Nights Of Fire

by Laura Leone

  "Oh, my God," Paul said.

  The fifth of June. D-Day.

  Gabrielle was moving faster beneath him now, milking him, suckling his cock with her lush body "Mmmm.... mmmm.... mmmm..."

  The rain! Now he knew why it bothered him so much.

  Her moans turned to fevered whimpers as her hands dug blindly into his wounded back. "Yes, yes... Paul... Mmmm... Ah! Ahhhh.... ahhhhh..."

  His blood thundered like cannon fire. His hips were moving with a will of their own now, his penis frantic with delight inside of her.

  Last night...

  "The last time I saw you was in May," she said. "You—"

  "What's the date now?"

  "June fourth. Almost June fifth, I suppose. It's nearly midnight." Feeling his tension, she prodded, "Paul? What is it?"

  "I don't know." June... June... D-Day.

  They should be here now. The invasion was scheduled for today. Here, in Normandy. It was supposed to have happened at dawn. But they hadn't come.

  "Come," he urged his wife. "Come for me... Come, sweetheart..." He ground into her, pushing her over the edge of passion and into fulfillment.

  Gabrielle arched convulsively off the bed and cried out... The skies should be thick with bombers right now... She came in long, shuddering waves beneath him... The beaches should be overwhelmed and devastated with heavy fighting... The delicious friction of his thrusting, the exquisite pulsing of her orgasm... Airborne divisions on the ground should be capturing strategic bridges... She was destroying him, making him surrender everything to her, just as he wanted to... Destroying German supply lines...

  "Oh, God..." he groaned.

  He remembered!

  And then he was coming, too, pouring himself into his wife's writhing, quivering body. Their bellies rubbed frantically together as they plunged and soared, locked together in love and passion, their whispers and groans as intimate as their carnal embrace.

  He rested on top of her for a few moments, bonelessly sated and blank-minded with pleasure. Then he eased most of his weight to one side of her. If he'd had any breath, he would have laughed when he heard her gulp for air the moment she was free of his weight; but he was panting too hard to pause for laughter. Then her teeth chattered, and his heart contracted with love.

  For a few minutes, there was no sound other than the soft patter of drizzle, the harsh gusts of their breathing, and the occasional chattering of her teeth in post-conjugal pleasure. Finally, she snuggled into him and murmured, "I love you."

  "Didn't come," he mumbled.

  She snorted. "Yes, you did."

  "No, I mean—"

  "Well, I certainly did," she said sleepily. "Mon Dieu, how could you not have noticed? I practically bucked you off of me, it was so strong."

  He finally found breath to laugh. "I wasn't talking about us, chérie. But, yes, it was so noticeable I would think half of Caen knows you just came."

  She made a French noise. "Then what are you talking about?"

  "The invasion was scheduled for today. June fifth."

  She sat bolt upright. "What?"

  "Here. The beaches of Normandy." Caen was less than fifteen miles from the landing zone. The town would be in the thick of the fighting soon after the invasion began. Paul was supposed to organize the Resistance to sabotage German defenses in tandem with the attack.

  "But they're not here," Gabrielle said. "There's no—"

  "The rain," he told her. "They couldn't land in this weather."

  She slid off the bed, started for the door, stopped, and turned back to him. "Rommel."

  He rose, pulled up his pants, and started fastening his trousers and belt. "What about him?"

  "He went home yesterday. Tomorrow is Frau Rommel's birthday." She watched him dress.

  "He doesn't know," Paul said with satisfaction.

  "And Deschamps and the others say there's no activity, no security alerts or troop movements." She suddenly laughed. "Paul!" She flung herself at him so hard he nearly fell over. "You didn't tell them!" She was still laughing as she kissed his face.

  "I'm pretty pleased, too," he conceded. "That's what I was going to tell you—that I didn't talk about the invasion—before you showed me how we're never going to have sex again." She kissed him again. "The Germans don't know anything. Not even who I really am."

  "What?"

  "They spoke to me in French and German the whole time I was their prisoner. No English."

