The Iron Storm

by CW Browning

  “Don’t give up France yet, sir,” Wesley said encouragingly. “It’s early days yet. We can still stop them at Sedan, and then we can pull the BEF back out of Belgium. It’s not over yet, not by a long shot.”

  “I hope you’re right, Wesley.” Bill lifted his head. “Thank God Churchill’s in charge now. I can’t imagine what Chamberlain would have done faced with this. It doesn’t bear thinking about, actually.”

  “No, sir. I was very happy to see that he’d accepted the Prime Ministership last night. I heard the news when I was at the pub.”

  Bill looked at him and his lips twisted wryly. “That’s as good a place as any to hear news like that. Did you raise a glass?”

  Wesley grinned. “I did indeed, sir, as did my brother with me. Not everyone is as optimistic about this appointment, but I think everyone is relieved to see the back of Chamberlain.”

  “Quite so.”

  “Shall I get started on typing up those reports from last night?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Bill leaned forward and picked up the next paper from the stack on his desk. Glancing up, he stopped Wesley on his way to the door. “I’m sorry you’re here on a Saturday, Wesley.”

  “It’s quite all right, sir. These are crucial days. I understand.”

  He left the office and Bill turned his attention back to the papers before him. It was going to be a long day, and an even longer weekend.

  And he had a horrible suspicion that this was only the beginning.

  Outside Maubeuge, France - 8am

  Evelyn stepped into the large kitchen at the back of the house and looked around. It was a sunny room with two windows overlooking the small yard accessed through a door next to the pantry. An old scarred wooden table took up most of the room to the left of the door. Three empty coffee mugs told her that someone was up, even if there was no one to be found. Going over to the windows above the sink and counter, she looked out into the yard. It was empty. With a shrug, she turned from the window and looked at the coffee pot on the stove. She picked it up and, finding it empty, began to look for the coffee. She would make a new pot while she was waiting for someone to show up.

  She was just filling the percolator with fresh water when a door slammed somewhere on the ground floor and footsteps could be heard coming down the corridor. A few seconds later Josephine came into the kitchen in a flurry of excitement.

  “Oh good! You’re down!” she exclaimed, tossing her hat onto the table and pulling off her jacket. “Have you seen anyone yet?”

  “No. You’re the first one.”

  “Goodness, are you making coffee? You’re a saint!”

  “Not really. It was empty and I wanted a cup!” Evelyn replied with a laugh, setting the pot over a burner and lighting the gas.

  Josephine tossed her jacket over the back of a chair and crossed the kitchen to turn on the tap over the sink.

  “Marc and Luc have gone into Maubeuge to get the latest news, but from what we heard earlier on the radio, it isn’t good,” she said, scrubbing her hands with a sliver of soap under the water. “The Germans are moving quickly. One thing that might interest you, though. Your Prime Minister resigned yesterday.”

  “What?” Evelyn stared at her. “When?”

  “Last night, apparently. Winston Churchill’s taking over.”

  Relief washed over Evelyn and she couldn’t stop the wide smile from curving her lips.

  “Oh that’s fantastic news!” she exclaimed.

  Josephine looked at her doubtfully, shutting off the faucet. “Do you think so? I’m not so sure. We’ve heard that he’s a bit of a loose cannon.”

  “Oh he has his moments, but he’s better than the alternative, believe me!” Evelyn went over to sit down while she waited for the coffee to percolate. “He’ll stand and fight, not cow tail to Hitler and his henchmen. It’s really official? The King invited him and all the rest?”

  “I don’t know about all the rest, but the radio said he met with King George last night and was now Prime Minister.” Josephine dried her hands on a towel and tossed it onto the counter. “You haven’t eaten, have you? We have bread and cheese, and I believe there’s some fruit. I’ll get it for you.”

  “You really don’t have to go to any trouble,” Evelyn protested, but it was too late. Josephine had already disappeared into the pantry. “Where are the others? Did they go into Maubeuge as well?” she called.

