Jackdaws by Ken Follett

Berlin and German forces in France passes
through that building. Knocking it out wouldn't do us much harm—we won't be
calling Germany—but would wreak havoc with the enemy's communications."
    Pickford said, "They'll switch
to wireless communication."
    "Exactly," said Monty.
"Then we'll be able to read their signals."
    Fortescue put in. "Thanks to
our code breakers at Bletchley."
    Paul knew, though not many other
people did, that British intelligence had cracked the codes used by the Germans
and therefore could read much of the enemy's radio traffic. MI6 was proud of
this, although in truth they deserved little credit: the work had been done not
by intelligence staff but by an irregular group of mathematicians and
crossword-puzzle enthusiasts, many of whom would have been arrested if they had
entered an MI6 office in normal times. Sir Stewart Menzies, the foxhunting head
of MI6, hated intellectuals, communists, and homosexuals, but Alan Turing, the
mathematical genius who led the code breakers, was all three.
    However, Pickford was right: if the
Germans could not use the phone lines, they would have to use radio, and then
the Allies would know what they were saying. Destroying the telephone exchange
at Sainte-Cécile would give the Allies a crucial advantage.
    But the mission had gone wrong.
"Who was in charge?" Monty asked.
    Graves said, "I haven't seen a
full report—"
    "I can tell you," Fortescue
interjected. "Major Clairet." He paused. "A girl."
    Paul had heard of Felicity Clairet.
She was something of a legend among the small group who knew the secret of the
Allies' clandestine war. She had survived under cover in France longer than
anyone. Her code name was Leopardess, and people said she moved around the
streets of occupied France with the silent footsteps of a dangerous cat. They
also said she was a pretty girl with a heart of stone. She had killed more than
once.
    "And what happened?" Monty
said.
    "Poor planning, an
inexperienced commander, and a lack of discipline among the men all played
their part," Fortescue replied. "The building was not heavily
guarded, but the Germans there are trained troops, and they simply wiped out
the Resistance force."
    Monty looked angry. Pickford said,
"Looks like we shouldn't rely too heavily on the French Resistance to
disrupt Rommel's supply lines."
    Fortescue nodded. "Bombing is
the more reliable means to that end."
    "I'm not sure that's quite
fair," Graves protested feebly. "Bomber Command has its successes and
failures, too. And SOE is a good deal cheaper."
    "We're not here to be fair to
people, for God's sake," Monty growled. "We just want to win the
war." He stood up. "I think we've heard enough," he said to General
Pickford.
    Graves said, "But what shall we
do about the telephone exchange? SOE has come up with a new plan—"
    "Good God," Fortescue
interrupted. "We don't want another balls-up, do we?"
    "Bomb it," said Monty.
    "We've tried that," Graves
said. "They hit the building, but the damage was not sufficient to put the
telephone exchange out of action for longer than a few hours."
    "Then bomb it again," said
Monty, and he walked out.
    Graves threw a look of petulant fury
at the man from MI6. "Really, Fortescue," he said. "I mean to
say.. really."
    Fortescue did not respond.
    They all left the room. In the
hallway outside, two people were waiting: a man of about fifty in a tweed
jacket, and a short blonde woman wearing a worn blue cardigan over a faded
cotton dress. Standing in front of a display of sporting trophies, they looked
almost like a head teacher chatting to a schoolgirl, except that the girl wore
a bright yellow scarf tied with a touch of style that looked, to Paul,
distinctly French. Fortescue hurried past them, but Graves stopped. "They
turned you down," he said. "They're going to bomb it again."
    Paul guessed that the woman was the
Leopardess, and he looked at her with interest. She was small and slim, with
curly blonde hair cut short, and—Paul