War and Love - French Love & Weather

War and Love - French Love and the Atlantic Weather Report

© JoeMo1619 - August 2025 ff.

Location: St. Pierre and Miquelon - French Overseas Department off the Canadian East Coast, from Autumn 1940

Prologue:

In the summer of 1940, the Wehrmacht conquered all of France in just 46 days, occupying the north, Paris, and the entire coastline along the English Channel and the Bay of Biscay. In the central and southern parts of the country, they accepted the existence of a French rump state under Marshal Pétain, who established his administrative capital in the central French spa town of Vichy. This military success, which no one had expected, gave the German Navy for the first time unrestricted access to the Atlantic -- access that could not be blocked or controlled by its last remaining enemy, Great Britain and the British Empire.

However, to effectively deploy their powerful battleships and the submarines stationed in five new Atlantic ports, one extremely important piece of information was missing: a reliable weather forecast. Eighty years ago, creating such forecasts required stationary weather stations, ideally located on the western Atlantic coast. This is because the area where the warm Gulf Stream from the Caribbean meets the cold Labrador Current from the polar region -- roughly the triangle formed by the Canadian coast, Greenland, and Iceland -- is the most important "weather factory" for the Atlantic and the coastal regions of Europe. Ironically, it was precisely in this area that the German Reich had no allies, since the islands of Iceland and Greenland, which belonged to Denmark, had been "secured" by the Allies after Germany occupied Denmark.

The story:

On August 1st, 1940, six weeks after France's capitulation, the commanding admirals and their staff officers gathered on a brilliant summer day at the High Command of the Kriegsmarine on the Tirpitzufer in Berlin for a strategic conference. The main agenda item of the meeting under Fleet Admiral Raeder was to make strategic decisions for the naval war against Great Britain -- the last remaining enemy on the European continent. This included expanding and optimizing the use of the captured French Atlantic ports, along with a wide range of fundamental individual issues.

Practically all the attending admirals and naval officers had personal, often long-standing, experience commanding surface and underwater vessels.

Fleet Admiral Raeder himself opened the discussion on a minor agenda item with a brief statement: "Every naval officer knows that the most important factor influencing successful naval warfare, which we cannot control ourselves, is the weather. Therefore, for the Kriegsmarine in the Atlantic theatre, it is of extraordinary importance to obtain the most precise and reliable weather forecast possible." With these opening words, he handed the floor to the Kriegsmarine's chief meteorologist, Frigate Captain Heinrich Schiefer.

"We are currently setting up new weather stations from Norway's North Cape to the French-Spanish border, which will provide us with meteorological data daily, starting in late summer. We have also made informal agreements with our colleagues in the Spanish Navy to receive their weather data along the Bay of Biscay in a timely manner. We are discussing a similar arrangement with the Portuguese Navy, especially for their stations on Madeira and the Azores. Unfortunately, those discussions are progressing very slowly," Schiefer explained.

"What we still lack are regular weather data from the western side of the Atlantic, and the area around Iceland and Greenland. All attempts to acquire timely scientific weather data from the United States have failed so far. We currently have to rely on evaluating weather reports from East Coast newspapers, which are read daily at our embassy in Washington and transmitted to us."

"The best solution would be to have our own weather stations in that region," said Rear Admiral Dönitz, the Commander of the U-boats.

Fleet Admiral Raeder nodded approvingly and looked directly at Frigate Captain Schiefer. "We expect your operational proposals for solving this problem within four weeks." The issue was resolved in less than ten minutes.

Heinrich Schiefer, a trained meteorologist, had only joined the Kriegsmarine in 1938, having previously worked for the Reich Weather Service, especially in sea weather and hydrographical forecasting. From his civilian career, he had excellent knowledge of worldwide weather data collection and maintained a global scientific network -- which was, of course, only partly usable under the current wartime conditions. He had already anticipated the Admiralty's task before the August 1st conference and had begun working on it.

"Since the French capitulation, cooperation with the French authorities in both Vichy and the German military administration zones has been pleasantly unproblematic," he reported at a staff meeting two weeks later. "From correspondence with colleagues in France, the idea arose to use the small French overseas territory of St. Pierre and Miquelon as the base for our endeavour. This possession, located between the British dominions of Canada and Newfoundland, consists mainly of three small, sparsely populated islands. Only the easternmost main island, St. Pierre, has a population of a few thousand; the other two islands have only a few hundred inhabitants." He looked around at his small team.

"We now just need to make a plan on how to establish and operate the first functional weather station in a suitable spot on this territory." He grinned sheepishly. "Ideas and suggestions are most welcome."

After Schiefer and his staff learned that Governor de Bournat in St. Pierre remained loyal to the Vichy regime, they developed a plan that Schiefer presented to the Admiralty on time. "We propose to establish a two-man weather station at 'Pointe au Cheval' on the island of Miquelon. According to a colleague from Paris who grew up on the island, there is a lighthouse and an attached keeper's house, which is currently uninhabited. The automated beacon is maintained by a man from the small fishing village of Miquelon, about five kilometres north. We suggest the High Command coordinate with the Vichy government to gain permission from the governor to set up our weather station at the lighthouse. We could install the shortwave radio antenna on the lighthouse, and our weather soldiers could live in the former keeper's house." Schiefer handed over his report, which included numerous appendices -- ranging from the required technical equipment to supply plans for the two stationed weather soldiers. The report was received favourably.

"We will contact Rear Admiral Dönitz's staff immediately to see whether and when one of his new long-range U-boats can carry out this mission," responded Schiefer's counterpart in the Admiralty. "You should already be considering who you want to assign to this mission."

In addition to the long list of technical, meteorological, and radio equipment for the transatlantic weather station, there was an equally long list of supplies for the two men stationed far from home. The choice of Pointe au Cheval had two key advantages:

First, the lighthouse used a global-standard gas mantle lamp, powered by kerosene, which -- along with diesel fuel for the fishing boats -- was delivered twice a year by tanker.

Second, the unused lighthouse keeper's house provided a weather-safe and dry accommodation.

In agreement with the Vichy authorities, the governor's administration even officially promised to renovate the keeper's house to make it permanently habitable again.

The main challenge for Schiefer was selecting the two weather soldiers, who were to be stationed indefinitely on Miquelon. Since the mission was camouflaged as a state-run French weather station, both soldiers had to be fluent in French, which would also ease inevitable interactions with the local population.

After an extensive search, Schiefer found what he was looking for --ironically -- in the Luftwaffe's military weather service. Corporal Georg Planter and Private First Class Thomas Langlois were both from Saarland and had grown up fully bilingual. Langlois had just earned his degree in meteorology, studying in Heidelberg and Paris. Both men were unmarried. They were also promised they would be relieved after one year.

The time-critical element of the mission's execution was the deployment of the new Type IX long-range U-boats, capable of making the round trip from Europe to North America without refuelling or external support. The U-boat command confirmed that the first of these boats would be ready by January 1941, followed by a four-week training cruise in the Baltic Sea. Thus, the departure for St. Pierre and Miquelon was scheduled for February 25th, 1941.

Planter and Langlois met in person for the first time on January 2nd, 1941, when they reported for duty at Schiefer's office. The two men couldn't have been more different.

Georg Planter was relatively short, had trained as an electrician, and had volunteered for the Luftwaffe but was deemed unfit to fly due to his height. After basic training, he was transferred to the Luftwaffe's weather service. The 27-year-old steelworker's son from Völklingen was cheerful, outspoken, and had already got into trouble twice for his loose tongue.

Thomas Langlois, on the other hand, was tall and slim -- 1.90 meters -- with a middle-class background. His father was a district judge. Born July 25th, 1916, he wasn't subject to military service at the time of his graduation and immediately began studying meteorology. Drafted at the war's outbreak, he served exclusively at French Luftwaffe airbases after the French campaign. Thomas was quiet and thoughtful, originally dreaming of a scientific career. A passionate hunter, he had learned to hunt from his father.