  “No. They went across the border to Bois-Bourdon to find out what they can,” Josephine called back, her voice muffled. “I didn’t want them to go, but they insisted. We have a contact there, and they are going to try to get him to come back with them. They will be gone for a few days most likely.”

  She emerged from the pantry with a tray of crusty bread, a variety of cheeses, and huge pile of grapes. Carrying it over to the table, she shook her head when Evelyn would have gotten up to help.

  “You sit and eat your breakfast,” she said, setting the tray down. “I’ll get a knife for the cheese. Is your friend up yet?”

  “I haven’t seen him,” Evelyn said, reaching for the grapes. “I’m sure he’ll be along shortly. We had a long day yesterday.”

  “So did the Germans, by the sounds of it.” Josephine set down a knife for the cheese and sat across from her. “They’re already through Luxembourg, and they’ve been bombing everywhere, it seems. Brussels and Antwerp are getting hit the hardest.”

  “Really?” Evelyn looked up from spreading cheese on a piece of bread. “Brussels wasn’t that bad when we left.”

  “It is now, and so are all the towns around it. The bridges and communication towers are all destroyed or out of commission, so now they are focusing on the civilians.” Josephine made a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. “There won’t be much of Belgium or Holland left by the time they’ve finished.”

  “Is it bad now?” A new voice asked from the door and both women turned to watch Jens come into the kitchen, a frown on his face. “What’s happening?”

  “The Luftwaffe is targeting Brussels and Antwerp with heavy bombing,” Evelyn told him. “We left just in time.”

  He crossed the kitchen to drop into a chair at the table. “I’m not surprised. It’s why I wanted to make sure you got back to France. They’ll be targeting the civilians soon.”

  “They already are,” a deep voice said grimly.

  Marc strode into the kitchen, followed closely by Luc. Neither of them looked happy.

  “It’s worse than we thought,” he continued, looking at Josephine. “We didn’t reach Maubeuge. The army had the roads blocked so they could feed supplies in to the fort. We talked to some men on the road. They’d just come from Trélon. The Germans are bombing France.”

  “What? Already?” Josephine stared at him, her face paling. “But they’re still in Belgium! Our army is battling their attack there. How can they be turning their attention to France already?”

  “They’re already through Luxembourg, and Panzer divisions have been spotted in the Ardennes,” Luc said, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest.

  “The Ardennes!” Josephine and Jens chorused.

  “Yes. The impenetrable Ardennes.” Marc glanced at Evelyn. “You don’t seem surprised.”

  “I’m not so much surprised as resigned,” she replied, tearing another piece of bread off the loaf on the tray. “This is just another example of everyone underestimating Hitler’s resolve. He said himself that this would be nothing like the last war, and yet all our commanders and generals insist on expecting it to be just like the last war.”

  “But the Ardennes!” Josephine shook her head, clearly shaken. “How will they get through?”

  “With their tanks.”

  “That’s not the worst of it,” Marc said. “All of our strongest troops are in Belgium. If the Germans make it to Sedan, we’re lost.”

  Silence fell over the kitchen until, with a start, Evelyn remembered the coffee. Getting up, she went over to lift the pot of
f the stove, pouring hot, black coffee into a clean cup.

  “What about the bombing?” Jens finally asked. “You said they were bombing France.”

  “Yes.” Marc picked up one of the cups from the table and carried it over to refill it with the fresh coffee. “So far, they’ve hit Bruay, La Fere, Nancy, Colmar, Pontoise, Lambersart, Lyons and Abbeville. There are reports of them heading towards Henin-Lietard, Lens, Bouai, Hasebrouck and Doullens as well. They may have already been there. It seems like they’re hitting everywhere at once.”

  “Oh my God,” Josephine breathed, sitting back in her chair heavily. “So many!”

  “Those are only the ones we know about,” Luc said grimly. “One of the men said that he’d heard at least forty casualties already, all civilians.”

  “And in Belgium?” Evelyn asked, going back to her seat with her steaming coffee. “What about the refugees?”

