A Hero is Buried

Sunday, September 9, 1944 was the first of many sad days for the people of Etobon. Jules Tournier, the commander of the maquis fighters, had been shot during a gun battle with German troops. His funeral was held September 9.

Jules Perret writes,

"3 o’clock.  We’re burying Tournier on a beautiful, calm, sweet Sunday.  Far away, the sound of an airplane.  Who would think, to see all these men in their Sunday best, that they were resistance fighters burying their comrade who was killed yesterday?  M. Marlier preached a really beautiful sermon.  He admired Tournier a lot, such a courageous leader.  A brave one has left us.

After the funeral, I’ll take some aspirin to the wounded, with the gendarmes, at la Fontaine qui Saute.  To start with, seven Russians and Poles in a kind of cave, under the cliff, without anyone watching them.  Farther on, near the big cleft rock that’s been transformed into a dormitory, two Germans.  In the kitchen, a lean-to with a wall of timber, four gendarmes and eight prisoners, including the woman arrested for collaborating, who’s dressed like a man, the cook for the group.  The last to arrive is an Alsacien, who speaks good French.  Everyone warms themselves around the fire and seems to be happy.  The wounded man was happy to get the aspirin.  He asked me what Jean’s address was and said the gendarmes were all very nice.  An idyll."

The Wounded

During the next few days in September, 1944, there were no battles and few skirmishes. The attention of the people of Etobon turned to caring for those who were wounded, including Germans. A small group of resistance took a German truck, killing one of the drivers and wounding another. The wounded man, 19 years old, was taken to the parsonage to be cared for. He had been shot several times in the arm and once through the chest. Dr. Zeigler washed and bandaged his wounds, and André Pautot stayed beside him and gave him water to drink.

After two days, it became clear that the young man was going to live, thanks to the care he was receiving at the parsonage. As he gained strength, he began to talk about his family. His father was a cabinet maker back in Germany. He even said he'd return to Etobon after the war and bring gifts of furniture to the people who were taking such good care of him.

Small groups of German soldiers began to appear in the village searching for food. Perret reports that Germans were found stealing plums, pears, eggs and other items from the village and its orchards:

"Marcel Victor says that four Germans, stopping in an orchard, are eating his plums.  I went to my sister’s house.  A little later, from the stable where I was brushing the goat, I hear Captain Aubert’s voice:  “Put your hands up!”  I went out and saw two Germans, hands up, sitting in front of an egg that my sister allowed them to cook.  Alfred, my brother-in-law, and mayor Charles Suzette took their revolver.  Cousin Marguerite says to the boches:  “At least take your pears.”  “Oh, we’re not hungry any more …”  “Take them!” orders the Captain.

"Jacques grabbed one of the prisoners by the belt and I followed them with one of the revolvers.  What a procession!  Come quickly, American friends, before things get bad!

"Meanwhile, M. Pernol and several FFI captured two other boches sitting on a bench in front of Alfred Victor’s place, who had knocked one down and was sitting on top of him.  M.P. put his revolver in the nose of the other:  be our comrade!  He did and everything worked out. These four thieves had come to Etobon to “requisition” bicycles."

Ominous

On September 13, 1944, an event occurred that would change the course of Etobon's future. There had been battles and skirmishes with the Germans, there had been prisoners and secret camps. But today's event would give the occupiers a reason to almost destroy the village. Jules Perret writes,

"All of a sudden, around 12:30, things turn ugly.  One motorcycle and one German car come into the village, make a U-turn, go back to the Camus Pond, then return.  But, from the top of the big hill, a young man from Bavilliers fires, kills the driver of the motorcycle, then his rider.  Panicking, the occupants of the car, lieutenant X and soldier Lade, get out, and start shooting, firing their revolvers or automatic rifles, chased, harassed.  They went to Henri Volot’s shed, to his barn, then to the track that comes down the Combe au Prêtre.  Still shooting, the men crawl and try to hide.  Caught up close, Lade gives up.  In spite of the pleas of the teacher from Saulnot, Jacques Jeandheur, who speaks German, X won’t listen.  Wounded by several bullets, he drags himself to the Nusbaum’s potato field and collapses among the leaves.  Our guys plead with him to give up, assure him they’ll let him live, because, for the sake of the village, this fanatic must not escape.  Give up!  He refuses.  What should they do?  From my grandfather’s orchard, I watched the scene unfold:  the German among the potatoes, the pack around him.  Jeandheur throws a grenade, without result.  Suddenly, X lifts himself up and empties the contents of the revolver into himself.  Raymond Besson falls dead, a bullet in his head.  The German, too.  Afterwards, a great calm, and I went home to supper."

Death of an Occupier

The German officer who had fought to escape capture in Etobon lies in a field. Jules Perret had gone home to supper, but had to return to the place where the officer fell to see what would happen next:

"When I come back, I ask [my son] Jacques, “Is it over?”  “I think so, but he’s not completely dead.”  It’s the cook who has the sad honor to put an end to this battle.  They bring Besson back in a coma.  M.P. then tells me that they’ve killed another officer on the road at the head of a column of troops, as he gave orders to stop the retreat and hold their positions.  OK.  We can’t celebrate yet.

"Another German car.  It’s fired on.  It escapes on roads that aren’t even worthy of the name.  We’re paying attention now!

"We go to bed.  What a day!  We’re up again early.  A few of us are going to bury the officer.  We decide to put him in a dip in the ground, in Charles Suzette’s field, near my poplars.  We dig a little and then go to get him.  It’s raining.  It is a moving sight.  There he is, lying on his back, stretched out, hands folded on his chest, eyes closed, helmet on his head.  Alfred says, “I’m the one who closed his eyes when he died.”

"I gather up his papers, his photos, to let his family know, later on.  He has a pretty wife, beautiful children.  This awful war!  We carry him on two shovel handles and lay him out with respect in his little grave, not deep enough, but we had to do it quickly.  According to his papers, he was a Catholic.  (I kept these papers a long time, but since I had to hide them, I can no longer find them.)

"I’ve been at war more than four years, the other one for five years, but it’s the first time I’ve seen a German soldier killed."