The pair reported as ordered on February 16th, 1941, at the Kriegsmarine port of Kiel to Corvette Captain Merten, who had just taken command of the new U-68 submarine.

"So, you're the two brave men who want to be the first German soldiers to set foot on North American soil," Merten greeted them with a smile. "I respect your courage and will do everything with my crew to help you fulfil your mission."

Indeed, this was no ordinary patrol for U-68. It was under strict orders to avoid all enemy contact to protect the strategic mission. With the extra baggage and personnel, it carried fewer torpedoes and was to return directly to Lorient afterward for full combat preparation.

"The most exciting part for us is what awaits us at our destination," said Planter. "We have no idea how loyal or reliable the French in Vichy or St. Pierre really are." He shrugged. "But we are prepared to complete our mission under all circumstances so that the Kriegsmarine can have reliable weather data from the western Atlantic."

"It will be of great importance for our future missions if we can eliminate uncertainty about weather conditions at sea. You have my best wishes."

Neither man had ever been aboard an ocean-going vessel, let alone a submarine. The three-week journey to Miquelon was a true adventure. Fortunately, both proved to have strong stomachs and didn't suffer from seasickness during extended surface travel. As valuable passengers, Merten hosted them in the officers' mess, leading to many conversations about submarine warfare and the importance of reliable forecasts.

The route led through the North Sea and the Denmark Strait between Iceland and Greenland--requiring double caution to avoid British ships and underwater icebergs.

"Normally, you'd see a U-boat attack now, and then a stealthy retreat," Merten said with a grin one afternoon. "But by order, I must drop you off before any fighting." He shrugged. "Pity. That would've been a juicy target." He let a tanker pass unscathed.

Fourteen days after their last port in Bergen, they reached the western coast of Miquelon. Merten carefully avoided Newfoundland -- enemy territory -- and surfaced in the half-moon light near the beach east of Pointe au Cheval.

"We've reached our destination," he announced to the weather soldiers and deck crew. "Now we just have to get you and your equipment ashore."

The soldiers split duties. Planter went ashore first; Langlois ensured all gear was unloaded.

"Our mission is now complete," Merten said, shaking Langlois's hand. "Yours begins now. I hope you're successful and that the Kriegsmarine benefits from your work for a long time. Best of luck."

When Langlois reached the beach, he saw the long row of equipment and crates. He and Planter now wore specially made dark-blue French weather service uniforms.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Planter," he smiled. "Comment ça va?"

"Thank you, my friend." Planter pointed at the departing boat. "Our last link to home. We won't see it again for at least a year." He shook himself off and said, "Let's scout the lighthouse first, without gear." He grabbed a torch and found a barely visible path up the slope.

At dawn, they reached the keeper's house.

"I wonder what kind of place we'll find," murmured Planter, opening the door. He whistled. "They've really prepared the house for us." Then he froze. "Boots off!" he barked. "Or we'll have to clean this right away." They both removed their boots and stepped into what would be their new home.

"I really didn't expect this," said Thomas after their first inspection. "It's fully renovated!"

"With a stove and an oven. I saw wood and peat too. We won't freeze or starve."

Thomas nodded. "Honestly, I thought we'd spend weeks fixing up a deserted shack. Who did all this?" He shook his head, baffled. "It's like they were expecting us!"

"Seems that way," Georg agreed. "Well, that's one thing going right." He clapped his hands. "Let's get our stuff. It'll take hours."

And it did. The men spent five hours hauling all their gear up to the lighthouse. Then they collapsed on the bench in front of the house, sipping water from the crystal-clear stream and taking in their new surroundings.

"A truly beautiful place to perform one's military service," Georg Planter summarized his impressions. "This is really a place of perfect peace."

"And now we're exploring the weather, so war can be successfully waged elsewhere," Thomas nodded thoughtfully to himself several times. "It really is a crazy world." Then he slapped his thighs with both hands. "Let's start by setting up the measuring instruments. I'll get them up and running and calibrate everything. Meanwhile, you can learn how to fire up the stove and the oven. It's likely to be a chilly night."

"Agreed." The men set their cups aside and got to work.

It was already late afternoon at the end of a very long day. The instruments of the weather station were set up, calibrated, and already providing initial readings for temperature, air pressure, humidity, wind speed, and direction. The rain gauge was ready and waiting for its first use. In addition, Private Thomas Langlois began his daily visual weather report, focusing on cloud formations. The shortwave transmitter was set up and connected to a rechargeable battery powered by a small wind turbine. Thomas had prepared the first 10-second message of their twice-daily weather report for that evening -- short enough to prevent their signal from being triangulated. Georg and Thomas were so absorbed in their work that they didn't notice the young woman in black clothes who had suddenly appeared inside the lighthouse keeper's cottage. Only when she cleared her throat did they jump and look at her wide-eyed.

"Bonjour," said the woman in a rather raspy voice. "Well, this is a surprise. When did you arrive?"

Apparently, the young woman was not surprised that someone had moved into the former lighthouse keeper's cottage -- just that it happened at this particular time.

Georg Planter recovered first, stood up, and reached out to shake her hand. "Hello, I'm Georges," he introduced himself briefly. Then he pointed to his partner, who also stepped forward. "And this is Thomas. We were dropped off on the beach this morning and started getting settled and operational."

"I see," replied the young woman. "We were actually expecting you earlier. The governor's office told us you'd be here at the beginning of March." She shrugged. "But now you're here." She nodded slightly and curtsied faintly. "I'm Madeleine Montabon, and I take care of the lighthouse and the beacon with my mother, Géraldine Safrane, and my sisters." She shrugged again, this time looking somewhat helpless. "There are no men left in our family. So, we've taken over their duties."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Thomas Langlois somehow instinctively understood that the absence of men in the Safrane family had a tragic cause. This matched the all-black clothing of the young woman.

"We lost them all in the last twelve months -- my father, my husband, and my brother. It was a terrible year." Then she straightened up. "I have to check the beacon when it starts up," she explained. "It switches off by itself in the morning when it gets light -- saves a lot of kerosene. But the automatic evening start-up is quite unreliable. So, someone from the family goes out every evening to check and, if necessary, switch it on manually." She chuckled softly. "My father used to do that. Now it's usually me." With that, she left the cottage, and moments later, the two weather soldiers heard the lighthouse door open and close.

"Looks like our mission really was properly announced and prepared," Georg marvelled. "I was honestly suspicious."

"So was I. Even better for us. We have a stove to cook on, a heater, and two proper beds to roll out our sleeping bags. Honestly, I thought our first evening on Miquelon would be worse." He gave his comrade a mischievous grin. "And now a family of women shows up, apparently looking after us too."

Georg chuckled softly. "Could've been worse. Seems like this Madeleine has no clue about our real mission and thinks we're French meteorologists."

Thomas nodded. "And from now on, we should speak only French with each other, so no one accidentally exposes us."

"Oui, Monsieur," Georg replied with a grin.

A few minutes later, Madeleine was back in the cottage. "Do you need anything? I'd be happy to bring something tomorrow afternoon."

"Thanks, we're good for now." He smiled lightly. "Though I'd love a jug of beer. We've worked so much today."

Madeleine smiled at him. "You'll have to wait until tomorrow. We have a very small brewery in town. And a distillery too. The other two were shut down."

"You distil spirits here?" Georg was almost speechless.

"Yes," Madeleine replied innocently. "Actually, the distilleries and the brewery brought real money to Miquelon. Huge business for our families during US-American Prohibition. Brewed and distilled here, then smuggled into Maine with our small fishing boats. The Americans couldn't get enough -- and they paid well. Unfortunately, business dropped off a lot after the general prohibition ended in the U. S. eight years ago. But we still have customers in New England for our whiskey and gin. We only brew beer for ourselves now." Madeleine curtsied lightly again and turned to go home.

"How long does it take you to walk to Miquelon?" Thomas asked curiously.