  “No word yet, but if they’re blanketing us...” Marc’s voice trailed off. There was no need to finish the thought. They all understood.

  Evelyn glanced at Jens to find his lips pressed together and his jaw clenched. Sensing her eyes on him, he looked at her and his expression softened slightly.

  “What about Paris?” he asked suddenly, shifting his gaze to Marc and Luc.

  “Still safe. They seem to be confining themselves to the border, although they did go as far south as Lyons.”

  Josephine looked at Jens as he fell silent again, his forehead creased in worry. “Will you go back to Brussels?” she asked him. “After you take Marie to Paris, I mean?”

  “Is it safe to go to Paris?” he asked, looking around. “If they’re bombing all these other towns and cities, won’t they also bomb Paris?”

  “Heaven forbid,” Luc breathed earnestly.

  Despite herself, Evelyn smiled faintly. Heaven forbid indeed! She couldn’t image in her precious Paris with bombs falling from the huge black shadows that she’d seen flying over them during their flight from Brussels.

  “What do you think, Marie?” Jens asked, leaning forward. “I know you have to get back to your boss and to your home, but do you think it’s safe to do so just now?”

  She hesitated, then sighed. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Perhaps we should wait for a few hours and see what happens as the day goes on. If it looks as though Paris will become unsafe, then we can decide what to do then.”

  “And remain here in the meantime?” he asked doubtfully.

  Evelyn looked at Josephine. “Well, that’s if our hosts don’t mind,” she said.

  Josephine waved her concern away. “Of course not! Stay as long as you like.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry about Paris just yet,” Marc said, sipping his coffee. “The Germans are moving faster than any of us expected, but Paris is still in the heart of France. They have to get through the border first. If they manage that, then we can worry about Paris.”

  “God-willing the army stops them before they can reach the border,” Josephine said. “In the meantime, an extra few hours here won’t make any difference, will they? Is it crucial that you get to Paris?”

  “No, I suppose not.” Evelyn looked at Jens, noting the look of worry on his face. “Once we hear more news, we’ll decide where we’re going. If you’re really concerned, Jens, I can make my own way from here. You’ve already done so much for me. I’ll understand if you’d rather go back.”

  He shook his head vigorously. “No, no. I said I’d see you safely to Paris, and I will. If you decide to go somewhere else, I’ll take you.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  Jens nodded distractedly and reached for the bread. As he cut off some cheese, Evelyn met Josephine’s glance across the table. They had managed to talk him into staying for the day, at least. Now they just had to figure out what it was that he was hiding.

  Chapter Twenty

  Outside Valenciennes, France - 10am

  Hans Voss sipped his coffee and studied the road map spread over the small table. He had exchanged his long black leather coat for one of brown cloth that blended more with the French population, and his foresight had served him well in the local café where he’d stopped to purchase a coffee and pastry. Although he spoke French well, he had a distinct accent. After a frosty reception, he explained that he was from Switzerland. Had he been dressed in his usual attire, the ruse would not have worked. As it was, however, the waiter had thawed noticeably. After all, the Swiss were just as much at risk from the Nazi war machine as the French.

  He had arrived in France very late the night before, exhausted and irritable from driving all day on roads clogged with refugees. With every passing kilometer, the likelihood of catching up with the mysterious Marie Fournier grew more and more remote. He’d slept in his car overnight until the sound of military trucks rumbling by woke him. Shocked to see the sun already high in the sky, he’d watched the trucks until they passed, then pulled the car back onto the road to continue his hunt for the woman courier.

  Now, looking at the map before him, Hans was forced to admit that he would never find her in the bustling city of Paris. She was too far ahead of him, if that even was her destination. Just because she had booked a train to Paris didn’t mean that she was necessarily going there. She could stop and disembark at any station between the border and Paris. The woman known as Marie Fournier was in the wind, and Hans Voss knew it.

