by Nick James
I spied the soldier getting closer. He was barely a man, but this was war and I needed more food. He was humming as he passed my hiding place with his rifle slung over his shoulder. I moved quickly and came up behind him. With my left hand I reached over, covered his mouth and wrenched his head to the side as my blade slid into his neck on the other side, making him slump. As he sank to the ground, the knife was pulled out with a slurping noise, which was replaced with my mouth as I drank my fill. I had relaxed my left hand and just before the soldier died, I heard him say, ‘Mutter… Mutter.’ It was only later that I found out he was asking for his mother, but that’s war for you.
I drained the poor boy dry. I used his jacket to clean my knife. I took his rifle and ammo along with his pistol before throwing him into the freezing river below. Hopefully he would be found later.
Keeping low, I moved across the bridge and into the darkness. It was quiet as I was now far away from the sub pens and downed aircraft. Any patrols I did see were avoided thanks to my stealth and night vision. The sun was just starting to make an entrance when I found a broken-down old shed on the edge of a field, maybe an old shepherd’s lodge. It obviously hadn’t been used for years according to all the smells in the air, but at least I had a place to wait out the sun.
Plus point about being a night-time predator? We tended to scare the shit out of any animal, at least the ones who spent their short lives being preyed upon. So my day of rest in the rubbish-strewn domicile was rodent free – and happily German free also. I did see some patrols in the distance, but it seemed as though they had travelled that route many times as the laughter and the way the soldiers carried their guns showed they weren’t worried at all.
As the hours ticked by, both happy and sad memories came a calling. But what was at the forefront of my thoughts was how I was going to get the job done and get back to Blighty. Major Matterson had been a bit vague on the details about how I was getting back, but I would be contacted via messages hidden by the French Resistance in the church of Sainte-Barbe in Le Faouët under the headstone of an unknown French soldier. To get there I had to mainly use my experience. If I kept calm it would all go well, I was told. It was okay for him to say that; I had to get into a well-defended casino, kill some high-ranking officers and get out before the RAF bombed the shit out of the area.
My journey home was just going to be based on luck. If only I could turn into a bat like all the films and books said I could. I took the map and compass out of my pack and studied it. I was about eight miles away from the casino, so I needed to move quickly. It being winter, the days were short, and that meant the soldiers would be wrapped up like that poor bugger last night, so their vision and movement would be reduced.
Finally, the sun disappeared behind the trees. I put the map away and placed the pack onto my shoulders. The rifle was loaded and put on safe. I peered through the murky and cracked windows, my eyes saw through the failing light, there was nothing. With a nervous grin, I stepped out hearing the grass crackle as the temperature was starting to dip. I headed off at a slow jog trying to keep out of sight as much as I could before the light disappeared for good.
I was making good time, only having to divert occasionally for small patrols and a rutting couple against the wall of a bar. It looked like he was going to have a chapped ass in the morning. It did make me laugh so much that I missed a German officer stepping out from someone’s outhouse. We both stopped dead. I could see him properly, but he was unsure.
‘Halt, Ausweispapiere!’ he ordered. But before he could draw his pistol, I slammed the rifle butt into his mouth, sending him down and his teeth out into the night. The man grunted as he hit the frost-covered grass, but before he could say anything more, the rifle was dropped and my knife was driven into his neck, allowing me to feed briefly before picking up the rifle and moving on, leaving him to finish bleeding out. I felt sorry for the local populace who would be punished for my actions tonight.
It took me three hours of zigzagging to finally make it to the casino. It was now nine in the evening, and I had to get moving. The beast that slumbered was awakening and with the taste of the German blood already, it wanted more. It was panting and eager for the murder to come.
In peacetime, the casino would be illuminating the French skyline, but now it lacked its once famous visage. As I moved around the outskirts of its grounds, I remembered the background information I had read in the file. It was once a manor house to a French aristocrat who was beheaded during the last revolution. The property was reclaimed by the people and became a casino and home to high-end women of negotiable affections. Hopefully I could get them out before their workplace got sent to hell.
My luck was with me as the building was guarded by just the normal German Wehrmacht, not Waffen-SS. They did guard every door and there were wandering squads of soldiers around the grounds, men with searchlights were scouring the gardens and surrounding woods. It was on my third time around when I spied my way in. A first-floor window was left open and there were no lights coming from inside, but I wouldn’t know if it was empty until I was in there.
Time was getting on as I took my stolen rifle and ammo and hid them under a fallen tree. I feared the rustling of fallen leaves would give me away, like everything else in this damned place. The gun was covered nicely, although I hoped to have time to retrieve it after my mission – unless I was being chased by the damned guards. I waited until the grumbling, heavy-footed guards passed the bushes where I was hiding. I tightened the straps on my pack and focused. My eyes blackened and my teeth and claws lengthened as the glow of the spotlight passed me by. As my feet gripped into the earth, I bounded off focused on only one thing: my leap.
My speed increased and my muscles bunched as I leapt and hit the wall about five feet shy of the window. Chips of brick fell to the ground as my claws gave me purchase; I wasn’t caught by lights or any incoming fire. With a final try, I launched myself into the room. After a quick roll over the carpeted floor I jumped up in an empty office.
