The Iron Storm

by CW Browning

  Buttoning his shirt, Eisenjager walked over to the window and looked out over the evening streets. They were alive with men hurrying home from work and women rushing around, finishing last minute shopping before dinner. An entire city going about its business despite the growing threat from the north. He watched them thoughtfully for a moment, listening to the sounds of the traffic through the open window. An entire city on the verge of being faced with the full might of the German forces.

  He turned away from the window and went over to the rickety old desk in the corner where he’d set up his wireless. Sitting before the radio, he slipped the headphones over his head and reached out to turn the knob to the correct frequency. Pulling a codebook from inside the case, he opened it and began transmitting his message. Once Hamburg was alerted to the fact that he had the information and the courier was dead, he would go to dinner and try to enjoy at least a few hours of Brussels. If he didn’t have any immediate instructions, perhaps he could even enjoy a few more tomorrow.

  Eisenjager finished transmitting his message and waited for acknowledgment of receipt. While he waited, he picked up a pencil and began drawing random doodles on the notepad on the desk. He would return to Munich by way of Switzerland, he decided while he drew the rough outline of a pistol. It was how he had come, and it would cause the least amount of interest. He always tried to draw the least amount of attention to himself as possible. In his line of work, the last thing he wanted was to be memorable. And there was nothing more common in Zurich these days than businessmen passing through on their way to and from France, or any of the other European countries.

  It was a few minutes later that he finally heard the sound of the return code in his headset. Picking up his pencil, he transcribed the code onto the notepad, frowning when the message continued. There was more than just the acknowledgement of his transmission coming through. Much more. They had something more they wanted him to do.

  The only sound in the small hotel room for several minutes was the swift, steady scratching of his pencil on the notepad as he copied down and then decoded the message that had come from Hamburg. When he was finished, Eisenjager sat back in his chair and looked at the notepad with a frown.

  NEW TARGET. ALREADY IN BRUSSELS. DO NOT TERMINATE. REPEAT DO NOT TERMINATE. BRING TARGET TO BERLIN FOR QUESTIONING. USE ALL AVAILABLE MEANS, BUT DO NOT ALARM. MORE INFORMATION TO FOLLOW.

  After waiting for a minute, Eisenjager rubbed his eyes and reached for a glass of water. Who was this new target that they wanted him to take to Berlin? Was he friendly or hostile? They didn’t want him to alarm the man, so he assumed that the target was friendly. At least, he hoped so. It was easy for them to say to bring a man to Berlin. They weren’t the ones who had to travel alone with a potentially hostile passenger. Of course he had drugs that he used to make the subjects so oblivious to what was going on that they were like lambs to their slaughter, but those carried their own complications. And made it impossible for him to leave the passenger for even a minute. A friendly target was, by definition, an easier passenger. Less maintenance and less risk.

  He drained his glass of water and set it down, glancing at his watch. He disliked apprehending people and taking them back to the Motherland. He felt it was a waste of his particular skills and talents. But the Reich didn’t care about personal opinion. If this man was wanted in Berlin, then to Berlin he would go, alive and unharmed. For now.

  The headset came alive again with the next message and Eisenjager reached for the pencil again. This message was much shorter than the last and, as soon as it decoded, he sent an acknowledgement of the instructions back to Hamburg. Finally, removing the headset, he stifled a yawn and pushed his chair back, standing and looking down at the notepad. He had the name. He would start in the morning.

  TARGET NAME JENS BERNARD. EMPLOYED BY BELGIAN STATE SECURITY OFFICE. RESIDENCE UNKNOWN.

  Chapter Fourteen

  May 10, 1940: 4am

  The hotel room was pitch dark when Evelyn shot up in bed, dragged ruthlessly from her slumber when a deafening boom echoed through the streets. Straining to see in the darkness and with her heart near to pounding out of her chest, she clung to the bedcovers as a violent tremor ripped through the building. The big four-poster bed shook and as she sat bolt upright trying to figure out what was happening, her hair brush crashed to the floor, jostled from its place on the dresser. The sound of it hitting the floor broke her half-stunned, half-sleepy stupor and Evelyn threw the bedcovers aside, swinging her legs out of bed. Running to the window, she peered out. No lights were visible and she couldn’t see what could have caused the noise and shaking. It was almost what she imaged an earthquake would feel like, except much louder.

  Turning, she grabbed her dressing gown from the foot of the bed and threw it on as she ran to the door. As she undid the lock, Evelyn could hear muffled voices in the hallway outside her room. She opened the door and looked out, then stepped into the hallway, looking around. It looked like most of the guests on her floor were gathered in the thickly carpeted hallway, all dressed in their pajamas and sleeping gowns. They were all looking around in bewilderment.

  “What happened?” a heavyset Frenchwoman asked, turning to look at Evelyn. A sleeping cap was askew on her graying curls and she clutched her dressing gown closed over her ample bosom. “Did you feel the hotel shake?”

  “Yes, and I heard a loud boom,” Evelyn answered automatically in French. “What on earth is happening?”

  “I looked out the window, but there isn’t one light on outside,” a decisively English voice rose from a few feet away. “Honestly, I don’t know how an entire city can turn off all the lights at night! This would never happen in London!”

