 Proudly, we hail from New York City where the American stage begins here is another program with a cast of outstanding players and featuring Louis van Rootman. Public service time has been made available by this station for your Army and your Air Force to bring you this story as proudly we hail those who so quietly served. Our story is entitled Secret Battle. This is a true story a little known story of one of the many men who so courageously so quietly served in time of great need. Our first act curtain will rise in just a moment. Here's an important word for you young women between the ages of 18 and 34. The WAF women in the Air Force need qualified personnel to serve the United States Air Force team. There can be an exciting future for you in Air Force Blue. So why not visit your nearest United States Army and United States Air Force recruiting station for full details now. We'll commit the following to memory. Yes. You will have radio apparatus. Your frequency will be 6130 kilo cycles. 6130. You will listen between 00100 and 00400 Greenwich Tuesday and Thursday. I understand sir. You will proceed to Paris make contact with the Free French and establish a chain of hideouts for Allied airmen. Your funds will be sewn into the lining of your garments. Good. Your codename is Aramis. You will be known only as Aramis. Aramis. The third musketeer. The quiet mild one. No. The dependable one. Good luck. They fought and won a battle at a place called El Alamein. You know the name. You know the battle of the bulge, Iwo Jima, Baton and Heartbreak Hill. But what about the secret battles? The men who willingly risk their lives to wage battles of stealth, of cool nerves, of split second decisions to secure information vital to victory. This is such a story. The story of a secret battle which occurred during World War II. This is a true story. Listen. My name is Henri Lossuc, a resident of Pittsburgh in the state of Pennsylvania. Born in France, yes, but an American. My business and my hobby are one and the same thing. I make my living as an art director and I have always painted for my own amusement and perhaps that of my friends. In most pleasing existence, I must say if a rather unexciting one, which as you can well understand, left me quite unprepared for the consequences of a most unexpected interview which took place between myself and a young American captain on the morning of September the 11th. Would you be interested in performing a dangerous assignment for the government behind enemy lines? An old duck of 62 like me in the war. We already have hundreds of people in the field who look as though they couldn't fight their way out of a nursery school. I suppose it is dangerous work, rather unrealistic for a man of my day in the sort of an affair to think of risking your life. I'm sorry. Leave it to us to decide whether our interest in you is realistic or not. We know you well enough to want to know more about you. But would I actually be of some real use? Well, would you like to be? Amazing. Why? Lossuc with his bald head and a bit of a belly to fight the enemy game. In due time I was flown across the Atlantic by bomber and stationed at Chipping Norton 45 miles from London. Almost immediately I saw that I was being treated differently from the others. The younger men who were being put through basic training in connection with guerrilla work, special technical services and counter espionage. They were worked, worked hard. And what did they do with Lossuc? They made him a teacher and interpreter of French. Of course I found time to paint, but after all I could have done that in Pennsylvania. What were they doing with me? They must have some plan. I could not help feeling depressed, impatient, unhappy until one afternoon. I'm sure you may just know I don't need any clothes and especially such impossible styles. Look at this hunting jacket. I don't hunt and I wouldn't be caught dead in anything this flashy. You'll not only wear them but you'll like them too. Would you please explain exactly what all this means? Henry, these clothes are for a retired French banker who for the moment must be nameless. What? But whose body will be that of Henry Lossuc? So? Yes Henry. He will soon be a retired French banker behind enemy lines on a very delicate and even dangerous mission. Satisfied? Retired French banker behind enemy lines. He wears expensive clothes, flashy clothes, dabbles in painting, a kindly harmless looking old dilettante, not bad. Not bad at all. Action soon followed. When my clothes and personal effects were ready, I was brought down to London and was taken to a rather ordinary flat on Sloan Square. There I was briefed, given my codename ironies. Then driven to Weymouth where late in the evening I boarded a corvette which took me across the channel to a point four hundred yards off the coast of France. The fishing village of Saint Roche. I left the corvette in a rubble boat. There was rain and high winds as the colonel had predicted. And the cliffs. When