With a quick look around I checked the room for anything I could use, but there was nothing. The one gift I was given before boarding that fateful flight was a map of the building. It was from 1913, so I was hoping the building hadn’t changed too much. My night vision helped as I read the map. The private dining room was next to the large gambling floor; somehow, I had to get there unseen.
According to the map there were two banks of elevators down on the right-hand side and a main stairwell next to them, with fire stairwells at both far ends of the corridor. There were three floors of bedrooms above; the kitchens, restaurant and gambling floors were below.
I should have brought a change of clothes, but things were limited when you had to fit everything in a small backpack. I pulled out my knife and headed to the door, which was unlocked. I could feel that the hallway was clear, although some of the offices and staffrooms on this floor were occupied.
The hallway was lit like bloody Blackpool illuminations before the war. If anyone saw me in my bloody and dirty flight suit, I would have had trouble. I darted straight across to another room, which was empty all apart from a bed and a chair. The next room clearly had a man and woman enjoying themselves; the springs of the bed were taking a hammering.
I slipped out of the room and found their room to be locked, but the lock shattered with a quick twist of the handle and my added strength. I moved into the dark room. The rutting couple were bathed in light which had escaped from the hallway. A large, naked, bald man was in between the skinny legs of his blonde partner. But before he could unmount her, darkness encompassed him due to my fist to the side of his head.
Before his gap-toothed partner could scream, my blade was pressed to her neck. ‘Do you speak English?’
Tears filled the woman’s eyes as she hugged her lover’s (or customer’s) large frame like a shield. ‘A little,’ she whispered.
‘Who is this?’ I asked and prodded her ample lover.
The woman ju
st shrugged and pointed to a bundle of francs on the bedside table.
I looked around and saw his large pinstriped suit on the chair in the corner. I pointed at the man. ‘French or German?’
A sneer appeared on the working girl’s face. ‘Le Boche, pah!’ She then spat angrily. ‘I only lie with my fellow countrymen,’ she said, and then eyed me up slowly. ‘Or maybe ’er ally,’ she added, winking at me.
The suit was big enough for me to wear over my flight suit. The woman watched me as I put it on. Yes, I looked stupid, especially with army boots, but how often do people look at the feet of others.
‘I need you to escort me to the private dining room, or at least near it,’ I demanded.
She gave me a pointed look and rubbed her thumb and forefinger together, which is the international gesture for cash.
I pulled out my mission wallet which had been given to me and handed over one hundred francs, and then with a quick nod I levered the still unconscious man off the petite woman – it wasn’t a sight I would hold onto. Naked as the day she was born, the working girl got dressed into a shapeless, faded red dress with a matching pair of heels. Cleary, she was here for the staff not the customers or soldiers.
Wrapping a white belt around her thin waist, she stood in front of me with a smile. But in a flash, she grabbed the money from the table, reached inside my jacket taking the man’s wallet and emptied it into her clutch purse. ‘For the risk. Non?’
I nodded and patted my chest. ‘Albert,’ I said and offered her my hand.
She barked out a laugh and gave me a shaky curtsy. ‘Gabrielle Decourt.’ She then shook my proffered hand. ‘You ’ere to kill le Boche?’
‘Oui, and when I do you leave and never come back, understand?’ I stated and looked upwards. Thankfully she was a fast one and nodded. I placed a small automatic pistol that was in my pack and a grenade in either pocket; my knife in its sheath was pushed in between the boot and my leg.
Arm in arm we headed towards the elevators. As we stood opposite, the one coming down was full. If I had a working heart it would’ve failed at that moment as I was faced with five SS officers and their women. The lift operator held out his hand and closed the door instantly. Some words came from my escort, but I guessed it was nothing a normal lady would say.
The next lift was empty but for the lift operator. We stepped in and Gabrielle said something. I prayed she wasn’t dobbing me in, but by the rhythm of the man’s heartbeat she hadn’t uttered anything that would cause me harm.
The door parted with a metallic grind to reveal a very busy gambling floor; the clock on the far wall said half past ten. I needed to get going. Gabrielle led me past all manner of card games and slot machines. As we passed the roulette table, I noticed a pair of white double doors that shone between the red painted walls.
She pulled me aside. ‘There it is, Albert,’ Gabrielle whispered. She turned to face me, hugged me and kissed my neck, which knowing what that mouth had been on only moments earlier wasn’t a nice feeling. ‘I will ’elp you. They have murdered so many – my father, mother and my ’usband,’ she hissed, looking around. ‘Wait for my sign, and good luck, mon cher.’ She placed her over-painted lips onto mine, and with a sorrowful look she walked away.
I grabbed her hand and pulled her into me and whispered into her ear, ‘You don’t have to do this. Run, live.’ I then stepped back and stared into her war-weary face. ‘I can manage this on my own.’
Tears formed in her eyes. ‘Non, I will ’elp you. This is my life, and I will go out on my own terms. I will ’old my ’ead up ’igh when I see my darling Sebastian again,’ Gabrielle replied and pulled away.