  He would have to approach it a different way, he decided, setting down his coffee and glancing at his watch. He may not know where she was, but he knew what she was doing. She was transporting a stolen package through the French network with the intention of it being passed on to MI6. He may not know where she was going, but he knew where the package was bound. The courier would have to pass it on to someone who could get it to MI6 quickly. Thanks to the brilliant job in Venlo, they had managed to decimate the majority MI6’s networks in Europe. There were only a few remaining and, as Hans well knew, the new members were very few and far between. That narrowed the possibilities for the woman. She would have to pass the package to someone well-known and established. They wouldn’t risk passing that kind of information to a new and untried agent.

  Hans picked up his coffee again and drank thoughtfully. There were two or three people he knew of that would fit that bill, but only one was located on the route between Brussels and Paris. His cold blue eyes dwelled unseeingly on a point across the road from the café.

  Asp. He would be willing to bet anything that she was taking the package to the agent known to Voss as Asp.

  He tapped his long forefinger on the map, lost in thought. Asp was an enigma. They didn’t know very much about him, and Hans didn’t even know what he looked like. Yet he’d manage to bring himself to the attention of both the Abwehr and the SS. Located in Marle, he was the only reliable Allied agent north of Paris, and that was all Hans needed to know. He would be the only possibility for the woman to pass the package to.

  She was going to Marle.

  Hans was suddenly as sure of it as he was of his own name. It was the only possibility that made sense. She would have to keep the package moving and, short of taking it to MI6 herself, Asp was the closest way to do that. The thought that she might very well be taking it directly to the English crossed his mind briefly, but Hans dismissed it immediately. Couriers did not go from Antwerp all the way to London. They moved the information through the network. And that was what Marie Fournier would be trying to do.

  He didn’t have to find her in Paris. He only had to go to Marle.

  Lowering his eyes to the map again, he traced a route south to Marle. He was west of Maubeuge now, and could be in Marle in two hours. Hans looked at his watch and reached for his pastry. Once there, he would find Asp. If he already had the package, Voss’s search was over. He would settle for the package and abandon the courier. If Asp didn’t have it, then Voss had the chance of both eliminating the courier and getting the stolen plans back in one swoop.

  Finishing
his late breakfast, Hans felt a surge of satisfaction. Despite the setbacks, despite the untimely German advance, and despite spending most of the day yesterday sitting in a line of cars escaping Brussels, he now saw an end to this ridiculous chase. His lips tightened. It was a chase that should never have happened if the man in Antwerp hadn’t been incompetent. Hans shouldn’t be in France. He should be in Berlin, preparing to follow the army into the newly conquered west. Yet here he was just the same, making his way through the north of France on the trail of an unknown female courier. She may have already reached Marle, or she may still be making her way there. It didn’t really matter which it was.

  Either way, Hans Voss would have those plans back within twenty-four hours.

  Evelyn and Jens looked up, startled, when the door to the kitchen flew open and Josephine burst in. Her short brown jacket was open and her hat head tilted to the side of her head, exposing thick black curls whipped by the wind.

  “Fort Eben-Emael has fallen!” she gasped, letting the door slam closed behind her. “I’ve just heard it in Maubeuge!”

  Evelyn gasped as Jens sat back in his chair heavily.

  “Already?” he breathed. “So soon!”

  “Where is Marc?” Josephine asked, pulling her hat from her head and tossing it onto the counter. “Have you seen him? Luc is on his way in, but I couldn’t wait. I ran from the road across the field.”

  “He went outside about an hour ago,” Evelyn said, motioning to the back door. “You didn’t see him on your way in?”

  “No.” Josephine got a glass and carried it over to the sink to fill it with water. “He must be in the front where the car is.”

  “I’ll go get him,” Jens said, standing.

  Josephine gulped down a glass of water then refilled the glass. “Thank you,” she said. “He’ll want to hear this as soon as possible.”

  Jens nodded and went out the door, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair on his way. Once the door had closed behind him, Evelyn looked at Josephine, her brows drawn together.