  Evelyn turned in some amusement to see a tall, statuesque woman in a velvet dressing gown looking appropriately disgusted.

  “Are you sure all the lights were out?” another guest asked in heavily accented English. “That’s very unusual. I’ve never known the streets to be completely dark.”

  “They are. I looked out my window as well and there was no light at all,” Evelyn said with a nod. “It’s most disconcerting. Did anyone else hear a boom?”

  A large, brusque gentleman dressed in a tweed dressing gown emerged from the open door behind the Englishwoman. His hair stood up at the back of his head and his ruddy complexion bespoke many hours in the fresh air. He had the unmistakable carriage of a military man, and one used to being in command at that. Evelyn estimated that he was a retired Colonel at the very least.

  “Yes indeed! It sounded for all the world like a bloody bomb!” he boomed, his voice echoing the walls. “Felt like I was back in the army.”

  “You don’t think it was a bomb, do you?” the Frenchwoman next to Evelyn asked in English anxiously.

  “I have absolutely no idea, my good woman,” the Colonel replied. “It certainly sounded like one.”

  “What can it mean?” Another woman gasped, clutching her dressing gown to her throat. “Surely we aren’t being bombed!”

  While the rest of the assembled guests gasped and began discussing the possibility of a bomb having been dropped, Evelyn turned and went back into her room swiftly, closing the door on the chattering strangers in the hallway. Crossing to the window again, she threw it open and stuck her head out, looking first one way and then the other. The streets were definitely completely dark, but they were far from silent. From both directions came the sound of distant sirens and a cacophony of shouts mixed with the strident whistles from policemen.

  Pulling her head back in, Evelyn closed the window again and pulled the curtains before turning to cross over to the desk and switch on the light. There seemed to really be only one explanation: the Germans were finally launching their offensive. Swallowing, she switched on the little radio on the desk and sank into the chair as she listened intently, trying to tune to a station that wasn’t filled with Dutch, which she couldn’t understand. After a moment of fiddling, she finally heard the welcome sound of F
rench and stopped, catching her breath as she listened to the announcer.

  “We have unconfirmed reports coming in from all over the country,” the voice said in French. “German forces are advancing into both Holland and Belgium, with the Luftwaffe bombing cities ahead of their soldiers’ advance. Luxembourg is also being attacked.”

  Evelyn sat back in the chair, horror washing over her. She gripped her hands in her lap, her knuckles turning white, as she listened to the hurried and anxious voice of the radio announcer.

  “The army was put on full alert earlier today and is in position to repel the attacking German forces. However, everyone should be aware that Germany has launched a coordinated and simultaneous attack on Holland, Belgium and Luxembourg. There can be no doubt that the war has come to the West at last, and on several different fronts. Bombs are falling throughout Holland and Belgium, with reports of several falling on Brussels. It is believed that the Germans are trying to hit the bridges around Brussels, but so far have failed to do so. The public is being urged to remain calm and...”

  All of a sudden, the sound of static filled the room as the announcer was cut off and the station went dead. Evelyn frowned and tried to tune the radio to another station, but all she could get was static on all of them. Finally, with a scowl, she switched off the radio and stood up unsteadily. There was only one reason all the radio stations would suddenly go dead in the middle of such an important broadcast. The Germans had bombed the towers. It had begun.

  She crossed the room and pulled her suitcase out, heaving it onto the bed with trembling hands. She had to dress, and then she had to think. She had to find a way out of Belgium and back to France before the German army arrived in Brussels, and she knew from Norway that that could happen swiftly. If the Luftwaffe was bombing the bridges already, they would also be targeting the trains and the airports, making travel almost impossible. She would have to find another way, and she would have to find it quickly.

  She was out of time.

  It was almost six when Evelyn reached the lobby of the hotel to find it crowded with guests, all scrambling to discover more information from the harassed manager and his assistants. The cacophony of chattering voices, made strident by worry and panic, filled the lobby as porters rushed around trying to keep track of luggage and patrons alike.

  Stepping into the chaos, Evelyn gazed around helplessly and her resolve faltered. It was a madhouse! Porters were explaining to frantic guests that there were no taxis to be had outside, nor were there any buses at the present hour. Cries of dismay surrounded her, and Evelyn lifted a gloved hand to her forehead, a wave of despair washing over her. How was she going to get out of Brussels? All of the people jostling each other in the overcrowded lobby were all trying to do the same thing, get out of the city and escape the advancing German army. There were too many of them, and she was just one single woman alone. She would never find a way out the city.

  “Mademoiselle?” A voice spoke at her elbow and Evelyn dropped her hand and turned to look at a tall man dressed in a neat, brown suit. “I believe you dropped this,” he said politely in French, handing her an envelope with a slight bow.

  Evelyn took the envelope automatically, looking down in some confusion. “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake,” she said, shaking her head. “This isn’t mine.”

  “Oh, but I’m sure of it, Mademoiselle Fournier,” he insisted with a smile. “I saw it drop on the stairs. I’m sure you’ll find that it’s yours. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he bowed slightly again and disappeared into the crowds, moving in the direction of the front doors.