As the blonde walked off, she was propositioned by several customers who must have either been blind or just didn’t want to spend too much money. She just waved them away and carried on with her journey.
I was now standing only twelve feet from the white doors when the clock struck eleven. Then something surprised me as well as everyone else: the lights had gone out. I dropped and took out my knife. Running towards the two burly guards, I ran past them and let the sharp blade run against their throats, sending them to the ground.
The door was unlocked and there was shouting and cursing. I pulled the pins on the two grenades and rolled in the first one and threw the other further into the room. I slammed the door shut and stepped away against the walls at the side. Thump, thump came the explosions, and then came the screams. I threw open the door and ran in with my pistol in my right hand and the knife in my left. The atmosphere in the room was smoky with an acidic taste from the explosives.
Bodies were everywhere. The doors on the other side of the room had been blown open and were hanging on one hinge each. The last grenade killed the two guards who had been guarding said doors. There were several dead, dying on the floor and slumped on the table. A man with a captain’s hat was on his hands and knees being sick; he died quickly with a blade to the base of his skull.
A man ran in with a flashlight but fell instantly with a bullet to the throat. It was a slaughter. Anyone with a heartbeat was despatched with the knife. I threw off the suit and then the shirt and tie. Donned in my flight suit, I quickly went from man to man and retrieved their identity cards. I ran for the door that was hit by the grenade, where another man was taken down by a bullet to the chest.
Alarms and shouts were echoing around the place. As I ran, the odd person came out of a doorway; and it depended on what they were wearing as to whether they lived or died. It was carnage. Then finally I burst through a door and into the night, surprising two panic-stricken guards. One was shot in the eye. As I passed the other, my blade ran across his neck, leaving him holding his throat gargling blood.
Just as I made it to the treeline something hit me, sending me headfirst into the bushes, the pain was excruciating. I could feel blood trickling down my back and in my chest. I staggered further into the trees as branches were destroyed around me. I guess the guards on the roof had spotted me. I left the rifle where it was and carried on with my escape. The bullet was out of my body, so the healing had started. Having to exert myself meant my energy was keeping me running, albeit slower than normal, but I was leaving a bloody trail for the Boche.
But luck was with me that night. I stumbled upon a couple of drunken farmers sat in a barn near Le Faouët. I drank from both after slicing them with the knife. The last thing I needed was the rumour of vampires running around France, although there must have been more of us somewhere. The men died happily drunk, before I set fire to the barn and left to find a place to rest up and heal. I just hoped Gabrielle had managed to get away.
Chapter 9
Veronica Jenkins was worried as she made her way through the city streets; she hadn’t heard from Albert in two weeks. The blonde had been around to his house several times but it was still quiet and dark. She had never fallen so quickly for any man. He was strong and funny and full of mystery. She just drank it up and when those thugs hassled her at the dance, it sent her heart into overdrive when he fought for her.
But there was something off about him. His breathing was always shallow and sometimes it seemed like he wasn’t breathing at all, and the quickness of how he took down those men was a blur. The thing that worried her the most, apart from not seeing him again, was the love in his eyes when he talked about his family, his parents and his uncles and aunties. There was something strange when he talked about his mum, Annabel; it didn’t seem like familiar love, but something more. Nothing perverse like you hear about sometimes, but something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Being Saturday, the city was busy. The bombings were located towards other cities and the docks at the moment. From their lovely talk at his house she knew he had grown up in London, so when she went to the birth and records department at her work, and flirted slightly with Harold the man in charge of the department, Veronica had obtained a list of all the Albert Morrises in the city of London.
That’s how she found her
self looking at a family plot showing the one and only Annabel Morris, wife of Albert Morris, who was the son of Nathanial and Anne Morris who had passed in the early 1900s… The maths just wasn’t adding up. And the photos she had found of his parents – a photo album about businesses in the Whitechapel area was a rare find indeed. There was a family resemblance, but not like he had told her. She didn’t detect any maliciousness in Albert and the things he had been telling her, despite the glaring holes in his story.
She decided to go to the one place apart from his home that seemed to hold a special importance in his heart. She stood in front of a pawnshop called Morris Pawnbrokers. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the shop. It was nicely set out: glass cabinets with everything you could want from rings, watches, guitars and hats.
‘Good afternoon, are you buying or selling darlin’?’ came a voice from the counter where stood a stocky black-haired girl about Veronica’s age.
Veronica smiled at her. ‘Hello, I’m just looking around,’ she explained whilst examining all the photos and pictures on the wall. ‘A friend told me about this shop, so I thought I would have a closer look.’
The girl cackled like an old-world witch. ‘What kind of friend would promote a pawnbroker, what kinda friend is that?’ she said.
‘Albert Morris, we went on a date and he told me that his father started this shop,’ Veronica said happily, seeing a hint of recognition on the girl’s face. Then she saw a photo. ‘Oh goodness, is that you holding a sword?’ she asked, looking at the shop girl.
Once again, the girl laughed. She walked over and looked up at the photo with her. ‘Nah, that’s my gran’ma. We looked so much alike that they called me Suzie after her,’ she said smiling while looking Veronica up and down. ‘So, you’re Albert’s new girl, are you?’
