November 28, 1942
“M’sieurs et madames, bonsoir.” The smooth announcer’s voice, so calm, so unruffled. It barely seemed real. Jean Denel and his unit listened raptly. Their breath combined in a swirl of fog that drifted away from their camp, thirty kilometers west of Paris. The frontline troops were retrenching east of the city, but the government had already relocated to Vichy. A sense of panic was building throughout the country, and rumors had been flying that the government would come to an agreement with the Germans, that the Russians were sending troops, the Americans were sending troops… this unscheduled broadcast couldn’t be a good sign. This time of night, the station always played classical music, to soothe the nerves of a people staring a nightmare in the face.
“I have the great pleasure of presenting our President, His Excellency Pierre Laval.” The soldiers stirred and murmured. Laval had never addressed the nation over the wireless. Denel had heard him speak before, when he received the Legion d’Honneur for his escape from the Alps. The voice from the wireless seemed older, thinner. The voice of a man scraping up his last ounce of strength.
“People of France, my brothers and sisters. Good evening. I will be frank with you. We have suffered great losses in this war, and our travails are not over. Tonight, we have received confirmation that Hitler’s forces march on Paris. The German has summoned up his last reserves and the outcome of the war now stands on a razor’s edge, on one last battle.
“Since the dawn of time, France has looked east in the morning to see the sun rising. One morning, we looked up and saw only darkness in the east. That darkness now threatens to envelop us, and the world. You have seen the reports, the photographs, the movie reels that the Soviets have produced from eastern Poland. There are rumors that this is all propaganda, that not even the Nazis could be capable of such horror. I tell you today, these accusations are true. Agents inform us that the same horrors are being visited on the Dutch, the Belgians, and surely they shall be inflicted on us.
“We have a grave responsibility, therefore. We fight now not simply for the survival of our nation. We fight for the very soul of humanity. Should we fail, should we fall under the German heel, then the darkness will spread unchecked. We cannot falter. We must fight with every ounce of strength, we must fight in the hedgerows, in the fields, in the cities. We must strive and we must prevail. And we will.
“This, then, is our nation’s destiny- to fight, to bleed, and, yes, to triumph.
“All of our struggles are come to this point. Our sacrifices, our blood and our tears, all will be rewarded this day. This day, France will stand against the night.”
The pause seemed to go on forever. Denel did not feel the cold, and he did not feel the need that had coursed through his veins. After an eternity, the radio crackled back into life, and a swell of violins rolled across the camp like a gilded carriage, a beautiful chariot. The voice of Edith Piaf swelled, in a new song.
“Oh, my little soldier boy, oh, how you have grown,
I can’t believe you’re gone.
Oh, my little soldier boy, what times are these?
I can’t believe you’re gone.
I’m looking east now, and I can only see the moon,
I cannot see your face.
I know you’re looking back at me,
But I cannot see your face…”
The song went on, and the soldiers could hear Edith’s heart breaking in every word. Their hearts broke too. Silent tears drifted down more than one face. Suddenly, the pained heartbeat of the rhythm stirred to life, and courage seeped back into Edith’s beautiful voice. Her words swelled into a hymn of hope.
”But I know you’ll be back soon, I know that you’ll be fine,
I know we’ll walk again among the trees.
Those quiet trees in our old path,
You will walk again with me.”
“M’sieurs et madames, merci beacoup.” The radio went silent. Denel switched it off. The soldiers huddled around the fire looked at each other. The speech and Edith Piaf’s beautiful song had given them something they hadn’t had in a long time. A vision of hope. A vision of peace. They went back to their work with a new determination in their hearts. This war wasn’t over yet, Denel thought. It was just getting started.