The Iron Storm

by CW Browning

  He strode away, fury making his steps sharp and measured. Thanks to an incompetent idiot, he now had to go to Brussels without delay and attempt to track down a mysterious female without even a description to go on. It was impossible! He didn’t even know that she was in Brussels at all. Marie Fournier may not even be in Belgium anymore. She may have taken the train to the capital, only to then take another into France. Yet he had no choice. He had to go to Brussels and make a concerted effort to find her. Even if she no longer had the plans, she would know who she had passed them on to. It was his only lead, no matter how small, and he had to follow it until it ended.

  Looking at his watch, Hans stifled another curse. The woman had a huge head start on him. Even if he knew what she looked like, every minute that passed lessened the likelihood of finding her. But he had come this far in tracking down the stolen package. He wasn’t about to give up now. He could be in Brussels in two hours, and then he would begin his search. If Marie Fournier was there, he would find her.

  Chapter Nine

  Evelyn smiled at the vendor and paused to look at the brightly colored silk scarves displayed in the booth. She had come upon an open market in her exploration of the city and couldn’t resist walking through the large area crowded with tables selling everything from fruit and vegetables, to books, to perfume, to hats. It reminded her a bit of the markets in Paris, and she never could resist a stroll through the crowded thoroughfares with Gisele. They never came away empty-handed and, as Evelyn fingered a particularly attractive scarf, she smiled faintly at the memories. She hadn’t seen her cousin since before her fateful trip to Norway. Suddenly she wondered if she would see her again before the inevitable offensive by Hitler against France.

  The smile faded and she put the scarf down, shaking her head at the vendor before moving on. If and when Germany attacked, her Aunt and Uncle would move their household to their country chateau in Monblanc, near Toulouse, in the South of France. It was all planned. If the Germans succeeded in invading France, they would go to Ainsworth Manor and stay with Evelyn’s mother until it was safe to return to France. At least, that was the last plan she had heard. She had no idea if Gisele and Nicolas, her cousins, would accompany their parents to England. Nicolas was rather of the inclination to fight, and if he stayed, so would his twin sister. There was no separating the two.

  Her brows furrowed as Evelyn moved through the stalls, her mind far away. She wished her cousins would go to England where it would be safe if the worst were to happen, but she was very much afraid that they would not. And who would blame them? If the roles were reversed, Evelyn knew she would stay in France and do what she could to save her country.

  “Ooof!”

  A solid mass suddenly collided with her, pushing her sideways and into a table. Evelyn gasped, gripping her purse with one hand while she tried to steady herself against the table with the other. The solid mass turned out to be a man who stumbled against her, pressing her backwards as he clutched a paper-wrapped package to his chest. Startled brown eyes met hers and he grunted, struggling to straighten himself and push himself away from her. A torrent of undecipherable Flemish washed over her and Evelyn shook her head, frustrated at her lack of understanding of the Dutch language.

  “Je suis désolé, je ne parle pas néerlandais,” she said, reaching out to help him steady himself as she regained her own balance.

  The man moved away a bit and looked at her, a sheepish smile on his face.

  “My apologies, Mademoiselle,” he said in French, running a hand through curly red locks. “I tripped over that loose paving stone over there. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I think so.” Evelyn straightened her hat and jacket and looked more thoroughly at the man who had run her down. He was about her age and height and dressed in a brown suit. Freckles dotted a friendly face and his brown eyes reminded her forcibly of a doe. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh yes. I’m used to things like this, unfortunately,” he said with an embarrassed laugh. “I’m something of a klutz. I tend to pay more attention to what’s going on in my head than what’s going on around me.”

  “Well I hope it’s at least more interesting.”

  “I think so.” He grinned and held out a hand. “I am Jens Bernard.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Evelyn smiled and held out her hand. “Marie Fournier,” she introduced herself.

  “Mademoiselle Fournier,” he repeated, nodding. “I’ll remember that. I had an old school master with the name of Fournier. He was from Nice, I believe.”

  Evelyn laughed and withdrew her hand. “Well, I’m from Paris and of no relation.”

  “Thank heavens for that. The man was a horror. Are you visiting Brussels?” he asked, falling into step beside her.

  “Yes. I’m here for a few days,” she said, glancing up at him. “And you? Do you live here?”

  “Oh yes. I moved here last year to take a job. It’s a wonderful city. Are you enjoying it?”

  “I’ve only just arrived, but yes, I think so.”

  “Until some awkward idiot ran into you in the market?” he asked. “I’m very sorry about that. It’s not much of a welcome for you.”

  “Oh I don’t know. No harm was done, after all, and you seem very nice.” She smiled up at him. “You remind me of my brother.”

  “Do I? Is he awkward as well?”

  Evelyn thought of Robbie and couldn’t stop the laugh that came to her lips. “No, not at all. But you remind me of him just the same.”

  “If this is your first day in Brussels, where are you going to first?” Jens asked after a moment of silence.

  “Oh, I have no idea. I’m just wandering around and getting a feel for the city.”

  “There are many places you should see, but I’m sure you’re aware of them,” he said with a smile. “There are also many wonderful cafés. One of the first you must try is not far from here, actually. Pierre’s. You won’t be disappointed.”