"About an hour each way. If I leave now, I'll be home by the last light of dusk."

Georg had whipped up a tasty soup from their supplies on the perfectly functioning stove, which the two men enjoyed.

"Madeleine is a beautiful woman," Thomas eventually remarked.

Georg nodded. "Indeed. So young and already a widow. I wonder if her husband died in the war. Everything seems so peaceful here."

"I'm curious about the rest of the family," Thomas mused.

"At least we've already found local connections on our first day."

"And apparently without the risk of being exposed or betrayed." Georg nodded thoughtfully. "That was my biggest fear -- that we'd be exposed as enemies within days and become POWs." He raised his water-filled cup and toasted Thomas. "Here's to our French teachers. With our dialect, everyone believes we're from northern France."

"Where are we from, if someone asks?"

Thomas thought briefly. "Lorraine? You're from Thionville, an iron and steel town like Völklingen? And I'm from Metz -- I know it well."

"Agreed. Fits well. Our birthplaces in our new French papers are also in the northeast."

The next afternoon, Madeleine returned with her black-clad mother, Géraldine Safrane. Despite her mourning dress, Géraldine was full of life, her eyes sparkling with spirit, reflected in her rapid speech. Her long black hair, tied in a thick braid, was streaked with silvery-gray strands.

"You gentlemen were craving a jug of beer yesterday," she grinned, placing a shoulder bag on the table. She reached in and pulled out two corked ceramic jugs. "Here you go. Straight from our village brewery. Bottled fresh this morning."

Georg was thrilled. "What a wonderful surprise. I feared we'd be abstinent for the duration of our stay."

Mother and daughter laughed heartily. "Miquelon has become rich from beer and spirits over the past 22 years. While the Puritans in America preached their moral high ground, we brewed, distilled, and sold as much as we could. Our men made 50 times more money smuggling to the U. S. than they did fishing -- which they only kept up for camouflage."

Georg opened one jug, filled his ceramic-lined tin cup, and took a sip. Then he sighed loudly. "Fantastic. That hits the spot." He drained the cup with a second gulp. "What's this divine nectar called?"

"Ambrosia."

"Exactly. This is my ambrosia."

From that moment, the mood between the weather soldiers and the Safrane women was relaxed and friendly. After the women had dutifully taken care of the beacon, they sat in front of the lighthouse keeper's cottage for another half an hour, chatting with each other -- as if they had known each other for years, not just a few hours. The two women set off for home almost too late.

"Will you still find your way if it gets dark?" Thomas asked, somewhat concerned.

Geraldine laughed. "First of all, we're used to seeing in the moonlight. And if the moon doesn't shine, we have two battery-powered flashlights. They're actually official equipment for lighthouse duty." She reached into her tote bag and pulled out a flashlight. "We may be on one of the most remote outposts of the great French Republic, but that doesn't mean we're at the end of the world." Her temperament sparkled again like diamonds in her eyes.

After Thomas had sent off his short evening weather report and Georg had put dinner on the table, the two men engaged in an in-depth discussion about structuring their future daily routine. "A duty roster has the advantage that you don't become dishevelled, lazy, or idle," Georg explained the need for a schedule. Thomas accepted his point of view, and in the following days and weeks, a fixed rhythm of daily tasks emerged. Alongside the actual weather observation and documentation of measurements, Thomas took care of hunting rabbits and other small game, while Georg managed the household and prepared meals. The two men had brought two different hunting rifles: a bullet rifle, which proved entirely useless due to the lack of deer and other big game, and a double-barrelled shotgun, which was now used several times a week and provided a steady supply of fresh meat during those spring days.

Thanks to the daily lighthouse visits from a female member of the Safrane family, there was no risk of solitary boredom between Georg and Thomas. Both men were kept busy with their duties and everyday life. In the evenings, they enjoyed playing a round of chess, checkers, or mill, though Thomas had to be careful not to appear discouragingly superior.

Three weeks later, the Safrane women and the two disguised weather soldiers were already so familiar with one another that Geraldine Safrane invited the men to the Easter Sunday church service and subsequent Easter meal at her home in Miquelon. "For eighty years now, we've had a wonderful wooden church in our town where everything from baptisms and festive services to weddings and funerals takes place. And we have a wonderful priest, Father Augustin," she said during her afternoon work visit to the lighthouse. "You're warmly invited to join us on Easter Sunday and be our guests afterward."

Georg and Thomas couldn't avoid accepting the invitation. "To be honest, I'm not thrilled about celebrating Easter in such a public way in Miquelon," Georg admitted. "It means too many people will know we live and work at the lighthouse. I hope no awkward questions arise."

Thomas was sceptical as well but optimistic about one thing. "If we show up as companions of Geraldine, Madeleine, and their sisters -- basically as part of the family -- the risk is probably smaller. The family just doesn't have any men left."

Thomas Langlois turned out to be right. Of course, the congregation in the nave of the surprisingly large and splendid wooden church, Notre-Dame-des-Ardilliers, eyed the two unfamiliar men in their dark blue uniforms with the emblem of the French National Weather Service on the sleeves with curiosity and suspicion. But no one in the fully occupied Catholic church of the small island of Miquelon had the slightest inkling that among them were two German soldiers on a highly important secret mission.

"It's been many years since I last attended an Easter Sunday service," Georg confessed to his comrade.

The person addressed nodded in agreement. "Last time was in senior secondary school. So yeah, also many years."

Despite the long absence, the Latin liturgy was still familiar enough to them that they didn't stand out. After the service, the Safrane family and their guests walked through the small town, which consisted mostly of surprisingly good and well-kept houses. "We owe it all to that devilish alcohol," Geraldine Safrane laughed as she outlined the townscape with a sweeping gesture while walking briskly. "I grew up in the lighthouse keeper's house. Back then, Miquelon was just a cluster of shabby fishing huts. Only our church looked the same as it does now. Even our school was basically a poor shack. Then came American Prohibition, and we had a unique opportunity to make good money. And we spent it on our town. Now we have new houses and a proper harbour. We even have a doctor and a dentist. And the children have a proper school and a very well-stocked library."

"Oh, a library? Here?"

"Yes," replied Madeleine, pointing to a larger wooden building at the end of the side street they were just passing. "That's our school, and the library is there too. It's public, open to everyone -- not just students."

"I can issue you library cards right away," chimed in Madeleine's younger sister, eighteen-year-old Marie. "I want to become a librarian and am currently training there."

"Then I'll be your first new reader this Sunday," Thomas said happily. "I didn't dare hope to find a library at our location."

Geraldine laughed again, her warm, charming laugh. "You even have alcohol to thank for that luxury," she beamed at Thomas. "The library is a donation from the three distilleries. During the golden years, we had so much extra money that we voluntarily donated many useful things. The dental clinic was also one of those donations."

With that brief excursion into local history, they arrived at the home of the Safrane family. "Welcome to our man-free household," the matriarch greeted her two guests as they entered, her tone laced with audible sarcasm.

Curious and inquisitive as ever -- perhaps a little tactless -- Thomas Langlois returned to Geraldine's greeting during the dinner conversation after the main course. "You've mentioned it twice now, and Madeleine also made similar comments during her lighthouse shifts. Why is a family of such beautiful women a household without men?"

Geraldine took two deep, audible breaths and sighed noticeably. "1940 was a terrible year for our family, gentlemen." She looked back and forth between Thomas and Georg. "When you live in a fishing town with seafaring trawlers, the threat of death at sea is always present. In 1926, during a hurricane that pushed far north, we lost two trawlers from Miquelon -- they sank with all hands. My Claude was on the third trawler, the only boat that made it back from Maine. He later said he had never seen such waves in his life. After that trip, he never went to sea again. He dedicated himself to our distillery and the lighthouse. Claude died just before last Christmas after a short illness, only 48 years old. He somehow never got over the deaths of Georges and Pierre."

