by CW Browning
That was her strength, and where she could help the most in this war. While she still envied Josephine’s easy friendship with her team, Evelyn recognized that she was happiest doing what she was doing, even if it was tiring to be constantly on the move.
“I’ll take that the rest of the way,” Luc said, appearing from around the corner at the bottom of the stairs. “Go into the kitchen. Josephine made coffee and Marc has gone for fresh pastries.”
“Fresh pastries!” she exclaimed. “I feel like royalty!”
Luc laughed, taking her suitcase from her hand. “He had to go into Maubeuge early to meet with someone, so he said he’d get a few things. Bread and pastries, and some cheese and wine for you to take with you.”
“Oh that’s not necessary,” she protested. “You’ve already done enough for us!”
“He insisted. Marc likes people to think that he’s rough, but he’s not. His heart is as big as he is.”
Luc waved and went out the front door with her suitcase. Evelyn smiled and turned to go down the corridor to the kitchen, the smell of coffee greeting her as she went.
“Luc just took my suitcase and went out the door,” she said, entering the large and sunny kitchen. “I hope he’s not going to carry it all the way out to the car.”
“I brought it around to the house,” Jens said from the table. “So he’s only taking it a few feet.”
“Oh good!” Evelyn smiled at Josephine and went over to the coffee pot on the stove. “He said Marc went into Maubeuge.”
“Yes. He had to meet someone very early, so he’s bringing back some food for you to take with you.”
“That’s really not necessary, but I’m sure we’ll be glad of it later today,” Evelyn said, filling a cup.
“I’ve been looking at the map and Marle isn’t very far at all,” Jens said.
“No. It won’t take you much more than an hour to get there,” Josephine told them. “You should be on your way to Paris before evening.”
Jens smiled at Evelyn. “See that? You might be home by nightfall.”
“And you will have your first look at Paris,” she replied. “I just wish it was under better circumstances.”
“It is life right now,” he said with a shrug. “At least I am here.”
Josephine got up from the table. “I’d almost forgotten. I have that letter of introduction for you. Luc and I both signed it. I’ll go get it from the other room.”
Evelyn nodded and carried her coffee over to the table, sitting down and sipping it.
“It’s very good of her to write that letter,” Jens said. “I still feel like a fool when I think about the information I sent on to Asp.”
“Then I wouldn’t think about it,” she said with a quick smile. “You’ll take what you have now to this Marcel, and we’ll be on our way. You’ll never have to think about the retched Asp again.”
Jens nodded and fell silent for a moment, then he looked at her with an unreadable look on his face.
“What will you do if the Nazis break through and go to Paris?” he asked.
“I suppose I’ll go south to my family.”
“I don’t know what I shall do,” he said slowly. “I don’t know anyone in France, and I don’t know where to go.”
Evelyn looked across the table at him and felt a wave of sorrow go over her. He had committed treason against his government by stealing secret information to pass on to the French in the hopes that it would help them. He had risked everything to do what he could for a cause that was not his own, but that he believed in. Now he was in a strange country with no friends, no family and no idea what to do next. It was a position no one should have to be in, and yet there were hundreds of Belgians just like him, all looking for an escape from the threat of the Third Reich. She didn’t even know if he had any money with him. Aside from her, he was completely alone in the midst of a war that was getting increasingly closer by the hour. She couldn’t imagine anything more terrifying.
“We’ll think of something,” she said, reaching out and squeezing his hand. “Don’t worry. I won’t abandon you in Paris to your fate.”
“Here it is,” Josephine sung out, coming back into the kitchen flourishing an envelope. “All signed, sealed and ready to be delivered.”
“I really appreciate this. Thank you,” Jens said, taking the envelope.
“It’s quite all right. You give that to Marcel and he’ll take care of everything else.”
The sound of a door slamming and voices in the house made them all look towards the hall. Footsteps came down the corridor quickly and then Marc entered with a bag in his arms, Luc close behind.
“It’s as I feared,” Marc announced, carrying the bag over to the counter. “The German troops have broken through the Ardennes.”
“Completely?” Evelyn asked, staring at him.
“Completely. They’re at Sedan, or they will be by late afternoon.” He turned to face them, his face grim. “The unthinkable has happened.”
“Well, they still have to cross the Meuse,” Josephine said after a second of stunned silence. “Our army will stop them from doing that.”
Luc snorted. “What army? They’re all in Belgium!”
“But we must have divisions at Sedan,” she said, looking from Luc to Marc.
“The only division we have is inexperienced, and is positioned behind Sedan. They won’t be very effective, if at all,” Marc said. “I think we need to prepare for the fact that the Germans will be in France in the next day or so. And once they’re in, there’s absolutely no defense between Sedan and Paris. They will be in Paris in a matter of days.”
His words fell heavily over the group and Evelyn swallowed, her heart sinking. It was happening, then. Despite all their warnings, and all the intelligence they’d gathered, Hitler was still moving into France at lightning speed. Blitzkrieg.