  She gasped. "They didn't know you're American!"

  "No." He remembered that much. Remembered the relief he'd felt about that, as well as the concentration he devoted to maintaining the fiction, to never uttering a word of English while he was a prisoner. "They knew I was in the Resistance, and they thought I was French."

  "So they never even asked you about the invasion?"

  "No. In fact," he led her out of the bedroom as he continued, "they didn't ask me all that much of anything. Oh, they interrogated me a little, but not enough to explain how much they beat and tortured me. I'm certain they didn't ask me any questions at all the final time." He went into the kitchen and found a bottle of water. "I think there were other times when they just worked on me without any questions at all, but I don't remember for sure. Maybe I never will." He poured water into cups for both of them.

  She accepted hers. "So... you didn't tell them anything about our group? You're not the reason six of us have been killed or arrested in the past week?"

  "No," he said with certainty. "The Gestapo never tried that hard to learn anything from me. I do remember that much now."

  "Then why did they—"

  "Because they wanted it to look like I was responsible for what's happening."

  Her jaw dropped as she realized. "And that's why you were released alive, too!"

  "You'd all assume that I'd talked in exchange for my life."

  "And someone had told them you wouldn't talk easily. I, in particular, wouldn't believe it, but most others wouldn't either. So they had to come close to killing you."

  "Yes. But it was important to make sure I was definitely alive when they dumped my body outside the gates. They had to make me look completely guilty. Every circumstance had to ensure that none of you would believe me even if I could talk or remember—"

  "Remember. You think they injured your head on purpose?"

  He shrugged. "They probably just got lucky. Amnesia's far too tricky to plan. But it's certainly possible they inflicted the head injury to make sure I couldn't think or speak well enough to defend myself when I was found."

  "When you were found," she repeated urgently. "Paul, if someone betrayed you, then they might know you've been released."

  "By now, yes, probably."

  "Whoever it is will realize I took you to safety. They'll be looking for you. Knowing that I'll lead them to you if they watch me!"

  "We've got to confront the traitor right now, Gabrielle. We've got very little time to prepare for the invasion."

  "But if it was supposed to be today—"

  "The weather seems to be breaking. It'll be tomorrow. The tidal conditions won't be right for much longer, and Eisenhower won't want to postpone until they're right again. It's becoming too risky. We've fooled the Germans this long into believing the Allies will land at Calais, but every day of delay is another day during which they might learn the truth." Paul nodded. "If it's at all humanly possible, the Allies will land here tomorrow at dawn."

  Chapter Ten

  D-Day Minus One

  "What do we do?" Gabrielle asked, stunned by what her husband was telling her.

  "We have to give everyone their assignments. It's our job to support the invasion from behind the lines. It's what the Allies need from the Resistance. Those are my orders."

  "Yes, of course." Gabrielle had waited for this for a long time. She was simultaneously so excited and so scared that she wanted to have another fit of tears; but there was no time for that now. "Paul, what do we do about the others, though? How can
you give them assignments if—"

  "Don't worry," he told her, finishing his water and taking her arm. He led her quickly through the main room and to the front door. "It's going to be all right. I know who—"

  The front door burst open and armed men came plunging through it. Gabrielle screamed and clutched Paul, terrified for him. For both of them. He stood still and slowly raised his hands.

  Gabrielle recognized their assailants. "Deschamps! Raine!" Armed and pointing their guns right at Paul. She heard a soft whistle outside, then Arneau came through the door, too. Also armed. Within moments, six more people entered the room, including Madeleine Didier. Gabrielle realized that the whistle had been the signal that their quarry was indeed here.

  We should never have stayed here.

  She should have insisted Paul leave with her the moment she found him here. To think they were going to die now because they couldn't wait to make love until after they were hiding in safety somewhere! Nooooo, they had to do it here and now, despite the danger they were in. It made her feel very stupid.

  And it was indeed they who were going to die. Because Gabrielle's comrades would have to go through her to kill her husband. She forced her way past Paul and stood in front of him, pressing her back against him as she glared at everyone.