There were clear question marks on Thomas and Georg's faces, so Madeleine used the pause to explain. "Georges was my younger brother and Pierre my husband. We got married two weeks before the war began. Both served in the French Navy. On the battleship Bretagne, which the English so disgracefully sank during their attack on the French fleet on July 3rd. Both of our boys died in the process. Along with over a thousand other young men." Madeleine sounded bitter and at the same time angry.

"It's like the whole history of these French islands and their Anglo-Canadian neighbours," Geraldine added, even more grimly. "These imperialists never left us alone. They plundered our fishing grounds, occupied and harassed us repeatedly. And they also tried to torpedo our alcohol trade. Because they wanted the business for themselves. That conflict only ended when our American customers made it clear to the English that they insisted on being supplied from both sides. The reason was simple: they feared the U. S. government might be powerful enough to force Canada into Prohibition too. They're just abstainers and puritans on both sides of the border."

The atmosphere at the table that Easter Sunday had noticeably turned tense. The death of the three male family members had deeply affected the women. Thomas and Georg were all the more relieved when Geraldine clapped her hands and put on a defiantly friendly face. "Grief and anger won't get us anywhere. And they won't bring our men back." She looked at the two weather soldiers. "We've talked so much about alcohol, now you'll get a sample from our own distillery along with dessert."

"You own a distillery?" Georg looked at his hosts with admiration and curiosity.

"Yes," Geraldine smiled in response, "the only distillery in Miquelon still in operation. Thanks to my Claude." She nodded to Madeleine, who then placed a silver tray with fine glasses and two small bottles containing clear liquid on the table. "When Prohibition began in America in 1919, we initially started producing a kind of whiskey here. It was basically just distilled alcohol made from smoked barley. Real whiskey should age in barrels for months or years, but no one had time for that. Neither our buyers, who were screaming for more, nor we producers. I must admit, our whiskey was really just a strong booze. Claude then began experimenting with how to make something better-tasting from the neutral base spirit -- something even women could enjoy. Because that's something we quickly learned from our American buyers. Even American women began increasingly to demand alcoholic drinks. So, I got two books, where we found lots of information on gin production. The necessary juniper berries, as well as other suitable berries, grow here on our island. So, we converted our distillery to gin production. That's been working ever since, while local whiskey production has since stopped due to lack of demand."

With that explanation, Geraldine filled five glasses with juniper gin, handed them out, and raised her glass. "Cheers."

Thomas and Georg were indeed surprised at how good the gin tasted and offered many compliments. "If you're interested, I'd be happy to show you our distillery after the meal," Madeleine offered. "It's in the big barn-like wooden building behind our house."

The two weather soldiers accepted the offer with curiosity.

"I feel like we hit the jackpot with this weather mission," Georg murmured quietly to Thomas as the two of them made the one-hour trek back to the lighthouse late in the afternoon. Madeleine accompanied them, as she was duty-bound to check that the beacon was operating properly.

Thomas just nodded, since Madeleine was within earshot. "They're a lovely family," he added neutrally. "Wonderful for us, considering the conversations we had on the way here." Then they continued silently along the narrow but well-defined path.

Once they arrived at their destination, Madeleine turned to Thomas. "Will you keep me company in the lighthouse? Then I won't be so alone up there."

Thomas paused briefly, then nodded politely. "Gladly." Minutes later, he followed Madeleine up the narrow steps to the glass lighthouse dome, his gaze fixed on her enticingly swaying hips, clearly outlined despite her long skirt.

After she had completed her inspection and the petroleum-gas mixture was properly feeding the beacon, Madeleine suddenly turned to Thomas and placed her arms around his neck. "I haven't held a man in my arms, let alone made one happy, since Pierre left for his final journey." She looked Thomas straight in the eyes from close distance. "May I make both of us happy up here? I've been dreaming about it since the first time I saw you."

Thomas just nodded, took Madeleine's head in both hands, and kissed her squarely on the mouth. Madeleine's lips parted quickly, and the two began a hot and intense French kiss that further fuelled their inner passion and had immediate, noticeable effects on Thomas's manhood.

A head shorter than him, Madeleine rubbed her belly against the noticeably hardening bulge in Thomas's trousers, then broke the embrace and took a small step back. "Let's take off our coats -- they're just in the way." Taking the opportunity, she deftly reached under her long skirt and stepped out of her panties, which she stuffed into her coat pocket. Then she crouched down in front of Thomas on the narrow walkway that circled the lighthouse, opened his belt, and unbuttoned his trousers. "We are Frenchwomen, not English," she declared demonstratively. "We know how to make love." With these words, she freed Thomas's now firmly erect manhood from his loose underwear and examined the fine piece from several angles. "Your cock is beautiful. That will definitely do me good." She reached for the shaft of his penis, pulled back the foreskin completely, and began by massaging it with her left hand. Then, to Thomas's surprise, she slipped her mouth over his glans and started a completely unfamiliar combined mouth, tongue, and hand treatment that quickly made him moan loudly. Madeleine was apparently a surprisingly experienced French woman for her age, as she never let him reach the final ejaculation point. Then she stopped her treatment with murmuring and bubbling sounds, blew warm air over the head of his penis, and squeezed the shaft at the base. "You won't come that quickly on me," she grinned up at him. "After all, I still want something from you." Thomas was almost dizzy when Madeleine stood up, gave him a quick kiss with her lubricated mouth, and then turned around. "Just lift my skirt," she commanded. "Then the bare paradise is right in front of you."

That's exactly how it was. A magnificent, snow-white buttocks smiled at Thomas, between which Madeleine's pink pussy shimmered, already visibly and noticeably moist, above which a similarly pink rosebud twitched. Thomas moved his mushroom-shaped glans, which protruded slightly over the edge, up and down between Madeleine's labia a few times, making her increasingly impatient.

"Come on now," she moaned to him. "I need you now."

"Orders are orders," Thomas thought with military precision, then pushed his lower body forward, which Madeleine immediately responded to eagerly. Moments later, they found their natural rhythm and made love with a dynamic intensity typical of those starved for sex. It turned more into a loud and intense quickie than a long endurance fuck. Both quickly approached a shared climax.

"Come inside me," Madeleine shouted so loudly it could probably be heard outside the lighthouse. "It's safe."

Then Thomas had also already reached his point of no return. He held Madeleine by both hips, had pushed his penis all the way into his beloved, and began to pump his love juice into her in several spurts. In doing so, he let out a deep scream that resembled the natural rutting calls of stags. The good thing about their love spot in the dome of the lighthouse was that no one could hear or disturb them. Breathing heavily, Thomas held Madeleine in her position until his shrinking best friend slipped out of her.

With a surprising movement, Madeleine pressed a flat hand against her pussy, sealing it against the expected flood of their shared love juices. Then she magically produced from somewhere a large, folded handkerchief that replaced her hand. "Mother doesn't need to find any telltale stains on the inside of my skirt," she grinned at Thomas. Then she straightened up, turned around, and beamed at Thomas with the most wonderful laughter he had ever seen in his life. "Thank you, my dear. I think we both really needed that."

A few minutes later, they had descended again and arrived at the door of the lighthouse keeper's cottage. It was almost dark.

"Do you find your way home?" Thomas asked anxiously.

Madeleine laughed at him. "You wouldn't believe how often I've walked this path in the dark. There are no wild, dangerous animals to watch out for here. And no bad people either. My little light is more than enough for me." She called a farewell greeting into the cottage to Georg, who was busy in the kitchen, gave Thomas another kiss, and set off home happily, relieved, and deeply satisfied.

In the following spring weeks, the lives of the two weather soldiers and the Safrane family settled into a pleasant routine. The military secret mission of collecting and transmitting weather data was dutifully carried out twice daily; otherwise, Georg and Thomas busied themselves organizing their lives. The availability of small game, especially rabbits and pheasants, was abundant for the experienced hunter Thomas. The only drawback he occasionally lamented was the lack of a proper hunting dog, so he always had to search for his shot game himself. The weather was slowly getting warmer, with daytime temperatures on St. Pierre and Miquelon ranging from 8 to 12 degrees Celsius -- a heatwave by their standards. However, it rained repeatedly and heavily on some days.