Josephine looked at her, her face white. “If you’re going to get to Paris while it’s still safe, you need to leave,” she finally said, her voice strained. “You still have to stop in Marle on the way.”
“Surely you don’t think they will go right through Sedan that quickly?” Jens asked. “It will take time to cross the Meuse!”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Luc muttered. “They made it through the Ardennes forest in three days. I don’t think a little water will stop them now. Our army certainly won’t.”
Evelyn was startled at the note of bitterness in his voice and she glanced at Marc to find the same look of disillusionment on his face. They were disgusted with their army, and there was no reason to be yet. The Germans hadn’t breached Sedan, or the Meuse, or crossed into French territory. Yet they were behaving as if the SS was already in Paris.
“Come on, Jens,” she said, gulping down the rest of her coffee and pushing her chair back. “Josephine’s right. We need to be on our way while we still can.”
“I put a bag of supplies into the backseat of your car,” Marc told Jens as he stood up with Evelyn. “There is food and water, and a bottle of wine. It will be more than enough to get you to Paris.”
“Thank you so much,” Evelyn said, smiling at him warmly. “You really shouldn’t have, but we’re very grateful.”
Marc looked uncomfortable and shrugged, looking away.
“Josephine told me what Jens is trying to do. We look after our own,” he said brusquely. “Just take care of yourselves.”
“We will.”
Josephine got up and hugged Evelyn. “Don’t stop. Just get to Marle, see Marcel, and then go straight to Paris.”
“Of course.” Evelyn pulled away and looked at her friend. “What will you do?”
“We will stay here until we can no longer do so,” she said with a shrug. “If Sedan falls, we will go to Marc’s uncle, and continue. The fight must be fought, and we will continue to do it. You understand, I know.”
Evelyn nodded and reached out to squeeze Josephine’s hand.
“Until next time, my friend,” she said with
a smile before releasing her hand and turning to pick up her purse from the table.
“God speed to you,” Marc said, holding out his hand. “I hope to see you again in better days.”
Evelyn smiled and grasped his hand. “Then you shall.”
Jens said his goodbyes and a moment later they were crossing the small garden at the back to go around the corner of the house to the car.
“They are extraordinary people,” he said in awe. “I’ve never known any more doggedly determined people in all my life.”
Evelyn looked back at the farmhouse as they reached the car. The sun was getting higher in the sky as the morning wore on, bathing the house in a yellow glow. She smiled sadly and then looked at Jens.
“There is nothing so extraordinary about them,” she said. “They are fighting for their country and their freedom. Thousands of others are doing the same, yourself included.”
“I betrayed my country to help yours, and now my country is overrun,” he said, opening the door so that she could get into the passenger seat. “I’m not fighting for anything.”
“Oh but you are, Jens. You gathered information to help the fight against tyranny. You’re not wielding a gun, but never doubt that you’re fighting for freedom just the same.” Evelyn got into the car and looked up at him. “Whether you planned it or not, you just joined the ranks of Josephine and Marc. You’re one of them now. Never forget it.”
Marle, France
Eisenjager stood across the street from the house in Marle, watching it dispassionately. He’d arrived in the small town late in the afternoon the day before to find it boasted only one café. There was no question of trying to gather useful information from the people there, as was his custom. In towns of this size, there was no point. They wouldn’t talk to strangers, especially ones who were foreign, even if he did pass for Swiss. The best he could do was to was listen. Thankfully, he was very good at that. By the time he’d finished breakfast this morning, he not only knew where Asp lived, but also knew that most of the town distrusted him. Pierre Lucien. That was his real name. He used to be a factory worker outside of Paris, though now they weren’t sure what he did. He traveled a lot, and when he was home, he kept himself to himself. He was likeable enough, they agreed, but his reticence was met with suspicion. There was no reason for a man to be that secretive about what he did every day. None at all.
Eisenjager sucked on his cigarette, never taking his eyes from the house across the road. It was a very strange situation he found himself in, nothing like what he was used to. He had to go see this Asp, but had no inkling of why Hamburg thought the man would be able to help him find Jens Bernard. He didn’t like not knowing who people were, or why they would be able to help him. He preferred to know exactly what he was dealing with. Less mistakes were made that way, and there were less opportunities for failure. This Asp was an unknown factor, and Eisenjager didn’t like unknown factors.
He was still delaying the walk across the street five minutes later when the front door to the house opened and a tall man stepped out, turning to shake the hand of someone who Eisenjager could only assume was Asp. After shaking his hand, the door closed and the tall man turned to walk down the path to the street. Eisenjager’s eyes narrowed sharply and he sucked in his breath. He knew that man! Or at least, he knew of him. Everyone in the SS knew of Obersturmbannführer Hans Voss. The man had created quite a reputation for himself over the course of two years. When Eisenjager had gone over to the Abwehr, Voss had been climbing the ranks of the SD with speed and tenacity. He was determined to break into the ranks of the Senior command, and Eisenjager had no doubt that he would accomplish it. Men like that always did. They wanted prestige and power more than anything, and they usually got it.
What the hell was he doing here?
