Book Preface

I will use this blog space to occasionally paraphrase portions from the book, until it is published. The following is a summary of the book preface:

            Isabelle had feared for her life, ever since the Germans invaded her home town in France a year earlier. They tied her hands together and paraded her, along with other young women in the town, past the gawking soldiers. Her parents were taken away separately, to points unknown. She never spoke explicitly of what they did to her during the nightmarish time in captivity. But Captain Robert Trimble feared the worst had happened, and the empty look in her eyes confirmed it.

On the most important day of her life, Isabelle crouched in the freezing cold of the forest a few miles south of Lvov, Poland. The other young women with her huddled in bunches, making the most of their collective body warmth. It was six am and the light was just beginning to filter down through the pines. She knew they had another four hours or more until deliverance—if all went as planned. They were famished and ate the remainder of the cooked beets and potatoes they had for dinner the night before.

There was no turning back; they had taken a great risk in congregating such a large group in one place. To return now to the farms on which they had been hiding would certainly draw the attention of the hyper-vigilant Soviet forces. Robert told Isabelle the night before that the Russian NKVD would probably catch on to the rescue attempt, but if they were lucky the ‘bait and switch’ would save them. All they could do now is pray.

All hell was breaking loose at the Lvov train station. Indeed, the plan Robert had orchestrated with the ticket agent and the transport company was suspected. And the poor agent was interrogated to give up the date and reservation details. So two Soviet officers and a couple of dozen soldiers descended on the station, surrounded it, and confronted Robert.

A trained pilot, Robert had no knowledge whatsoever of the tactics used by an experienced intelligence organization. He was now flying by the seat of his pants, relying on feigned country-boy innocence. They grilled him harshly; the Soviet officer blasting (through an interpreter) that Robert was out of his jurisdiction and illegally attempting to smuggle unidentified persons (and therefore potential enemies of the state) out of the country.

When the suspect train entered the station, soldiers boarded to search as soon as the riders disembarked. They guarded it for some time. Eventually the station master convinced the Soviet officers to allow it to move on, as it was holding up other arrivals; it was obvious the women were not going to show up now—the plot was foiled. Robert was summarily removed from the station and escorted back to the American base, informed that superiors on both sides would be taking action against him. He smiled though, encouraged by the sight of the empty train leaving the station.

In the meantime, the released train was proceeding south of Lvov. It was about 2 pm, and they were way behind schedule. Isabelle and the others had all but given up, when they heard the faint whistle of an approaching locomotive. At this point, they had no clue whether the oncoming train was the one that would provide freedom—or possibly one full of Soviet soldiers. If caught, they faced indefinite detainment in a filthy expatriate camp for those without ‘papers’—which meant all of them.

She had to take the gamble; there was nothing left. Isabelle ran out of the woods carrying the heavy piece of plywood she had carried eight miles the evening before. She climbed onto the rail bed and stood squarely in the middle of the tracks. They had chosen a spot that would give the engineer the best opportunity to see her, given the wooded terrain and winding track. When the steam engine came into view, Isabelle hoisted the plywood sign above her head, with feet wide apart to steady herself. The makeshift sign simply said “France”, written boldly in charcoal.

The engineer hit the brakes immediately, and the wheels screeched. When it came to a stop, Isabelle was still holding up the sign, eyes closed, expecting the worst. The engineer stuck his head out of the window and simply said in Polish “Well come on, we’re late.” It was the freedom train. Isabelle smiled ear-to-ear, then threw the plywood aside and waved and screamed for the other women.

With a noise the forest had never known, four hundred French women came bursting out of hiding with an uproar, quickly filling the six empty cars that had come to rescue them. Shouting “Viva la France” and singing patriotic songs, the band of sisters and four brave Polish volunteers made their way south to the Odessa seaport and eventual freedom.