"That's normal here," Madeleine explained. "Besides, we rarely see the sun in spring. If we have wind, there are usually quickly moving clouds; if there's no wind, there's often more or less thick fog. That's because of the cold Labrador Current and the warm Gulf Stream -- we learned that in school."

Since the arrival of the two weather soldiers, Madeleine had almost entirely taken over the lighthouse duty, and as requested, Thomas accompanied her two to three times a week on her inspection rounds, which almost always ended spiritedly and very satisfactorily for both. Madeleine had her birth control well under control. On the so-called dangerous days, Thomas received a loving blow job to orgasm, with Madeleine being an artful "swallower." Occasionally, she also directed him to her back entrance, which made their spirited endings particularly loud. Additionally, on sunny afternoons, the warming daytime temperatures allowed them to completely undress each other and enjoy their naked bodies.

Georg Platner, on the other hand, walked the hour to Miquelon from time to time in the morning if Madeleine or another family member had asked him the day before for some handyman service in the distillery or household. It had quickly become known that he was a trained and versatile craftsman in his original profession, capable of solving not only electrical problems but also all plumbing tasks. Both problem areas were abundant in the now almost twenty-year-old distillery. On such workdays, he often joined for lunch, and over the weeks, a genuinely warm relationship developed between the lively and witty Georg and the equally cheerful Geraldine.

"Claude will never come back to life, and neither Georges nor Pierre will return," Geraldine had said in late May, about half a year after the anniversary of her husband's death, with a voice almost childishly defiant, and she had taken off her black mourning clothes. It was a few days before the summer solstice celebration, which, in Viking tradition, was also celebrated on Miquelon with a big fire on the beach. Geraldine and Georg were sitting alone at the table after lunch; the daughters were busy outside the entire afternoon and would not return until several hours later. Suddenly, Geraldine took the hand of Georg, who was sitting beside her, and looked at him with a completely changed expression. "Am I already too old as a woman to still be desirable in any way?"

Georg was initially completely surprised and couldn't come up with a proper answer right away. It felt incredibly good to him to suddenly have his hand taken like that. Then he pulled himself together. "No, Geraldine. You're certainly not a young girl anymore and have had some hard years of life and work behind you." His gaze openly roamed over Geraldine's body. Then he took a deep breath. "As for me, I have always preferred more experienced and mature women." He looked at Geraldine now with a mischievous glint, as if he sensed that he was heading toward an unexpected opportunity. "Is that an offer?" he finally asked straightforwardly. By now, he was sure that this otherwise cheeky question wouldn't be answered negatively.

"Yes," Geraldine smiled. "Probably more than that, it's an invitation. The occasion is favourable; besides the two of us, no one else is home." Geraldine kept holding Georg's hand, but at the same time stood up. "Then come with me."

Georg followed her into their bedroom, where their marital double bed still stood unchanged, but with bedding only on one side. Geraldine headed to the empty side. "Here we have enough free space for us." Georg and Geraldine first approached each other relatively slowly and cautiously, almost as if they were keen to explore one another. Then Geraldine knelt in the middle of the bed, supported herself on her forearms, stretched her buttocks backward, but at the same time spread her thighs as far apart as possible.

"This is indeed an invitation," was Georg's last clear thought, then the two found a hard, almost pounding rhythm, with Georg's belly repeatedly slapping against Geraldine's thrusting backside, so that his shaft plunged fully into her each time. It became loud, very loud, and both grew wetter with sweat and love juices. Finally, Geraldine stiffened with her buttocks stretched far back and let out a long-lasting, deep scream. Not only her thighs, but also her upper arms trembled like leaves in the wind, so she pressed her head and upper body onto the mattress. Then she literally exploded. Georg felt how his shaft was milked by her vaginal contractions, and then he, too, could hold back no longer. A charge that had built up over half a year discharged in at least five spurts, filling Geraldine to the brim.

Geraldine and Georg lay for quite some time, still closely cuddled together, gasping for air side by side, repeatedly kissing each other like a young couple in love.

"That was wonderful," finally confessed the mother of four and distillery owner. "Shall we do this more often?" She laughed deeply and diabolically.

Georg joined in her laughter. "I'd be more than happy to. As I said before, I love experienced women. They know what they want and what they can do."

Thus was born the second, in this case very unusual, couple between a disguised German weather soldier and a mature Frenchwoman living far from home.

If it weren't for their disciplined twice-daily weather reports sent via shortwave, Private First Class Thomas Langlois and Corporal Georg Platner would have had no personal connection to the ever-expanding war around them. They only learned of the Wehrmacht's attack on the Soviet Union with a two-week delay. Any radio communication with the Naval High Command or other offices beyond their weather reports was strictly forbidden to safeguard their mission.

"I'm curious if after the next winter a submarine will actually appear here to bring supplies and a relief crew for us on land," Georg pondered one late summer evening on the bench in front of the lighthouse keeper's house while enjoying a gin for the night -- a now established joint tradition. "To be honest, right now I have no desire whatsoever to climb into a submarine and return to Europe."

Thomas listened attentively but remained silent for a longer moment. "We're really doing well here. We love and are loved. We are well provided for; nothing is lacking. The hunting is plentiful. And Madeleine says that although the winter will be harsh, it won't get too cold. Her mother grew up in this cottage and says it's an exceptionally sturdy house that withstands any storm. And the library has more books than I could read in twenty years. What more could you want?"

"We should think about how we can inform our commanders that we want to stay here on our post and don't need relief. They can deploy their reserves elsewhere." Georg now looked his comrade directly in the face. "Would you agree with that?"

"Absolutely," Thomas answered spontaneously. "In the coming weeks I'll figure out how we can tell Frigate Captain Schiefer or the Naval Weather Service. There's no rush."

Thus, Georg Platner and Thomas Langlois agreed to potentially wait out the entire duration of the war indefinitely on Miquelon and continue their duty as well as their newly found lives.

Late summer and autumn led with several heavy storms and fast, harsh weather changes into the pre-Christmas season. The eighty-year-old lighthouse keeper's house proved to be very weatherproof and, due to its thick natural stone walls, easy to heat. The cosy warmth from the peat- and kindling-fired stove and heating oven provided enough drying energy to dry their constantly damp and clammy clothes.

"I must admit, I was a bit afraid of the first winter on Miquelon," Thomas confessed to his permanent beloved. "We'd heard a lot about Canadian winters. But here, it doesn't seem like there are those huge snowstorms that drop more than half a meter of snow in a day and night."

Madeleine agreed. "I've rarely seen that in my twenty-three years on this island. Instead, rain, sleet, and real snowflakes often fall sideways." She snuggled closely against Thomas, lying next to her. "Actually, it's very nice that this cottage is inhabited and heated again. That way, when the weather is bad, you can hide out here and don't have to hike an hour from town to here in every weather and still carry out your duties at the lighthouse. It's especially important in bad weather that the beacon works properly." Madeleine now regularly stayed two to three nights in the cottage and helped Thomas both with collecting weather data and with hunting and processing the game.

As the Safrane family, the two undercover weather soldiers, and the few hundred residents of Miquelon prepared for a war-distant and peaceful Christmas during Advent, two major events brought them back into the reality of war. Already on the Monday morning after the second Sunday of Advent, rumours spread about the Japanese attack the previous day on the U. S. Pacific Fleet at distant Pearl Harbour.

"The war has reached North America," Madeleine summarized the reports as she had already walked out to the lighthouse by midday to inform Georg and Thomas of the news. Two days later, she reported that the German Reich had declared war on the USA due to the mutual assistance pact between the Reich, Italy, and Japan. Georg and Thomas had reacted very reservedly in front of her but became all the more emotional in their discussions once they were alone again in the cottage.