  “Pierre’s?” she repeated. “I’ll remember. Thank you.”

  “I’d take you there for lunch in apology for running you over, but I have to get back to work.”

  “Oh? What do you do?”

  “I’m a radio operator,” he said unexpectedly. “I work in the government offices. I was able to take a longer lunch break to pick up a package from the tailors, but I really must get back now.”

  “A radio operator!” she exclaimed, stopping to look at him. “Really?”

  “Yes. Why? Are you interested in radios?”

  “A bit,” she admitted. “I had a very good friend in Norway who was a radio enthusiast. He made his own wireless radio that was portable and...” Her voice trailed off suddenly and Evelyn swallowed painfully. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I find it all very interesting, though.”

  “Do you?” Jens looked down at her curiously. “Not many women do. Your friend, is he...I mean, with the German invasion, is he still able to have a radio?”

  She forced a smile. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be able to, no. I don’t think the Germans allow that kind of thing.”

  “No.” Jens looked at her for a long moment, and his lips twisted faintly. “I don’t think they allow a lot of things. How long are you staying in Brussels?”

  “Only for a few days, and then I am going back to Paris.”

  He hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat uncomfortably. “While you’re here, you must let me take you to dinner and show you some of Brussels,” he said. “That is, if you would like to...”

  Evelyn smiled at his stammered invitation. “I would enjoy that.”

  “You would?” he asked, clearly surprised.

  “Yes, I think so. After all, you live here. You must know all the right places to go.”

  “Well, yes, I suppose I do.” He ran his hand through his hair nervously again, then looked at his watch. “I really must get back to work. Are you staying nearby?”

  “Not far fr
om here.”

  “Would you like to meet for dinner tonight? There’s a nice little restaurant a few blocks from here called Marcel’s. Or, if you’d prefer, we can go to one of the hotels?”

  “Oh, I don’t mind. You choose. You know the city best.”

  Jens tilted his head and thought for a moment, then smiled. “I think Marcel’s,” he decided. “It’s not very large, but it’s always busy. It’s one of the best local restaurants, and has a dance floor.”

  Evelyn smiled. “Marcel’s it is,” she said. “You can tell me all about your radios.”

  Jens laughed. “Oh, I don’t think you’d like that. I can get very technical and boring when I talk about work. Shall we say seven o’clock?”

  “Yes, all right.”

  “Fantastic! I’ll meet you there.” Jens touched his hat and turned to leave. He’d only gone a few steps before he stopped and turned back. “You won’t forget?”

  Evelyn smiled and shook her head. “I won’t forget,” she assured him.

  He nodded and grinned, then turned and disappeared between two stalls selling vegetables, leaving her in the middle of the market wondering what on earth she had just agreed to. Dinner with a complete stranger who had bumped into her in a market in a strange city? She must be out of her mind.

  Except she wasn’t, she reflected, turning her attention to the stall next to her and the array of inkwells displayed before her. She was learning very quickly that she had to seize opportunities as they presented themselves, and she wouldn’t get a better opportunity than another radio operator. And one who worked for the Belgium government, no less! What kind of luck was that?

  Evelyn turned and moved along the crowded market, a heavy feeling falling on her chest. Peder had been another very friendly man who’d worked with radios. He had done everything he could to help her in Norway, using his radio to contact London repeatedly in their efforts to get her out of the country as the Germans advanced. His efforts had got her out of Norway, but they had also gotten him killed. Now, here was another young man who worked with radios. Was fate offering her a second chance to make amends for leading Peder to his death?

  She supposed it really wasn’t that unusual nowadays to run into people who worked with them. They were becoming more and more common in homes, and they were an absolute lifeline and necessity in war. It wasn’t so strange, then, to be making a new friend who made his living with the machines. Jens Bernard certainly seemed harmless enough. He was about as far away from a threat as one could get, she reflected with a smile. The man tripped over his own feet, and then was so awkward asking her out to dinner that she almost had to agree. It would have been too painful to watch him try to recover from a rejection.

  Not that a rejection was ever a possibility, not once she knew he worked in the government with radios. While there were hundreds of applications for radio use in every government, Evelyn knew that Jens had access to an array of information that could be useful to Bill. With his obvious attraction to her, it would be easy enough to discover what he did for the government, and perhaps gain some additional intelligence about the Belgian forces and defenses. If it transpired that he didn’t have any useful information after all, at least she would have a nice dinner.

  Now all she had to do was discover what kind of establishment Marcel’s was and just what she was going to wear for dinner.

  RAF Duxford, England

  Miles looked up as Chris and Rob made their way over to the table in the back corner of the pub. They had missed the dinner rush and the pub was back to its usual, sleepy mid-week traffic. He tucked away the letter from his father that he’d been reading and reached out to take the pint Rob handed him.

  “Thanks.”

  “The landlord said he had the wing commander in here earlier,” Rob said, seating himself at the small, round table. “I wonder what that was about.”

  “He’s probably checking to make sure we’re all doing our formation flying and patrols like good little boys,” Chris muttered, dropping into the seat opposite Rob.