I reached in the rubble boat was almost torn apart before I could get my most precious possession out. My radio. But I got them out and I began to climb. It was tough going, really tough going. Rocks were sharp. I climbed and finally I reached the top when I tripped and fell. Oh, oh, oh, oh, my radio. My radio. Gone. There I was. A 62 year old American at the top of a cliff in a raging storm in a France crawling with Germans just before the invasion. Unable to walk, unable to contact anybody, charged with a mission that I had somehow to accomplish, alone and unassisted. It was warm. The countryside golden with the promise of harvest. My discouragement began to diminish. I bound my ankle with handkerchiefs, changed my clothes, limped my way into town and came down the main street. I headed immediately for the railroad station. I was determined in some way to do my work, radio or no radio, in Paris. I sat in my compartment, sketching to pass the time away to the amusement of the little girl. She left her seat and came over to see what I was doing. She laced. That will do. But mama, she draws such funny pictures. Drafts with hats on. Come on, Grandpa, draw some more. With pleasure, my little one. Passports. Here's mine. Whose child? Mine. How do I upload, man, your passport? Here. A hashouton, your hunting jacket tells me that you are a gentleman. My father had one. He will pardon me for being sentimental, but I will give you 5,000 francs occupation for it. What do you say? It is not a question of money. Very well, then. I think it needs examining. Might be carrying documents. I shall examine it and return it to you after I have done so, which might be some time. Now, take it off. Please, I am an old man. I see I shall have to help you remove it. Mama! Sergeant! Sergeant Werner! Is this again your trick of anarchistic looting when you should be making a spot check? This train is coming to Paris. Who knows what enemy is aboard, and you stand here bothering with an old man. Finish your work. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. Yes, sir. What did he want? My jacket. He risked my displeasure for that old rag. I lost that jacket, and the thousand franc notes tacked into its lining. Pierre Shorter would have been a very poor banker, indeed. And without it, what would I have done in Paris in the spring? What greater experience for a man? An invitation to happiness, romance, an invitation to be eternally young with a lady known as Paris. Yet, walking along the familiar boulevard, the million eyes seemed to bore into me cold, suspicious. How was I to fulfill my mission? How? Without radio or communication of any kind, without a soul I knew I could trust. I was desperate. In London, they were waiting for some radio communication from the dependable ironies who had no radio. Finally, I said to myself, get up by Sécalorie, try the country, take along your sketchpad, and sit by some quiet roadside. Isn't it pretty? Oh, it's the house on the other side of the road. You like it? I'll just one learn to sketch. You keep on, and little by little you improve. I could never learn to do anything so beautiful. Is that your bicycle? Oh, would you care to ride it? But I might puncture a tire. Oh, I will have a bicycle someday. Someday after. When do you think? Oh, soon enough. How is this sketch? Let's see. That's really quite wonderful. Thank you. May I watch you finish it? Of course. I think this garden needs a few more roses. So. Tune seems most familiar. Stardust, is it not? I like it. Thank you, monsieur. You like my tune? I like your painting. Perhaps artists are similar. Indeed. Perhaps they are. Oh, but I must go now. The time passes so quickly. And you, monsieur, you must leave soon, too? Yes, I suppose I should start back. Might I suggest, before you go, that a visit to the little inn in the hill would be a most rewarding rest for the journey that lies ahead? Thank you. Perhaps I will try that. What did she mean? Was she trying to tell me, by humming an American tune that she listened to the forbidden short-wave allied radio? Was her suggestion something more than a friendly remark, or or was I in desperation clutching at straws of imagination? I slowly climbed the hill toward the modest little... Welcome, monsieur. May I be of service? Yes, perhaps a bit of refreshment before I peddle on my way. Of course, monsieur. You are a traveler? Yes, a traveler. And my journey thus far has been, uh, most difficult. Oh, that's unfortunate, monsieur. Aramis. An unusual name. A very unusual name. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall bring the wine. Perhaps mention of my code name was incredibly stupid. But the persistent feeling that help for my mission was near afforded a peculiar sense of elation. L'Opergiste, the innkeeper, returned after a time with a remark. Monsieur, we have one of the oldest wine cellars in this part of France. Perhaps you would like to see it. I once showed it to a man from Pittsburgh. He was amazed, as I am sure you will be. The innkeeper's reference to a man from Pittsburgh left no doubt in my mind that he knew who I was. But who was he? Was he a cautious representative of the free French, or was he a traitor? I would soon know. Was these thoughts tortured my anxious mind? The innkeeper and I, his hand firmly grasping my elbow, approached a massive wooden door. Opened slowly at a touch. I stood still, transfixed, staring into the ugly muscle of a gun. You are listening to the proudly we hail production of Secret Battle. We'll return to our story in just a moment after this important announcement. Here's a word to the young women who are graduating from high school this year. There's a future for you in Air Force Blue. Yes, an important future in the exciting places of the world. Today the WAF, Women in the Air Force, is rapidly expanding to keep pace with our defense needs. If you are between the ages of 18 and 34 and can qualify, the WAF needs you. America needs you. You will be trained to do an interesting job, a job vital to the needs of our country. For full details about a future for you in Air Force Blue, visit your local United States Army and United States Air Force Recruiting Station today. You are listening to proudly we hail and now we present the second act of Secret Battle. Time was still those few seconds that I stood hypnotized by the menace of that gun. Then I noticed the white hands gripping the stock and looked up to see the the sweet face of the girl by the side of the road. Mr. Aramis, welcome to the voice of France. This is one of our several radio transmission stations. I'm very sorry about the gun, but such a greeting is a necessity in such troubled times. You understand? Of course he does, my child. Just as he must understand this old man's caution, even after our radio check showed us he was one of us. In and in this old, very world must be suspect. Of course I understood, especially after it was explained that the empire underground knew of my arrival, knew of the loss of my radio equipment, and were alerted to watch for me across the length and breadth of France. And at last I was with Frenchmen, but a wonderful thing it was to know that my work would finally begin, that the long months of waiting were finally over. My friends returned me to Paris, with their help I purchased a house which became a hideout for our fliers. My mission not only went well, but I was accepted by the free French. Everything proceeded smoothly, easily, until one day, let me in, shut the door. Marcel, you are never to come here in the daytime. Anyone can be watching. Enough, please. We have a very grave problem. Our liberators are closing in as you know. The day is not far. No, and we have our orders to rise up a few days before the Allied armies come in and take the city quickly to save it from German spite and vandalism. But, Aramis, we are not prepared. Impossible. We must know their hidden defenses, where guns are hidden in church spires, where they have anti-tank guns in courtyards. We must have eyes, eyes, many eyes to roam the town and see what must be seen. But you're underground. No, our people are so well known by now they cannot impersonate civilians. Yet, this must be done. When do you need this information? We should have it now. It is a matter of life and death, for our comrades and the destruction of our city. I, I would like to try something. You have a plan? Something that might work. I'm not sure, but it might work. Building across the street. Yeah, but come, we must be going. See, Papa, everything, just as it is. Everything? Yeah, Papa. Oh, so, uh, is this all you have to do these days, old man, to sit on the street with your easel, blocking traffic? I hope I'm not disturbing you. But don't be impudent, you idiot. You paint in great detail. See, it is a pretty picture, Papa. Yes, it is pretty, but it's French. But take your hands away from all the greasy paint. And you come with me. While once in my life I approved the Prussian discipline, the child almost upset my easel, which would have revealed a piece of paper under the painting, the paper on which I kept my notes concerning the German canon concealed in the Ministry of the Marine. The next day I was terrified for as I was finishing the picture, my so-called friend came back, this time in the uniform of a German lieutenant. What did I say? Tell me, I cannot understand why you take so long to make a simple outline. Well, the sketch is only a type of artistic short-hand, you understand. Ah, then you do your real work at home, huh? Yes, yes. Interesting. Well, good day, my friend. The German lieutenant had come twice, so I moved to the Place Notre Dame. On the first day there, he turned up for the third time. Extraordinary, you seem to see the whole cathedral in a few strokes of your pencil. I try for simplicity. Not too easy, I should say. Some people could be in for a surprise connected with a certain cathedral. That would be regrettable. From an artistic point of view, yes, but we