and she told herself she would soon be on dry ground and the fear rushing through her would subside. Just as she was treading water near a clump of sharp rocks, catching her breath and calculating her last moves to reach her haven, a powerful beam cut through the dark and lit up the area nearby. Lizzie took a deep breath and plunged her head under the cold salty water.
Her daring mission would be over before she reached the shore if the German night watch detected anything unusual in their search. What fuelled her determination to succeed even more than the risk to her own life and failure of her mission was that the submarine would still be relatively close, and the crew be an immediate target if she were captured. It would be obvious she hadn’t swum all this way alone, and the German military would make their deductions.
She couldn’t stay under for long in the freezing night waters but aimed to give the beam enough time to pass. Lizzie surfaced quietly, barely daring to breathe but desperate for air to fill her lungs. Her hand grasped the slippery rock, and seaweed clawed at her foot making her shudder. She mustn’t let her imagination get away with her, but this was the most frightening swim she’d ever done. Just as she thought she was free, a strap of awaterproof pouch snagged on something beneath the water, and she was hampered to the spot unable to break free. Struggling, she ducked back under the water and groped beneath the depths for the strap, finally releasing herself.
Rising to the surface again, darkness concealed her like a cloak, and she allowed herself to catch her breath. Still clinging to the rock, she took a moment to decide whether to make a break for it or stay hidden in case another round of searchlights swept the entrance to the port.
By now she was so cold she was beginning to shake. There was only so much the lanolin could protect her from hypothermia when she wasn’t moving, and she must get warm soon or suffer dire consequences.
There was no choice if she was to make it. Lizzie summoned all her strength and pushed off the slimy rock, and swam towards the small cove the SOE had marked as her safest infiltration point. It was big enough for her to locate but small enough not to be guarded, but this was the moment where her life or death hung in the balance.
She took smooth measured strokes as she approached St. Malo. The ancient city walls rose into view in the distance against the inky black sky, illuminated only by a sliver of the crescent moon.
The crash of waves filled Lizzie’s senses as she neared the shore trying not to pant loudly but struggling to breathe. Thinking about what would happen if the patrol caught her, heightened her fears but she turned her thoughts to Jack who always protected her from near or far. She imagined what he’d say to keep her going.
You can do it, Seagrove. You’ve been swimming in the Channel your whole life. There’s no better person for the job. This is your mission.
His imaginary words lifted her spirits. Her story wasn’t over, and she must make it out alive. She thought about the millions who were fighting the war in impossible circumstances. Her brother’s face popped into her mind. If she could discover the plans for Hitler’s coastal fortifications, Val said it would be a definitive step towards the Allied invasion. They might not be able to stop the Germans fortifying Europe, but they would be able to gauge their weak spots.
A surge of determination flared within Lizzie as she struggled on against the violent force of the tide that seemed to be working with all its might to toss her back out to sea like a discarded doll. She had come this far, and she would not be defeated. Not by the tides and not by the bloody Boche. St. Malo was her cousins’ place of birth, and she would help them claim it back.
With that defiant thought, she clawed her way through the foaming surf and kept the vision in her mind of the little cove where she had enjoyed so many lovely picnics with her family.
CHAPTER 9
Jack checked his watch as the Royal Highlander approached King’s Cross station. His arrival was just over three hours late. It had been an arduous journey from the Highlands of Scotland, and he suppressed a yawn and ran his fingers through his tousled black hair.
Thank God for the overnight service or he wouldn’t have got a wink’s sleep. First, he’d been held up on the road to Inverness because of sudden flooding, so they travelled via single-track roads with hairpin bends and a sheer drop to the glens below.
Remote Scotland could make you weep with its haunting beauty,but it wasdeadly to navigate, especially in inclement weather. Jack kept glancing at his watch to check his chances of making the train.
Charlie, who had driven him to the station, remarked, ‘A robust military vehicle would be just the ticket here.’
Jack watched him turn the wheel of the Austin, which was a sturdy motor but not designed for the severe demands of Highland terrain. They trundled across more muddy tracks and made slow progress.
Jack agreed with his analysis, but they both knew tearing across the Highlands to Inverness in an army vehicle was out ofthe question. If they arrived at the station in a military vehicle, his civilian cover would be blown immediately.
The SOE kept its operations strictly confidential, and although there were inevitable whispers about the mysterious goings on at Arisaig, and their official story that it was a commando training school was questioned, agents and personnel travelled disguised as civilians. Jack didn’t mind the clandestine way of moving around Britain. It gave him a small, if somewhat tame, reminder of the thrills of his undercover years in France.
Early in the war, he had found it hard to adjust to spending most of his time on the other side of operations at HQ. During one of the dark, rainy Highland evenings, when working on increasingly complex code puzzles for his class of recruits, it occurred to him he didn’t miss it nearly as much as he used to.
Now he missed being in London with Lizzie, where they’d settled into a comfortable, if somewhat unconventional routine. To his great relief, F Section had stopped posting her to France, partly because of his recommendations. Lizzie was her own worst enemy, because she had proved herself so effective as an undercover agent. It didn’t help that she worked closely with Val, who witnessed her rapid skill development at close quarters.
They all knew they could depend on Lizzie to get the job done … or die trying.
It was the die-trying that tormented him.
Jack objected, pointing out that the more they sent her in, the riskier it became, not only for her, but for their existing networks. He argued that at some point someone was going to recognise her, her cover would be blown, and like him, she knew far too much.
Skilled female agents were rare assets, so he had made it his personal mission to train as many as he could. That way, Val would have more suitable candidates to choose from. Hereadily acknowledged to Lizzie that a seam of self-interest ran through his commitment to the training programme in Scotland. It wasn’t for nothing he’d agreed to be banished to the Highlands for months, instead of being near the centre of things, where he liked to be.
Near Lizzie.
Jack had recruited her when she was just a naive young Jersey girl, and he saw it as his job to protect all his agents, but being madly in love with Lizzie made it more difficult. Jack shuddered at the thought of the narrow misses she had experienced in France on her various missions.
He inhaled and blew out foggy plumes of smoke as he reminded himself, she was safe in London.