  Miles glanced at him and smiled faintly. “My dear Chris, you sound quite disgusted. Whatever for?”

  “You don’t honestly believe that the way we line up in formation will be effective when the Huns come flying over here, do you?” Chris asked, sipping his beer.

  “Why wouldn’t it?” Rob asked with a frown. “The RAF should know what it’s doing by now as far as the flying goes.”

  “I was talking to a guy from a squadron up north over the weekend in London,” Chris told them. “I don’t remember where he said he was stationed, but it was up towards Scotland. Great guy. Flies Hurricanes. Anyway, turns out he flew against the Germans in Spain. He said this formation flying would be disastrous against the Luftwaffe fighters.”

  “If he flew in Spain, then he was on the losing side,” Rob pointed out. “Hardly what I would call a recommendation for sound flying strategy.”

  Miles pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Or perhaps it is,” he said slowly. “Whether he was on the losing side or not, this bloke actually saw battle against the Luftwaffe pilots. What did he say, exactly? Did he say why it wouldn’t work?”

  Chris shrugged. “He said the Jerries were smaller and faster, and they broke up formations before anyone even knew they were there.”

  “Well, how did they do that?” Rob demanded, his attention caught.

  “They dive down from above.”

  Miles and Rob were silent for a long moment, then Rob reached for his pint. “That would do it,” he admitted. “But I’m sure the RAF is aware of that, and has taken that into consideration. After all, we’re the last line of defense for England. They’re hardly going to make us commit to a battle plan that will cause us to lose, are they?”

  “All I’m saying is that if the RAF insists on us flying in a tight formation, whoever’s at the back will be a sitting duck,” Chris said with a shrug.

  “He’s right about that,” Miles said, looking at Rob. “Not that there’s much we can do about it.”

  “Not much we can do about anything at the moment.” Rob loosened the silk scarf around his neck and sat back comfortably in his chair. “Even the government can’t do anything right now. Did you see the news from Parliament today?”

  “No, but I saw yesterdays. They’re fighting about what a disaster the handling of Norway has been.” Miles sipped his beer. “The House of Commons wants Chamberlain out. The newspaper I read said someone got up in the house and stated that we had to somehow find men to put into government who matched the Germans in fighting spirit.”

  “Ouch.” Chris looked from one to the other. “Who said that?”

  “Leo Amery, I believe. He’s not wrong.”

  Rob looked at Miles in amusement. “Not everyone has our thirst for excitement, Miles. Sometimes we do need calmer heads in London to keep us in check. Look what happened in the last war.”

  “We didn’t choose this war, but we’re in it. We need someone who will be willing to fight it, or what the hell’s the point?”

  Chris cleared his throat. “I’m with you, Miles, but I’m confused as to what the problem is with Norway all of a sudden? Didn’t you all send troops there to help them out?”

  “We did, but it was too little, too late.” Rob shrugged and looked across the table at Chris. “The Prime Minister keeps waffling back and forth, not wanting to do anything that might conceivably upset Herr Hitler. Norway was just another round of him delaying and delaying until it was too late.”

  “And now our troops are trapped and surrounded by German forces in Norway, fighting losing battles and retreating to the coast,” Miles said with a nod. “If Chamberlain had acted sooner, we would have had the waters around Norway mined and could have prevented at least some of the Kriegsmarine ships from getting through. As it was, they were able to sail right into Oslo without any real resistance.”

  Chris was quiet for a long moment, then he leaned forward, his brows furrowed.

  “I
don’t really understand how it works over here with your government, but back home, President Roosevelt can’t do anything without the approval of the Senate. He wants to help out and send some equipment to England, but the country won’t let him. They don’t want to get involved. Is it different here? Can your Prime Minister act without the approval of your Houses of Parliament?”

  “Why are you asking?” Rob asked, tilting his head. “Are you suddenly getting interested in politics, Yank?”

  “No. I’m trying to figure out why everyone’s so hot under the collar at Chamberlain.”

  “Ah.” Miles reached for his beer. “In that case, yes, I suppose the Prime Minister has much more freedom than your President. He only has to have the approval of his party leaders, and that’s almost always guaranteed. Although, that appears to be changing rapidly right now.”

  “Huh.” Chris sat back thoughtfully. “So now everyone in his party is sore at him? Where does that leave him?”

  “Where does that leave us, you mean,” Rob muttered. “I don’t much care what happens to Chamberlain, to be honest. I’m more worried about who’s going to take over if they get their way and force him out.”

  “Well, there has to be a next in line, right?” Chris asked, looking from one to the other. “In America, if something happens to the President, the Vice President takes over.”

  “Well, I suppose it will be Lord Halifax,” Rob said after a moment’s thought. “He’s the party favorite.”

  “But not the overall favorite,” Miles said. “My father writes that several prominent leaders in the House of Commons say they won’t support Halifax as Prime Minister.”

  “Then we’ll be right back where we are now,” Rob said glumly. “Half the reason everything is in chaos in London is because the Houses refuse to unite and agree on anything.”

  “Wait. I’m confused. Doesn’t your Parliament vote on the next Prime Minister?”