Codename Eagle Read Free

dressed in paratrooper jumpsuits, but were members of the Brandenburg Regiment, a German army Special Forces unit specializing in commando-type covert operations behind enemy lines.
    The regiment was made up mainly of Germans who had lived abroad and were fluent in other languages. All six of these men could speak French, and the officer in charge spoke English too.
    Aside from their ability with languages, they were elite soldiers: experts in fighting with small arms and in unarmed combat, and highly skilled in demolition and sabotage.
    As they approached, a middle-aged Frenchman switched off the powerful torch, and the silhouette of a heavy lorry with a canvas covered back became visible to the soldiers.
    The German officer wasted no time with introductions. “I’ll ride in the cab with you,” he said in perfect French to the waiting man. “The others will go in the back.”
    The Frenchman, short and stocky, with a bright red face and a bulging beer gut, watched in silence as the soldiers swiftly and efficiently lifted the steel container into the back of the lorry and climbed in.
    Then the Frenchman and the German officer got into the cab, the engine rumbled into life and the lorry moved off across the flat expanse of the Plateau de Sault in the direction of the small town of Bélesta.
    In the back, the Brandenburgers were working quickly. First they removed their jumpsuits. Beneath them, two wore the uniforms of French gendarmes; the others were dressed like farm workers.
    In the cab, the officer was also removing his jumpsuit, to reveal another gendarme uniform.
    The driver smiled, nodding his approval. “Very convincing.”
    “Of course it’s convincing,” the officer said quickly. “It’s genuine. You have our car ready?”
    “It’s in a barn, back at the wood yard. Along with my own vehicle.”
    “And this lorry?”
    “It belongs to my two friends at the yard.”
    “You’re certain they can be trusted?”
    “Oh, yes. They’re simple lads, but trustworthy; they’ll do exactly as they’re told and keep their mouths shut. Times are hard, so for them it’s a chance to make a little extra. It’s different for me, of course, a matter of principle, and I’m honoured to meet you.”
    The officer ignored the ingratiating comment. “Tell me about the car.”
    The Frenchman grinned. “It was easy enough to arrange, through a friend in Toulouse. You’d think the police would look after their vehicles more carefully, wouldn’t you? The fuel to run it is another matter; not so easy to come by since rationing.”
    “But you’re being paid to make sure we have fuel, and anything else we need, come to that.”
    “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining,” the Frenchman said quickly. He smiled again and wiped the back of one hand across his stubby, bent nose. “I’m very happy with the financial arrangements, and I have a contact who gets me fuel. He can get almost anything.”
    “Then you are fortunate.”
    “But for me it’s not just the money. I’m doing it for the cause. For us.”
    The officer slowly turned his head to stare at the driver. “Us?”
    “Yes, us,” the driver said, nodding his head vigorously. “I may be French, but I’m a Nazi like you, and I believe in the same things as you do.”
    “Oh, do you?”
    “Yes, most certainly.
Heil Hitler
!”
    As he spoke, the Frenchman lifted his right hand from the steering wheel and attempted a German salute, but the flat glass windscreen prevented him from fully extending his arm, making the gesture look ridiculous.
    The officer made no attempt to disguise his contempt. “To many of your countrymen you’d be considered a traitor. In the north they are already sending tiny wooden coffins marked with a cross to suspected collaborators.”
    If the Frenchman was perturbed by the German’s comment he didn’t let it show. “I’ve heard of that. Wooden coffins or little drawings; like kids’. They’re misguided fools. They’ll learn