  "Hiding behind your woman?" Deschamps sneered at Paul.

  Paul sighed. "Well, I could push her out of the way, I suppose. But you know how impetuous she is. She'd just push back. And then we'd start fighting. And we agreed when we got married that we hated husbands and wives who fought in front of other people."

  Arneau gasped. "You married her?"

  "You needn't sound so surprised," Gabrielle said huffily.

  "You're married?" Madeleine blurted.

  "Besides," Paul added, "if the two of us started wrestling over who gets to stand closest to the guns, you might just use the tussle as an excuse to shoot us both without talking first."

  "We have no need to talk," Madeleine snapped. "You've done quite enough talking already, cochon!"

  "All right," Paul said, "I occasionally put up with my wife calling me a pig, when she's particularly mad at me, but I don't have to tolerate that kind of language from you."

  "They're married!" Arneau said in amazement to Raine.

  "Yes," Deschamps said impatiently, "they're married. It's not important."

  "No, it's not," Gabrielle agreed. "What is important, you bastard, is that you betrayed my husband to the Nazis, who beat and tortured him, and then you set him up to be condemned by the Resistance for your crimes against us!"

  Deschamps scowled. "What are you talking about?"

  "Um, Gabrielle?" Paul said.

  She shook off his restraining hand and continued, "You've resented Paul ever since he came here! You couldn't stand it that I loved him and not you!"

  Deschamps looked appalled. "I would hardly turn a man over to those butchers in the Gestapo just because—"

  "Gabrielle?" Paul repeated.

  "And you hated that Didier left him in charge and not you!" She added to the others, "He told me so today. When he urged me to run away with him and leave you all here to die!"

  Now the others started looking at Deschamps with dark interest.

  He protested, "They're free to run away, too, if they want to!"

  "So when Paul found out you were the traitor in our midst whom Didier had suspected..." Gabrielle continued.

  Paul said, "Gabrielle."

  "I am not a traitor!" Deschamps said furiously. "I have devoted my life to fighting the Nazis since the fall of France!"

  "Yet," Arneau said, "you told Gabrielle only today that you want to flee?"

  "Fighting the Nazis is one thing," Deschamps snapped. "Sitting around waiting to be picked off like ducks is quite another. Le Blanc knew it. Remember? But he waited too long to flee and they got him. Besides, do you want to be here when the Allies start dropping bombs?"

  "Yes, I do," said Raine, surprising everyone by speaking. "I want to be here when the Nazis are finally driven out of my homeland."

  "It's about to happen," Paul announced.

  "How do you know?" Madeleine challenged. "Did the Gestapo tell you?"

  "No."

  "Oh, for God's sake," Deschamps said, "he knows because he's OSS."

  This stunned everyone but Gabrielle.

  "OSS?"

  "What?"

  "A Frenchman?"

  "He's not French," Gabrielle said. "He's an American. And... And..." And Deschamps had always known that. "And..." She choked on her own breath, realizing what that meant. "The Gestapo never spoke to him in English."

  "There, you see!" Deschamps said. "If I had betrayed him, they would have known he was American, and they'd—"

  "Have used English," Gabrielle said, recognizing her mistake. "They'd also have known he was OSS, and they'd have asked him about the invasion."

  "That's what I was trying to tell you," Paul muttered, "when you went off half-cocked like that."

  "So before you go making wild accusations like that," Deschamps said angrily, "accusations which could get a man killed in this jumpy crowd, I suggest—"

  "Oh, who cares what accusations she makes?" Madeleine said. "She's just trying to protect her lover. Husband. Man."

  "Better," Paul said, "than you protected yours, Madeleine."

  "It's not my fault they got him," Madeleine snapped.

  "Isn't it?" Paul replied.

  "It's her?" Gabrielle asked.

  "Yes," he said. "She's the traitor. Didier didn't look close enough to home when he was trying to figure out who it was. And she was, of course, careful and clever. Just as this plan was careful and clever."

  "Now you're just trying to distract us," Madeleine said coldly.