"Now we're sitting on a tiny island thousands of kilometers from home, right in the middle of enemy territory," Thomas groaned worriedly. "And our only protection is our disguise as Frenchmen."

"You're right. We certainly can't count on any supplies or communication with the homeland. I consider outside help to be out of the question," Georg agreed, adopting a resolute tone. "So, we'll have to take care of ourselves."

"Should we continue the weather service and transmissions? Or is that too dangerous for us now?" Thomas still sounded sceptical. "Our radio transmissions are so short that we can't be triangulated. And we follow orders not to receive any transmissions, so no one can give us orders--and no one could use those orders to reveal our position either," Georg analysed, correctly for the most part.

"Still, one thing worries me." Thomas got up and paced back and forth in the combined living and kitchen room. "When we arrived here just under nine months ago, everything was already prepared. That means there must have been prior information about our arrival and our mission sent from the Naval High Command or the weather authorities in Vichy France to the local governor, who then passed it on here. If anyone in St. Pierre comes across those documents, they'll immediately know we're here."

Georg shrugged his shoulders. "As far as I know, the local governor still has good relations with Vichy. As long as that doesn't change, the risk should be low, right?"

"I don't know, there are spies everywhere. And now that the Americans are at war with Germany too, that could change quickly."

Thomas's speculation proved prophetic. A week later, a group of French soldiers -- acting on orders from Charles de Gaulle, leader of the Free French living in London, and without any support from Canadian or American agencies -- crossed over from Newfoundland to St. Pierre. There, they arrested the Vichy-loyal governor and occupied key positions within the small administration of the three islands. With that, the overseas territory of St. Pierre and Miquelon had, like several other French colonies, switched sides from the German-neutral Vichy regime to the Allied war effort.

This news, too, spread like wildfire among the residents of Miquelon. Then, nothing happened -- absolutely nothing. Christmas was celebrated as in peacetime, with the exception that many young men were absent from Miquelon's families. Not only the Safrane family had already mourned fallen sons and brothers, even though the blood toll in the small community had not yet reached anywhere near the level of the First World War. Back then, over a quarter of the young men sent to serve in Europe had not returned, leaving behind an unimaginable void in the population of the small islands -- one that couldn't be filled even in twenty years.

Despite the two major military and political events of December 1941, the Christmas celebration of Georg Planter and Thomas Langlois on Miquelon was solemn, peaceful, and very family oriented. As a slight variation on their unchanged military task, they recorded and transmitted the afternoon weather data two hours earlier on Christmas Eve, then put on their clean reserve uniforms of the French weather service. They first walked the hour-long path to the Safrane family's house and then marched with the four women to Christmas Mass at the church.

By now, Georg had become well known in the small community of a few hundred residents through his regular help at Geraldine's distillery and his skill as a handyman, and he was greeted like a local. Thomas was at least known to the townspeople from Sunday Mass and was recognized as the one who maintained the lighthouse with Madeleine Montabon and was often seen out hunting. The traditional Christmas Eve Mass was the spiritual highlight of the year for most residents, especially the children.

Father Augustin, who came from Basque Biarritz in southwestern France and had served his parish for many years, always prepared the service with special care. "Christmas, along with Easter, is always the highlight of the year for me," he often said. Accordingly, he always put on a special show in the festively decorated wooden church -- the largest building on Miquelon -- to the delight of his congregation.

Having returned from their Christmas mess, the Safrane family, together with their two long-term guests, gathered around Geraldine's large dining table for the traditional Christmas dinner. The community's wealth, originating from the time of American Prohibition, indeed allowed for a traditional French meal known as Le Réveillon, consisting of fish from local waters, turkey stuffed with chestnuts -- both imported from New England in exchange for gin shipments -- and a Bûche de Noël cake.

"I haven't had such a good Christmas meal since my childhood in the 1920s," Georg confessed at the end of the meal, as he fought off his full stomach with two generous gins.

Geraldine laughed at him and sincerely thanked him for the compliment. "As a hostess, it's always hard to compete with someone's mother. If I managed to do that, I'm especially pleased."

Overall, the Christmas atmosphere in the Safrane household was very relaxed. Only during the gift-giving, which mainly included a few new items of clothing and books, did a moment of excitement arise. With a ceremoniously affectionate look, Geraldine and Madeleine each handed their respective lovers a relatively large, soft-feeling gift. When the two men unwrapped their unusually beautifully packaged Christmas presents, they each found a hand-knitted fisherman's sweater: in Thomas's case, dark blue with white horizontal stripes in the Breton style; in Georg's case, gray with orange-red stripes in the Basque style.

"You've both been on Miquelon long enough now," Madeleine explained the gifts, "that you have the right -- and the duty -- to dress like local men. These are now your first civilian garments of this island."

Thomas and Georg were deeply moved by their gifts, but things were about to get even better.

"Madeleine and I have a second Christmas gift for you, along with a personal Christmas wish," added Geraldine, a youthful smile lighting up her face. "We wish for Madeleine and Georg to switch their respective homes. Georg is invited to live permanently in my house and to take his place in my life -- and in my bed. Madeleine wishes for nothing more than to return to my parental home by the lighthouse and to share her life -- and bed -- with Thomas." Geraldine looked alternately at the surprised and delighted faces of the two weather soldiers. "My daughter and I are both widows who, thanks to you, have rediscovered the joy and passion for life. If you both say 'Yes' to our Christmas wish, we have a very special gift prepared for each of you."

Georg and Thomas exchanged a brief glance and then both nodded.

"We honestly can't imagine a more beautiful Christmas gift," Georg replied first. "From me, it's a clear and loud 'Yes!'" He got up from his chair, walked around the table, lifted Geraldine from her chair, hugged her, and kissed her full on the lips in front of the whole family.

Thomas followed Madeleine's lead. "A loud and clear 'Yes!' from me too."

"Wonderful," Geraldine clapped her hands. "Since, with the storm and sleet outside, you'd better spend the night here, Madeleine and I have already prepared your Christmas gift." Then she laughed throatily and with a knowing undertone. "You can already start getting excited -- and then burst with curiosity."

Two hours later, the time had come. Geraldine's bedroom had the largest bed in the house, had already been stripped of its bedding, and the mattresses were covered with a special sheet.

"We French women and men," Geraldine began a very short speech to her daughter and her two guests, "are rightly considered the world champions of 'French love.' And that's what Madeleine and I want to celebrate this evening -- as long and as intensely as possible." Geraldine then laughed very seductively. "Besides, Madeleine is keen to learn a little something more tonight." She clapped her hands. "So, let's get down to the naked truth."

Curious and eager for one another, all four were completely naked in no time. Then Geraldine took charge again. "Gentlemen, please lie down on your backs along the length of the bed."

Thomas and Georg followed the instruction immediately and laughing. "You would have made a good drill sergeant," Georg joked.

"Not just that," Geraldine quipped back. "But if you follow my orders, it's going to be a fine evening for you and Thomas." A moment later, both women had saddled their lovers in 69-position, lowered their pussies on their mouths and took their half-erected cocks in their hands and mouths. Georg had some small experience with this most intensive form of 'French love', but for Thomas, it was absolutely new. But both, mother and daughter, knew exactly what they wanted and how to direct "their booty". Treating their lovers in the right way, both women had been successful and experienced three orgasms each before their lovers sprayed their cum finally. Geraldine took Georg's cream entirely and swallowed everything. Facing her mother, Madeleine was a little more cautious, so Thomas had to spray his cum between her exiting bouncing tits.

"Well, my dears," Geraldine took charge again after she and her daughter had rolled off their lovers. "We'll give you a little break now. I'm going to get us all a good gin and tonic, and then we'll head into round two."

No sooner said than done. About half an hour later, the two men were ready and willing to go again.

