by Conor Bender
Claude had been sitting at the far end of the table, silently watching as the two argued. As annoyed as he was with Talia for circumventing both Durand and him, a small part of him was grateful that she had. “Talia, I think what Durand is trying to say is that you had a special place in the decision-making process because of your relationship with Olivier. With his departure you’ve been relegated back to your courier duties. Making a unilateral decision to seize the caches, however well-intentioned, was wrong.”
The table creaked as Durand leaned halfway across it, his face inches from Talia’s. His voice was a low rumble as he towered over her petite frame. “Where are the caches now?”
“Safe.”
“Tell us where.”
Talia gave a thin smile, undaunted by Durand’s attempted intimidation. If she wanted to advance and move past being a courier she had to change how Claude and Durand viewed her. She had leverage, and as soon as she told them where the caches were, she’d be right back where she started. “Let’s clear the air, shall we? If it hadn’t been for me, those caches that I took would have been seized by the SS. We all know that the SS raided those locations this morning. You aren’t mad that I stole them, you’re mad that I disobeyed you.”
“You little—”
Claude raised a hand and stopped Durand. “What do you want, Talia?”
Talia deliberately took her time and sat down in the chair across from Claude. “I’ve shown that I’m just as capable as any other Resistance member here. I want to be treated as an equal. I want a voice in making the decisions.”
“If we do this, you’ll turn over the weapons?”
“I’ll give you what you need when you need it.”
Durand glowered at her. “And if we refuse?”
“I alone know where the caches are hidden now. If you don’t give in to my demands, and keep me as a courier, you’ll never get them back.”
A hint of a smile creased Claude’s face. Her negotiation skills were reminiscent of her uncle. She had learned much from Francois, that much was evident. Perhaps he had misjudged her. He looked over at Durand. His temper had gotten the best of him. Durand would hear none of it. “What’s to stop me from taking you into the cellar and forcing the truth out of you?”
“Me,” Claude said simply. “Talia has shown her daring and cunning. She risked her own life to save our equipment. What she asks isn’t unreasonable.”
“Claude, you can’t.”
“I can and I will.” Claude turned to Talia and extended his hand. “You have a deal. Now can we have the machine guns?”
***
“Sir, I’d like to introduce Captain Malcolm Parker of the U.S. Army Rangers,” Carver said, as Parker extended his hand to the No. 4 Commanding Officer.
Lord Lovat studied Parker keenly and took his outstretched hand. “It’s about time the Americans joined the fight.” A toothy smile protruded from underneath his tidy mustache.
“Been here since Saint-Nazaire, sir,” Parker shot back, bristling at the challenge.
“A pleasure to meet you and happy to have you with us. How do you like No. 4 Commandos HQ?” Lord Lovat motioned to the entirety of the tavern.
“A real haven for professionals in the art of war.”
“Speaking of military professionals, Captain Carver has said nothing but good things about you.”
“Captain Carver is being generous, sir,” Parker shot back and quickly changed the subject. “I’ve been told that my company is to be broken up.”
“Straight to business. Yes, we will be dividing your forces and integrating them in with the other troops of No. 4 as well as No. 2 Commandos.”
“With respect, I’d like to voice my opposition to that.”
“I sympathize with your opposition and agree. However, powers much higher up than you and I made that decision and we must obey.”
Parker grunted, but remained silent.
Lord Lovat handed Parker a pint of beer. “I’m giving you command of B Troop. As it happens, I am short a commander. You, your first sergeant, and a few more of your rangers will be attached to No. 4 Commandos; the remainder will be sent to the other commando teams.”
Parker took a sip from the beer and nodded. He wasn’t happy about the decision but he already knew there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Although it wasn’t ideal, he had complete trust that his two lieutenants could handle things on their own, which was why he had decided to send them both to the other unit. Both he and Adams had agreed that by sending them together they could watch each other’s backs and better ensure the safety of the rangers with them. It would be Adams’s and his job to do the same with No. 4.
“Sir, I’d like to augment Parker’s troop with two of my men. Captain Parker is familiar with them, and they can help him get to know the troop. Sergeant Callum and Corporal Tarbor both served with him during the Saint-Nazaire raid.”
“That’s awfully generous of you.”
Carver shot Parker a wink. “Just trying to set Captain Parker up for success, sir.”
“I agree. Have them transferred over tomorrow morning and they can begin training in earnest.”
“Will do, sir.”
Parker nodded his thanks and looked over at the tavern entrance as another commando walked through the door. He was a tall, lean individual with ghoulish features.
“Tom, nice of you to join us. Pull up a chair.” Lord Lovat waved him over and motioned to the bartender for another ale. “Captain Parker, this is Major Rackham, my executive officer.”
Major Rackham hobbled over to the bar, favoring his left leg, and sat down hard on a stool. “Nice to meet you.” He nodded to Parker, but didn’t offer his hand.
“Everything alright, Tom?”
“I was running through Lieutenant Boyce’s mountaineering class this morning on the crag of rocks down by the harbor and busted my knee on my way down the rock face.”