  "You were tortured, Paul," Arneau said, "we understand that. If it were up to me—"

  "It's not up to you," Madeleine snapped.

  "No, it's up to me," Deschamps said. "And I want to hear what Paul has to say."

  "Oh, now that you're in the clear," Madeleine said, "suddenly these two are full of interesting ideas!"

  "I'm in the clear because Gabrielle, though impetuous, is an honest woman," Deschamps said. "She herself withdrew the accusation when she realized that Paul's captors didn't know the things about him which I certainly would have told them had I betrayed him."

  "You have only his word for that!" Madeleine protested. "The word of a traitor and a—"

  "I know him better than you do," Deschamps said. "I don't like him, and I have no idea what Gabrielle sees in him. But he is..." Deschamps grimaced with the effort the next few words cost him. "An honorable man. And as dedicated to fighting the Germans as I am."

  "And a man with everything to lose now," Madeleine pointed out. "And everything to gain if he can shift the blame elsewhere."

  "My judgement is sound," Deschamps said testily. "He will not be able to shift the blame elsewhere unless it belongs there."

  "Let him speak," Arneau suggested. "Paul deserves that much."

  "No!"

  "Why not?" Gabrielle demanded of Madeleine. "Why are you so afraid?"

  "I'm not afraid! I'm not. But only moments ago you had everyone ready to turn on Deschamps. I don't want to be next."

  "So that's it, then?" Gabrielle said. "We kill Paul without hearing him out because you're afraid of not being able to prove your innocence if we listen to him?"

  "You would gladly see any innocent person die if it would mean saving him!"

  "No, I wouldn't. I won't let you kill him, but I won't let an innocent person die in his place, either," Gabrielle said.

  "That's fair," Raine said.

  "Yes," Arneau agreed. "Let's hear Paul's thoughts."

  "Accusations, you mean!" Madeleine said.

  "Yes," Paul agreed. "Accusations."

  "Well?" Deschamps prodded.

  Everyone in the extremely crowded room looked at Paul with riveted attention.

  "Gabrielle," he said, "you'
re standing on my foot."

  "Oh! Sorry."

  He set her slightly away from him and began, "I followed up on Didier's suspicions, and I had a few of my own. I could never discover the traitor, but I became increasingly convinced that he was right, there was indeed one within this group. Someone who didn't take any risks, though, and was therefore very hard to catch." He nodded and repeated, "Someone who didn't take risks."

  Paul continued, describing how he had only discovered Madeleine's connection to the Nazis because he made secret late-night forays to his wife's cottage. Madeleine wasn't quite as good at secrecy as he was, so he discovered one night, when he was returning to his shed behind Café Didier before dawn, that she was returning to her apartment above the café then, too.

  "At first, I thought she, like me, had been off meeting a lover. It made sense. A good-looking widow. Lonely. Certainly still young enough to miss the attentions of a man." He shrugged. "But then I started wondering. She seemed to go to this lover far too seldom for it to be a satisfying affair. And it bothered me that he let her come home alone, on foot, in the middle of the night. That's not the behavior of a decent, or even sensible, man. Not the behavior of a lover. It only made sense if keeping the meetings secret was more important than anything else, including her safety on the streets that lateat night."

  "What I do at night is no one's business," Madeleine said hotly.

  "Having a lackluster lover who's too lazy to escort her home is not proof of collaboration," Deschamps pointed out.

  "True," Paul said. "So the next time she went, I followed her."

  Gabrielle glanced at Madeleine. The woman's expression was stony now.

  "She went to meet two men in a ruined church on the other side of the River Orne."

  "Two?" Gabrielle said nastily. "Why Madeleine, and I always considered you so respectable."

  "Oh, shut up!"

  Gabrielle said to Paul, "And you watched?"

  He gave her a quelling look. "They all talked for about twenty minutes, then went their separate ways. I followed one of the men, that night and for a few days thereafter, and found out who both of them were. One of them was on Von Rundstedt's staff—an intelligence liaison. The other man was Gestapo."