"The true art of 'French love'," explained Geraldine to Georg and Thomas, "is a deep throat fuck until you explode into our mouths." She grinned to her daughter and took her by her arm. "Madeleine has never tried it. But, looking at your wonderful formed cock, dear Thomas, I think you are the best for her premiere. Hard and long, but not too thick." She clapped with her flat hand onto her bed. "We two stretch ourselves onto our back and leave our heads hanging over the bed's edge. And to make it most comfortable for us, we place a pillow under our neck. Then you get another blow job, simply top-down and start to fuck slowly our mouths. You will fell it when you reach our throats. It simply gets narrower. And then you attempt to fuck us deeper and deeper." She looked at us. "You understood?"

Georg and I nodded.

"Fine! We will direct you with our hands, because we need to breathe a little bit in-between." Geraldine laughed knowingly. With all her experience and Georg's corresponding little knowledge, both found their rhythm rather rapidly. Georg placed his hands on Geraldine large and tender breasts, squidged them and pulled her impressive nipples as long as possible. With each slowly forcing attempt, he recognized that he fucked Geraldine's throat deeper and deeper. As promised it became very tight around his glans, and he felt the massaging effect of Geraldine's throat more and more.

Just beside them, Madeleine was really fighting with Thomas' cock, she gasped, puffed and moaned heavily. Then the mixture of Thomas' pre-cum and her spittle flew into her nose, and she coughed heavily.

Geraldine pushed Georg backwards, so his rock-hard cock slipped out of her mouth and bobbed upwards. Her face was already creamed with a greasy mixture of their love juices. She turned her face right to her daughter. "Stop it and watch us. When we are finished, I will help you two. It should be a horny pleasure, not a suffocating attack." Finishing her command, she pulled Georg to her again, placed her kips around his glans and the top end of his shaft, placed her hands on his arse cheeks and pulled Georg deeper into her. They needed less than five minutes to finish their throat fuck. Georg pushed his cock as deep as possible into Geraldine's throat, cried out very loud and shot two loads deep into her. Before he shot a third load, he pulled himself back and shot this load partly into her open mouth, partly over her face.

"Ah. Wonderful! Marvellous!" was Geraldine's excited comment. Then she greased their blended cum and love juices all over her chin, her neck and her tits and lifted herself up.

"Claude and I loved this play more than anything," she laughed at Georg. "And you're just as good! Wonderful!" She turned around, sat up, and gave Georg a heartfelt kiss with her smeared mouth and face, which he returned passionately. Then she turned to her daughter and her daughter's lover. "Did you watch closely?"

Madeleine and Thomas nodded. "And what did I do wrong?" Madeleine asked shyly.

"You're not doing anything wrong. It's just a matter of practice to position your neck so that your mouth and throat form a straight line. And then you just need to relax. This isn't a competition." She pushed her daughter back into position, wanked with one hand Thomas' manhood hard again, and directed both with clear commands. "You see, it is absolutely easy," motivated Geraldine the two younger lovers after their first fucking attempts. And indeed, they found slowly their right positions and their own rhythm. By now, Thomas's face was flushed deep red with excitement and tension, which also affected the duration of this mutual first experience. After just a few deep thrusts into Madeleine's throat, he climaxed forcefully and had to be careful not to become too rough in the process."

Madeleine's face was even more creamed than the face of her mother, a lot of Thomas' cum had been squeezed on both sides of her mouth.

"You have my permission to practice that over the next few weeks," Geraldine grinned at the young couple. "At Easter, I'll check how well French love you've practiced." With these words, she slapped Thomas on his bare butt and Madeleine on a bare breast. "You will see. Such a deep throat fuck is the real art of 'French love'. "We all want to do our nation proud. Even if it's just in bed."

Relaxed and relieved, but also with many feelings, the two couples parted and went to bed in pairs. None of the four could have guessed that their decision, made out of love and affection to change their living conditions by swapping the residences of Georg and Madeleine, would prove to be extremely helpful and important in the months to come.

The expanding course of the war and the entry of the USA into the conflict had prompted Geraldine to give herself the most valuable Christmas present. Through a friend in Newfoundland, she had purchased a state-of-the-art radio, which was delivered in the week after Christmas. Since the early 1930s, the small hydroelectric power plant on Miquelon had been supplying the coveted electricity both to the distillery and the private household, so the radio could also be operated. Georg and Thomas, of course, knew radio receivers from home, but on Miquelon they were still a rarity. So, on December 27th, 1941, the family sat together for the first time in Geraldine's living room and listened to the news as well as an entertainment broadcast from the French-speaking Canadian province of Quebec. The news from the two theatres of war in Europe and Asia sounded deeply unsettling.

"Does any of you believe this war will be over next year?" Geraldine asked at the end of the news broadcast. She received a collective shake of the head.

"I'm afraid that with the Japanese attack on Hawaii three weeks ago, it's only just beginning," Thomas replied thoughtfully. "And as far as France and its colonies are concerned, I see nothing but a huge question mark. Marshal Petain is quite dependent on Germany, and de Gaulle is equally dependent on England. Nothing has been decided."

"And here?"

"Besides a few de Gaulle soldiers arresting our governor and taking over the administration, nothing has happened. But I've heard that soon there will be a referendum of all residents of St. Pierre and Miquelon to decide on which side of France we stand."

"Oh, yes?" Georg had grown thoughtful. "We work for the French weather service. And that is based in France, not London. What does that mean for us now?"

"Nothing at all." Geraldine sounded determined. "From now on, you are an employee of my distillery. And Thomas and Madeleine are the lighthouse keepers. Just as the Safrane family has cared for the lighthouse for eighty years."

"That would at least be an official solution outwardly," the two undercover Kriegsmarine weather soldiers agreed. "Let's see if anyone from the Free French will show up here at all."

The question was answered six weeks later, when, an American destroyer suddenly emerged from the usual February fog lying over the water. Unable to approach closer due to insufficient depth, it anchored offshore and sent six American and six French soldiers ashore in two small boats.

"After the arrest of the governor, we found documents in his office indicating that there is supposed to be a secret submarine base of the German Navy on Miquelon," explained the highest-ranking officer, an American naval lieutenant, to the village mayor. "Have you seen or heard of any German soldiers or German ships or submarines here in the last few months?"

Monsieur Bertran, a veteran fisherman who had held office for more than ten years, just shook his head. "Gentlemen, we know our island and the sea in front of our doorstep like the back of our hand. There is no military base here. Not from anyone, anywhere. But of course, you are free to search the island systematically with its more than one hundred square kilometers." He grinned at the soldiers. "In good and clear weather, you also have an excellent panoramic view from the top of our lighthouse." He laughed softly. "Around mid-May, roughly."

It happened as it had to. The twelve soldiers split into four groups to inspect the island, especially its coastline, on foot. "Orders are orders," the French sergeant, the highest-ranking member of the French contingent, had said with a shrug. "Either there is a German base here, then we will eliminate it. Or there is no base, then we can report properly."

The contents of the conversation between the soldiers and the village mayor became known to all the inhabitants faster than the twelve men could set off. Geraldine stopped immediately upon hearing the news and informed Georg, who received the message with a shrug. "I don't know of any German naval base on Miquelon. If anyone is looking for me, they will find me in the distillery fixing something. They can help me there if they want." With these words, he disappeared again, outwardly appearing completely calm. Nevertheless, Geraldine immediately sent her youngest daughter, Charlotte, to the lighthouse to deliver the latest news there. "The soldiers will certainly come to the lighthouse and ask you questions. Prepare yourselves."

Charlotte needed only three quarters of an hour for the trip; she ran a large part of the way. Madeleine took Charlotte's message, gave her some tea and a piece of bread to rest, and then looked for Thomas, who was skinning and cutting up his game in the small shed at the foot of the lighthouse.

"Are you a German soldier, Thomas? I need an honest answer immediately."

Thomas Langlois looked at her like the personification of disbelief.

"What kind of question is that?"