Eisenjager scowled and watched as Voss turned and walked down the street away from him. What business did the SD have with Asp? And what did that mean for his own dealings with the man?
There was only one thing he could do, and it would have to be done before he went to see Asp. He would have to contact Hamburg again and advise them of this new development. They would have to instruct him on his course of action. If he had his own way, he would neutralize Voss and go about his business, but the presence of the SD here meant that Asp was something altogether different than what he’d first supposed, and he had to know exactly what before proceeding.
Eisenjager turned and disappeared down the alley between two buildings, making his way back to his car and his wireless radio. Asp would have to wait.
Chapter Twenty-Four
RAF Duxford
Miles sipped his tea and read the letter in his hand, smiling occasionally. He read it through, set it down, and reached for his neglected plate of sausages and mashed potatoes. He’d spent the morning patrolling over the North Sea, returning for lunch to find a letter from Evelyn waiting. His day suddenly seemed a bit brighter, especially after reading about the latest dustup with her pilot officer friend, Ron Durton. That man really was something else. He seemed to be destined to get into scrape after scrape, mostly brought on by his own idiotic penchant for practical jokes. Yet Evelyn seemed to enjoy him, and Miles admitted that if he ever got to know him, he probably would as well.
Cutting into a fat sausage, Miles glanced at the letter laying on the table next to his plate. It was dated the tenth of May, and Evelyn wrote in the letter that she was on her way to tea and wanted to post the letter on her way. So it was written after lunch. Yet there was no mention of the invasion into Belgium, or of the Germans moving through Luxembourg unopposed. In fact, he realized with a frown, there was no mention of anything aside from the day-to-day happenings on the station.
Before he could think any more about it, a shadow fell across his plate. He looked up to find Slippy standing there with a tray containing his lunch and a pot of tea.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked cheerfully.
“Of course not,” Miles said, nodding to the empty seat across the table. “Did you just come down?”
“Yes. A little ahead of schedule, I’m afraid. My fuel gauge was acting up, trying to tell me that my tank was empty.” Slippy set his tray down and settled himself across from Miles. “It wasn’t. Turns out the gauge is broken, so I could have continued without worry, but how was I to know? How was your morning?”
“Bloody boring. We didn’t see a thing.” Miles folded up Evelyn’s letter and slid it back into the envelope. “Jerrie’s too busy over in Belgium.”
“And France. Did you hear they’re bombing cities in France now?” Slippy picked up his knife and fork, preparing to dig into his lunch. “Targeting civilians by all accounts. What kind of sick bastard targets civilians while their army is off fighting miles away?”
“The Nazis, apparently.”
“Well it’s jolly shabby of them. It’s things like that that will be their downfall. You can’t cheat at cricket and then expect to be welcomed in all the good clubs.”
“Something tells me Hitler has no interest in playing cricket at all, let alone doing it honorably,” Miles said dryly. “He’s a plebeian, my dear boy. He has no idea of what’s right or proper.”
“And yet he’s knocking on France’s door.” Slippy looked up from his plate and lowered his voice despite the fact that they were quite alone in the corner of the mess. “I overheard the CO and Bertie talking outside just now. The CO doesn’t think the RAF is a match for the Luftwaffe over in France.”
Miles raised his eyebrows. “What?”
“He says there aren’t enough planes over there, and those that are there are outdated.”
“He’s only saying that because there aren’t many fighters there,” Miles said with a grin. “Between the RAF and the French air force, we should be a match for the Jerries.”
Slippy shook his head. “That’s not what they were just saying outside. Apparently we’ve lost more planes than anyone knows. The CO says we’ve lost at least seventy in just two days
.”
Miles stared at him, his knife and fork poised over what was left of his sausages and potatoes. “What?”
“That’s the face I made too,” Slippy said glumly. “Doesn’t bode very well for us, does it? I mean, if our planes can’t keep up over there, how long will it be before the Jerries are over here?”
Miles blinked and turned his attention back to his plate. Pushing the last piece of sausage onto his fork, he raised it to his mouth, his mind spinning. He had no idea they were losing so many planes. Everything they’d been told was that it was going well in the skies over Belgium. With a shock, Miles realized that the upper echelons of the RAF must have severely underestimated the true force of the Luftwaffe. For them to have lost seventy planes in two days, they must be either greatly outnumbered or facing much more experienced pilots. He just hoped it wasn’t both.
“You were reading a letter when I came over,” Slippy said after a few minutes. “Is it from your WAAF?”
“Yes.”
“And how is the fair maiden of Northolt?”
“She’s just fine.”
“When do we get to meet her? We’re all dying to, you know.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Slippy grinned at him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you didn’t want to introduce her to us. But I know that’s can’t possibly be the case. We’re far too much fun.”
“I barely have time to see her myself. Why would you ever think that I’d be willing to share what few precious moments I do manage to steal with you lot?”
“Do you know what your problem is? You act like we’re running out of time.” Slippy pointed his fork at Miles. “You think you have to hold on to all your stolen moments because they’ll go away. It’s utter nonsense. We have all the time in the world.”