  Evelyn frowned, watching him go, then looked at the envelope in her hand more closely. Scrawled across the face was a single word: Elena.

  Her heart leapt into her throat and she set down her suitcase so that she could tear open the envelope with shaking hands. Vladimir had warned her to leave yesterday, and she had had every intention of doing so until Jens sent her that message. Now here was a message from Vladimir. How did he know she’d stayed? As soon as she thought it, Evelyn’s lips twisted wryly. How did the man know anything? Yet he always did.

  Train tracks and bridges are all being bombed, as are the major roads out of the city. You must take lesser known roads and go through the country. Cross the border into France near Maubeuge. It is the safest route for at least twenty-four hours. After that, the window to get back into France will close rapidly. They are advancing quickly. God Speed.

  Evelyn gulped and stuffed the letter back into the envelope, reaching down to pick up her suitcase again. It was as she feared. She had to find a car. It was the only way.

  Pushing her way towards the front desk, she was suddenly aware that the wave of hopelessness and despair had left her. In its place was the calm determination of knowing what she had to do. With his note, Vladimir had given her the splash of cold water that she needed to focus. Gone was the burgeoning panic. Instead, her hands were steady, and her heart was beating normally when she finally reached the desk. Setting her purse on the counter, she put down her suitcase and prepared to wait for one of the frazzled employees to get to her.

  “Mademoiselle Fournier!” The manager waved to her. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  She smiled and nodded, watching as he finished with the brusque ex-Army Colonel from her floor. The man’s wife turned to look and gave her a nod of greeting, her face lined with worry. When Evelyn nodded back politely, she pushed her way towards to her.

  “It really was a bomb, my dear,” she announced as she reached her. “Can you imagine? The nerve of that squalid, little painter!”

  “It was?”

  “Yes. It hit a building up the street. That’s why there are no taxis. They can’t get through.” The woman straightened her hat and tried in vain to tuck her graying hair back under it. “I didn’t have time to even put my hat on straight. Does it look very bad?”

  “Not at all,” Evelyn said with a chuckle. “Do you know if the taxis are running at all?”

  “The manager said that we may be able to get one near the Rue Royale, which is about a five minute walk from here. And you? You’re not alone, are you?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Oh but my dear, you can’t possibly navigate out of the city alone!” The woman exclaimed, her eyes widening. “The Germans are invading!”

  “So I’ve heard,” Evelyn said dryly. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll find a way.”

  “But that’s absurd. Come with us. Horace won’t mind, will you, Horace?” She turned to look at the large Colonel as he made his way up behind her.

  “Mind what?” he boomed.

  “This poor young woman is all alone! I told her she should come with us to look for a taxi.”

  “Of course, of course. Where are you headed?”

  “Well, back to France, I suppose,” Evelyn said with a shrug, smiling as the manager approached her. “But I really couldn’t impose. I’m not sure how I’m going to go yet, you see. I have a ticket on the train, but I don’t know if they’re even running.”

  “The train to Paris is being delayed, Mademoiselle Fournier,” the manager said with an apologetic cough.

  “We’re going to wait it out at the station,” the Colonel informed her. “The trains will start running again soon. Stands to reason they have to. Too many people trying to get home. Come along with us. This is no time for a young woman like you to be alone.”

  “Oh, but I—” Evelyn was cut off when she heard someone calling Marie. Turning, she scanned the throngs of faces in confusion. Her brow cleared when Jens’ anxious face appeared through the crowds. “Jens!”

  “Oh thank God!” he gasped, pushing through to stand before her, panting. “I thought perhaps I’d have missed you.”

  “No, I’m still trying to get out of here,” she said with a laugh. She looked at the Colonel and his wife and smiled in some embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. I don’t even know your name!”

  “Colonel Redmond, at your servi
ce,” the Colonel said with a brisk nod of his head. “And this is Lady Pruit Redmond, my wife.”

  “I’m so pleased to meet you. I’m Marie Fournier, and this is my friend Jens Bernard.”

  “A pleasure,” Jens nodded distractedly. “Marie, what are you going to do? How will you get home? I came to help in any way I can.”

  “Well before I do anything, I really much check out of the hotel,” she said humorously, turning towards the manager.

  The manager cleared his throat and pushed a card towards her. “If you could just sign here, Mademoiselle.”

  “Yes, of course.” Evelyn signed the card and paid for her room, murmuring her thanks. Once she was finished, she turned back to her unexpected companions. “Jens, the Redmonds are going to try to find a taxi. Do you know where is the best place for them to find one?”

  “Everyone seems to be heading to the Rue Royale,” Lady Pruit Redmond said, tucking her hand through her husband’s arm.

  “You should be able to find one along there,” Jens said with a nod. “But you’d better hurry. I think everyone has the same idea. As I was coming in, there were a lot of people heading in that direction.”

  “And you, my dear?” The Colonel asked, looking down at Evelyn. “What will you do? Will you come with us and wait it out at the station?”

  Evelyn hesitated and glanced at Jens. “I...well, I’m not sure what I’m doing yet,” she said. “But you want to be on your way if you’re going to find a taxi. You go ahead. I’ll be fine.”