"An American warship has docked in town and sent a search party of American and Free French soldiers ashore to find a German submarine base here." She took a deep breath. "I need an honest answer from you so I know how to protect you if necessary." She stepped closer to Thomas and took his right hand. "I love you and will do everything for you."

Thomas thought for a few seconds, then answered quietly, "Yes. Even though Georg and I really serve the French state's weather service."

"Do we have anything here at the lighthouse that could betray you?"

"The shortwave transmitter. It's a German make."

"Then get rid of it immediately. There's a storage chamber halfway up the lighthouse. No one will find it unless they know it. Take the transmitter there right away."

Thomas obeyed immediately. And not a moment too soon. Just after noon, a search party of two American and two Free French soldiers stood in front of the lighthouse house and asked if the lighthouse keeper couple had noticed any suspicious movements of a seafaring vessel or unknown uniformed men in recent months. Madeleine's and Thomas's answers came in fluent French, which prompted one of the two Frenchmen to address Thomas directly. "Are you from Lorraine?"

Thomas shook himself briefly and looked at him in surprise. "Do you still hear that?"

"Yes," the soldier grinned. "If you're from there yourself, you recognize that familiar accent. I come from Amnéville, halfway between Metz and Thionville. And you?"

"Right from Metz. In the middle of the city."

"And what brought you to this godforsaken island at the end of the world?"

Thomas remained silent for a moment and thought.

"I," Madeleine answered on his behalf, "We met in Paris, and I seduced him so much that he followed me to my homeland. Thank God it was before the Germans marched in." She laughed heartily, and the French soldier and Thomas joined in her laughter.

"The best reason I can imagine," the soldier said happily and shook Thomas's hand. "It's nice to meet a Lorrainer at this remote end of the world. I hope we will free our homeland someday and I can return home."

With that, the soldiers' visit to the lighthouse was over. Due to the hazy and foggy weather, no one felt the urge to climb the narrow spiral staircase of the lighthouse. The soldiers marched southeast along the coastline.

When they were out of sight, Thomas took his lover in his arms and gave her the longest kiss of their lives. They didn't need to say anything; they loved each other. That was enough for Madeleine for the time being.

By mid-March, the nervousness of Private Thomas Langlois and Corporal Georg Planter had nearly reached an unbearable level. "Has the OKM [German Naval High Command] received our report about the lack of necessity to send a replacement? And have they accepted our proposal?" For weeks, the two weather soldiers had discussed this point during their Sunday meetings and agreed that they would continue to send their weather reports twice daily in a disciplined manner to avoid raising suspicion. Thomas had by now told Madeleine the entire truth, which she hadn't even shared with her mother. Since late February, she had played the very serious question-and-answer game "What if?" with Thomas almost daily. They hadn't really found a solution, only that if a submarine appeared at the foot of the lighthouse and was discovered in time, they would both flee towards the village.

But the deadline for the originally agreed replacement passed without incident, and in the following days, no submarine was sighted at Pointe au Cheval. Apparently, the OKM was fully satisfied with the weather reports; the supply situation and living conditions of the two weather soldiers stationed off the American continent apparently did not interest them much. Thomas Langlois and Georg Planter would only learn in the 1950s through documentary releases about the fate of the German U-boat fleet that in March 1942, a German submarine was rammed and sunk by American destroyers not far from St. Pierre. Whether this submarine was on its way to their location, they were never able to determine.

Spring and summer of 1942 passed in a calm and undisturbed atmosphere on Miquelon. Although the island's population had decided in a referendum with more than 98% in favour of belonging to Charles de Gaulle's Free France, the Free French forces under General de Gaulle recruited exclusively volunteers for their units from the colonies under their sphere of influence during these years. Neither Georg nor Thomas saw any reason to do so.

The question of loyalty to the German Reich as a guiding principle for their weather service was answered in a rather unusual way in September 1942 by a weather event. In mid-September, the sixth cyclone of the Atlantic hurricane season took a truly unusual course. The cyclone moved from the central Atlantic over the Bermuda Islands, but then kept a more or less constant distance from the North American east coast and headed directly toward Newfoundland. In doing so, its centre also passed over St. Pierre and Miquelon. This former hurricane brought considerable wind speeds with it, but this phenomenon was certainly not uncommon on the French islands. What was rare, however, was the dramatic thunderstorm that broke out when the warm and humid air of the ex-hurricane met the weather of the cold Labrador Current. During this, a direct lightning strike hit the antenna of the shortwave transmitter, which was mounted directly on the lighthouse, and at the same time completely destroyed the shortwave transmitter, which was not protected against lightning strikes.

"There's nothing to be done," Georg told his comrade two days later after inspecting the shortwave transmitter and the antenna. "This good piece is completely fried, no electrician in the world can repair this anymore."

"And now?" Thomas looked at his comrade helplessly.

"Quite simple," the corporal laughed at him. "Our mission is hereby over. The weather station on Miquelon is dead. Long live our lives on Miquelon." He slapped Thomas on the shoulder. "Be glad, my friend. Things certainly couldn't be better for the two of us in this war."

That evening, Madeleine agreed with Georg's assessment and invited her lover and partner to an evening full of French love. By now, they had practiced well and overcome all difficulties.

Epilogue:

The loss of the daily weather reports from the American East Coast deeply troubled the German Naval High Command. The OKM (Oberkommando der Marine) assumed that their station, which had reliably operated for a year and a half, and its two weather soldiers on Miquelon had been discovered and exposed, and therefore abruptly fell silent. As a consequence, they urgently developed a fully automated weather station, which was placed as part of the so-called Operation Kurt on the lonely coast of Labrador north of Newfoundland. In October 1943, one year after the weather reports from Miquelon stopped, U-537 under Captain Lieutenant Peter Schrewe approached a remote stretch of Labrador's coast and installed the innovative automatic weather station there, constantly risking discovery. The station was powered by winter-proof batteries supplying electrical current. The measurements were transmitted by a 150-watt Lorenz shortwave transmitter to the OKM weather service, where they were processed for the Atlantic weather forecast. Lonely and automatic but reliably working under the harsh weather conditions of the Arctic winter, the Kurt weather station supplied the German Navy and the German Air Force with weather data well into 1944. Then, for unknown reasons, it ceased operation and was forgotten.

It took thirty-three years until, in 1977, historian Selma Barkham stumbled -- literally -- upon the untouched German Reich weather station in northern Canada during research work. The basically undestroyed station was carefully recovered and is today exhibited in the Canadian War Museum.

The two German weather soldiers who had operated the first German weather station on North American soil for a year and a half eventually assimilated into the French village population of Miquelon. Thomas Langlois and Madeleine Montabon, née Safrane, married in the spring of 1943 after Madeleine discovered she was finally pregnant. Over the years, they would have three more children.

The offer from Langlois, a graduated meteorologist from Paris University, to the new governor appointed by General de Gaulle -- to establish an independent weather service for the islands of St. Pierre and Miquelon -- was very well received. Thomas subsequently established three weather stations on the three inhabited islands and set up a continuous exchange of weather data with Canadian stations in Newfoundland and New Brunswick as well as in the northeastern USA. His weather reports, transmitted via shortwave and telegraph systems, enjoyed great popularity due to the high reliability of the forecasts. This wartime important role also freed Thomas from the necessity of military service in the Free French forces starting in 1944 and from participating as a soldier in the liberation of France after the Normandy landings.

Georg Planter remained in the background; officially, he was regarded in the village as the permanent guest of Geraldine Safrane, although everyone treated him like her husband. He was spared from being drafted into the Free French forces for a simple reason: he was not listed by name in any official register and thus received no draft notice. Georg remained devoted to Geraldine into old age and managed the distillery as operations manager and later as co-owner until the 1980s.

Personal Epilogue:

In the archives of the German Navy, there are some indications that a manned weather station of this kind may have existed somewhere on North American soil. But nothing precise is known. The automatic replacement weather station from 1943, mentioned in the epilogue above, however, is documented and can be visited today in a museum.

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