Germans are more than artists. We are realists. Many times it happens that buildings blown to dust are more beautiful to us than ever before. What must be will be. You really are an amazing fellow. I would like some time to sit down with you and talk to you about art. You have a house, apartment, family? Why, I'm not a well man, lieutenant. This is my only cure to sit quietly by myself and sketch. Wow, so bad. Yes, then. The time was against me. Radio reports told us that our armies were moving with unexpected speed. Just when I had almost forgotten my inquisitive, lieutenant, he turned up again at the chambre de député. Only this time he brought friends and their women. Good afternoon, my friend. Pardon, it is late. I must go. Oh, one minute. The call here says that in time, a brissac will be worth more than a tuondale. And I dispute him. For 500 bucks I say he's raw. Now you are an artist and you should know. Come on, let's settle our little controversy. What do you say, brissac or tuondale? Why, tuondale? Naturally. I win! As I will about switcher. Tonight you are my guest. Thank you, thank you. No, no, no. As a matter of fact. We shall dine at bouquets, the best for the best. With secret information I pretended to enjoy that dinner. But what was that game? Were they actually as harmless as they pretended? When they insisted upon taking me home, I knew I would have my answer. Ha-ha-ha-ha. Chief and sound delivery home. Thank you for a rare evening. Now, if I... Dine says, come on, why don't you do me some form and help our friend into bed. And dress him as though he were a small baby. Ha-ha-ha. Like, like my small baby outside. That is not necessary. Thank you, thank you. You deserve the best of care, my friend. Please. Come on, boys, help me and dress him. God bless you, my friend. Take his shoes. Shoes? Ha-ha-ha. Well, what is this that fell out of his pocket? A notebook. A cotton. Give me that. Pushing your nose into other people's business. Left I sprang out of bed. Perhaps they were not what they seemed. Stupid drunks. What if that game was to pick not only me but underground headquarters itself? I dressed quickly, took my drawings, and in the dim pale moonlight I made my way across rooftops to headquarters. Aramis. I think I've been spotted. So here, here are the drawings I have been making. Bad drawings of Paris wouldn't be of any use to the... Oh, but this is beautiful, Aramis. Gun emplacements, tank traps, and tanks. Wedged between the colonnades of the Crayons and camouflaged with piles of sandbags. But I've been spotted. Copies of these must be made and delivered without delay to all arrondissement commanders within two hours. So quickly. Your timing is unique, Aramis. Leclerc's army is two miles from the gates. It does not matter if you've been spotted. For here, we hid them at dawn. On the next day, the Free French struck out at last, and in a matter of hours smashed the German strongpoints to take over the city. And there I was, in it, part of it. In American years. But at that moment I was just another Jobel and victorious Frenchman, as French as I will ever want to be in what is left of my life. We were free. The enemy was driven out. And we were coming in. Do you hear that? Art de Triomphe. Montmartre. Champs-Élysées. My heart threatened to pound to pieces as the words sang inside of me. The words that I, Leclerc, the Pittsburgh of 62, had perhaps some small part in taking Paris away from them and making her ours. And lifting her from her knees and into our arms. I stood in the crowd watching the first Allied tanks come lumbering into the city. And there, at the head of Leclerc's army, was an American jeep. And in it, major snow from the training base. The man who made me wear those terrible clothes. Major snow! Major snow, wait a minute! Enemies! Henry Losig! How are you? Fine, just wonderful. You're the man I've been looking for. Oh, more orders. Yes. And these orders are straight from the Colonel. They're to kiss you on both cheeks. Oh, so and so. Your mission, how do they say it here, was magnifique! Thank you, Louis van Rooten, for a very fine portrayal. Now here is an important message. Today, many patriotic American women are serving their country on the Air Force team. But more are urgently needed. The WAF, women in the Air Force, is rapidly expanding to keep pace with the growing might of the finest Air Force in the world. And you are needed. If you are between the ages of 18 and 34, and can qualify, you are needed to fill an important job in the service of your country. For full details, visit your United States Army and United States Air Force recruiting station now. This has been another program on Proudly We Hail, presented transcribed in cooperation with this station by the United States Army and the United States Air Force recruiting service. This program featured Louis van Rooten. This is Kenneth Banghart speaking and inviting you to tune in this same station next week for another interesting story on Proudly We Hail.