The bartender handed him an ale and Major Rackham nodded his thanks. “If we’re going to have to scale any cliffs, it’s going to be damn tricky, especially in the dark.”
“I suppose we’ll need to start getting the lads used to playing in the dark.”
“My thoughts exactly, sir.”
Parker looked at them in confusion. “What exactly is the mission?”
“You’ll know soon enough,” Lord Lovat said with finality, signaling that the topic was not up for discussion. He took a sip from his glass and squared himself with Parker. “Now, I believe all business of the day is finished. On to more serious and stimulating conversation. Captain Parker, can you please explain to me the finer points of American baseball?”
Parker cracked an easy grin, hiding the disappointment that he wasn’t going to get any more information about the raid. “Well, sir, it’s a little different from cricket . . .”
***
Cutter hated flying; more importantly he hated flying in Lysanders. The cramped cockpit of the small aircraft seemed like it was designed solely to make the passenger vomit as much as possible. Cutter had barely eaten before the flight yet was amazed by how much had come up the past three times, and was grateful he had packed extra airsickness bags.
“We’re almost there,” Cutter’s pilot, Flying Lieutenant Ives called. “Should be landing soon.”
“Are you sure?”
“No! Remember when I told you this flight would be a piece of cake? Well, I lied. These are the worst conditions I’ve ever flown in! For all I know we’re over Germany!”
“I didn’t need to know that.”
“There’s a fog over the landing zone, but I think I can land.” Ives started to descend and begin the landing cycle. The whole time, Cutter clenched the handles next to his seat until his hands hurt.
“Oh Christ!” Ives cried and pulled back sharply on the stick, pushing Cutter back into his seat. This
is it, I’m going to die in this fucking plane. The plane hit the ground hard and bounced. The engine started to sputter and Cutter felt the plane push forward as Ives pushed down on the nose and pulled back on the throttle to keep the Lysander from ballooning. They started to slow and Ives started to apply the brakes.
“Another happy landing,” Ives called cheerily. “Now get off my plane.”
“Sod this.” Cutter quickly undid his straps and opened the hatch and climbed out. He tapped the glass and quickly cleared the Lysander as Ives increased power to the engine and started to taxi for takeoff.
Cutter cleared the Lysander and watched as the silhouette of the aircraft faded into the blackness of the night. “I miss my desk job already.” Cutter looked around, searching eagerly for a familiar face.
“Olivier, is that you?” a voice called from the darkness.
“Oui. Durand?”
Durand appeared out of the black. “I was wondering if they were sending you back.”
“Can’t get rid of me that easily.” Cutter hefted his suitcase and approached Durand.
“Come, we must hurry. The noise of the plane will no doubt draw out Amsel and his thugs.” Durand led Cutter through the field to a dirt road where a horse-drawn cart was waiting.
“No car?”
“Much more conspicuous. This is better.” Durand motioned for Cutter to get in the back. Cutter paused as he started to climb in when he heard the sound of clucking chickens.
“How is this less bloody conspicuous?”
Durand said nothing but moved past Cutter and fumbled around in the back of the wagon till he found what he was looking for. His fingers caught on an edge of the bottom of the wagon and he pulled. A portion of the bed of the wagon lifted up to reveal a secret compartment underneath where the wagon driver sat. Durand motioned for Cutter to get in.
The compartment was small, and even for Cutter’s slight frame he struggled to fit. His suitcase would have to remain out in the open, but he managed to fit his entire body in the compartment before Durand quickly closed it and cracked the reins to get his mare moving.
“This is how I die,” Cutter mumbled as he lay motionless in the cramped dark compartment for what seemed like an hour. Every time he heard a commotion or a car drive by, he tensed, half expecting to be stopped and searched, but it never happened.
When the wagon finally came to a stop and the compartment opened, the sun was starting to creep over the horizon.
Cutter struggled out of the compartment and shielded his eyes as they adjusted to the light. He looked around and struggled to get his bearings.
He slowly realized they were on the outskirts of Quiberville at Madame Renault’s house. Cutter dusted the dirt from his trousers and stretched his legs before he noticed Talia and Claude standing next to the house along with two other men Cutter didn't recognize.
Cutter stopped stretching and walked over to them.
Claude smiled and extended a hand. “Olivier, I thought we had seen the last of you.”
Cutter smirked and took the outstretched hand. “Oh, you’ll find that I show up at the most peculiar of times.” Cutter’s eyes found their way to Talia’s and he grimaced at the disinterested look she gave him. She was just as riveting as the first time Cutter had seen her, but the stony look on her face said enough about how she felt about his arrival. “Clearly, I could’ve been gone longer.”
Talia ignored his comment. Crossing her arms and jutting her chin out, she motioned to the briefcase. “What did you bring us?”
“What do you mean?”
“We need munitions and explosives. Did you bring any?” Claude explained, motioning for everyone to go inside.
Cutter shook his head. As they moved into the cottage, he followed Talia inside and noticed the bulge of a pistol under her sweater lodged in the waistband of her trousers. Didn’t see that before.
The safe house was very basic in accommodations, with an armchair in the corner and a small love seat along the wall. The group of Resistance fighters shuffled into the kitchen where there was a large enough table for them all to sit around.
“So what are you doing here?” Claude sat down at the head of the table, and motioned for Cutter to take a seat next to him.
“I’m back to further develop intelligence and to start sabotaging German operations in the area.”
“What makes you so sure we need help?” Talia challenged.
Cutter looked at her but said nothing. He noticed Durand and Claude exchange glances. Clearly, his arrival was less than welcomed. He couldn’t blame them for the lukewarm welcome, but he didn’t understand the hostility.
“Did something happen while I was gone?” He looked around the table with a hint of annoyance, attempting to put them on the defensive. “Last I was here we established supply drops as well as a set communications line across the channel. What’s changed?”
Talia shrugged. “You left us.”
“I was only gone half a month.”
Durand cleared his throat uneasily and smiled diplomatically at Cutter. “Olivier, we are thankful that you have returned, but your abrupt departure and return is . . . suspicious.”
“Suspicious?” Cutter parroted. “What the hell is suspicious about my return?”
“Why are you back? The only reason we can think of is that your military is about to conduct another operation.” Claude turned and motioned to the rest of the Resistance members. “Naturally, we will assist, but after your abrupt departure last time we were left to suffer the Nazis wrath after those raids we conducted.”
Cutter ran a hand through his sandy blond hair in frustration. He didn’t have time to rebuild relationships. He forced himself to appear amicable and nodded his head in understanding. “What happened?”
“The Gestapo has been taking a more aggressive interest in Quiberville. People are disappearing.” Durand sat down on the other side of Cutter. “People are being sent to Dieppe and haven’t come back.”
“Who is taking them?”
“The SS.”
Mention of the Schutzstaffel sent a chill down Cutter’s spine. “The SS are here?” It was one thing to have the Gestapo and Abwehr ambling around with the regular German army; it was another if they called the SS in. They were only called on if the Gestapo wasn’t getting the necessary results with soldiers from the army.
Durand nodded silently.
“Why? When?” Questions filled Cutter’s head.
“We think they’re after our cell.”
Cutter turned and looked at Claude. “Why do you think that?”
“They’ve recruited a handful of officers from the local ranks. Oberleutnant Amsel was recruited by them and promoted to Obersturmführer. He’s been aggressively pursuing spies and Resistance members.”
Cutter nodded. “I’m sure he jumped at the opportunity for more power and authority.” He looked over at Talia. Her blank stare and expressionless features reminded Cutter of the Greek and Roman busts at the Ashmolean. He had expected a rough reception, just not one this chilled.
“We are happy you are here,” Claude said earnestly, “but will you be leaving just as suddenly this time?”
Cutter put his hands on the table and opened them palms up, it was time to be honest. “I don't know. I need your help and I need more information on what is going on in Dieppe.”
A grunt rumbled in the back of Claude’s throat. “You’re asking a lot without giving much back.” He crossed his arms, “What do we get in return?”
“What do you need?”
“Explosives, firearms, mortars if possible.” Claude handed Cutter a handwritten list.
Cutter took it and gave it a cursory look. He saw grenades, Bren machine guns, rifles, and a twenty-millimeter mortar on the list. It wouldn't be too difficult to get, but he’d have to radio back to Atkinson for it. “I
can get you this.”
“You do realize how dangerous Dieppe is, right?” Durand shot Claude a nasty look as he spoke. “We’ve sent people there before and every time they were either captured or killed. The last three cells we’ve set up there were destroyed.”
“I know, but I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t vital.” A dirty thought entered his mind as he spoke; he was behaving no differently than Hambro had when he persuaded Cutter to come back to Normandy.
Durand nodded slowly, uncertainty dripping from his voice, as he said, “I don’t know how, but we’ll do what needs to be done.”
Cutter looked at the group of Resistance fighters and wondered what had happened in his absence. Something wasn’t right. Durand had never been this confrontational with Claude, and Claude looked strung out. Was this all because of the SS?
Claude rubbed the bridge of his nose in resignation. “We’ll get started immediately.” He gestured to the two other Resistance members in the room. The pair of them nodded and departed the safe house.
Claude turned and looked at Cutter. “What are we going to do with you?” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, deep in thought. “I think it would be best if you continued to stay with Talia.” He gave Talia a questioning look. “What do you think?”
Talia eyed Cutter with a sanitized disinterest. “We need to keep his cover intact. It makes sense for him to stay with me.”
“Very well, I think we have everything we need to get started. Olivier, why don't you come by the bakery this evening and we can discuss our plans further.”
Cutter nodded and stood up as Claude and Durand moved to leave. Claude clapped a hand on his shoulder as he walked by. “It’s nice to have you back, Olivier.”
Cutter smiled weakly and turned back to Talia. She eyed him coolly.
“I suppose I’m the last person you want to see, let alone live with.”
Talia eyed Cutter with a hint of annoyance but kept her facial expression set in a combination of disinterest and aloofness.
“So you’re a full-on Resistance fighter now?” Cutter pursued, changing topics.
“What makes you think that?”
