“Whack?”
He spelled it for her, then explained. “The Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps provides support services to the British military. These were found in the suitcase of one of their administrators.”
“And how did you come to possess this suitcase?”
He shook his head and didn’t explain.
Ellenor assumed the garments’ original owner, whoever she was, had been killed. It seemed appropriate: on the night Ellenor would attack the enemy, she would wear a dead woman’s clothes.
She went upstairs to change. She found sufficient privacy in one of the former horse stalls, this one partially filled with buckets and trowels being used by the laborers who repaired the brick-faced streets. That done, she examined herself as best she could without the aid of a mirror. She wore a single-breasted khaki jacket with three buttons, fancy shoulder straps, and generous pockets. It was belted at the waistline. The buttons were leather, due to the universal metal shortage. Each shoulder strap was decorated with a badge shaped like a rose. The matching skirt was longer than she preferred, falling to only a foot from the ground. The outfit had come with a matching top and tie, but Ellenor eschewed them in favor of her black roll-neck wool sweater, now that it had finally been cleaned.
She pulled on her tall boots, which Uli had shined last night with polish as black as petroleum. Then she rejoined her companions in the catacombs just in time to catch Alec buttoning up a new shirt with a starched collar. He’d traded his worn trousers for a pair of whipcord breeches that fit him well. In a canvas tote beside him was a collection of coats, mufflers, and masks to keep them warm when the air grew thin.
Rolling his sleeves up to his forearms, Alec said quietly so the others couldn’t hear, “Would it be all right of me to say that you look nice?”
“My mother always told me to accept compliments but never take them too seriously.”
“A wise woman. But still…”
She smiled. “Thank you.” She gave nothing else away, but if truth were told, his words affected her to an unusual degree. She was scared about what was happening tonight, so everything was out of proportion, including the sudden blush in her cheeks.
“I asked Roby if he could find me a tuxedo,” Alec said, “because I remember quite clearly that you accused all pilots of being…what was the phrase? Rich little vandals. So I was intending to dress appropriately.”
“I’m sorry for saying that. I didn’t know you.”
“Actually, you were spot-on. Well, with the exception of the ‘rich’ part. But I’ve spent every moment since then trying to show you a better version of myself. So do I look serious and adult enough for you now?”
“I said I was sorry. And yes, you look very gentlemanly.”
“That’s too bad. I was hoping for dashing.”
Ellenor gave him a little roll of her eyes and realized they were flirting, which was something that hadn’t happened to her in—
“Little brother,” Sarah said, appearing at his side. “Do you have a moment?”
Alec let his eyes linger on Ellenor. He seemed about to say something—whatever it was, she was desperate to hear it—but he only nodded, turned away, and followed Sarah across the room.
Ellenor watched him go, wondering.
****
Alec glanced back at Ellenor, afraid he’d never recapture the moment. He admitted it to himself: she looked stunning in her uniform, her dark hair free over her shoulders. But then Sarah’s voice forced him to pay attention to her. She had him sit on one of two empty onion crates she’d pulled to the far corner of the cellar.
He understood, then, that this might be the last time he spoke with his sister until the war was over. It crimped his heart.
She spoke before he could sort out his emotions. “I want your assurance that you’re making the right decision with your choice of gunner.”
“Gunner?”
“Is Ellenor the best option for this mission?”
Alec almost replied with something he would have regretted, but then he was struck by how much he adored this woman who had been a girl just the other day. “I’ve missed you.”
She softened; only Alec could do that to her so easily. “Me, too. I’m sorry it’s worked out this way.”
“It’s not over yet.”
“You were always the more optimistic half of us.”
“And you were the realist.”
“Still am. Hence my question.”
Alec sighed. “She will be fine. I’ll show her. Besides, as soon as that last bomb drops, I’m banking my wings and getting the hell out of here. I wouldn’t have time to land and swap out Roby for Ellenor before the German response arrived. It has to be this way.”
“Now who’s the realist? But I think you may have ulterior motives. You have no intention of letting that girl out of your sight.”
“I think she’d prefer the term woman, and you’re right. You see right through me, which is not newsworthy in the least, since it’s been happening for decades. The idea of flying away with her sounds…well, it sounds like more than I deserve.”
“Have you told her as much?”
“Good God, sis, I’m as brave as the next chap, but my courage has its limits.”
“Coward. Now let me change the subject. The clock is moving.”
Alec motioned for her to proceed.
“When the bells at Basilique Saint-Vincent sound at midnight, Roby, Jules, and I will light the fires. If everything works as we’re expecting, it will require at least twenty minutes to flood the bunker with smoke. We’ve scouted the windows, vents, and exits. We know what to do. But it might take as long as half an hour. Do you still have Daddy’s pocket watch?”
“No. It was in my kit when I crashed five days ago. I never went back for it.”
“Jules has one he’ll give to you. It’s an inexpensive model, but it tells the time. So at half past midnight, you get that plane off the ground and blow those goddamn guns to pieces.”
Alec had no questions about this blunt-edged plot that Sarah had devised. He suspected that, at least in some small way, she was using him to further her own misguided agenda. But he didn’t care. It didn’t change what he felt for her. “What will you do after tonight?” he asked her quietly.
“I suppose I’ll start by speaking with Klaus. I promised Ellenor that I would. She was right when she said he deserved to know.”
“Can you trust him?”
“He means well. I can’t say anything more than that.”
“You won’t be able hide down here forever. Where will you go?”
“Maybe to the country. Stefan had a small cottage. I suppose it’s mine now. He talked about wanting to spend time there and write a novel or something literary and foolish like that.”
“What about going to France?”
“I don’t know anyone in France, little brother. You want me to be safe, but as long as this war goes on, there’s nowhere that qualifies. The Ottomans are fighting us in North Africa. Belgium’s a disaster. The Zeppelins are bombing London, so even home isn’t safe.”
“It’s a big planet, from what I hear. Surely there’s somewhere…”
She gave him a tight smile. “I should be asking you the same question. Where will you go? After you drop that last bomb, you’ll need to choose a destination and choose it quickly. As you said, even if we succeed in flushing out the telegraph team, it won’t take them long to regroup and call for help.”
“Hildegard has a considerable range. We can make it a long way.”
“Listen to you, using a plural pronoun.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means. I see you sitting here in front of me. But part of you is across the room with her.”
Alec shook his head when he felt the warmth in his face. No one but Sarah could get to him like that.
“Tell me it’s not true,” she said.
“What can I say? Happens to the best of us sooner o
r later.”
“Would you like my blessing?”
“Do I need it?”
She touched him on the arm. There was a time when the two of them were inseparable, and only after her hand made contact with him did he realize how many years had passed since the days of their antics, their carefree songs. “You’ve always needed it. And I’ve needed yours. You gave me permission to come here to Germany, where I found a life and friends I admire. My place is still here. I can do good things. But you have something else waiting for you. Take her and find it.”
“That sounds suspiciously like the beginning of one of the stories you used to tell me when we were children.”
“And didn’t those stories always have happy endings?”
He put his hand on hers. “I will see you again, Sarah Corbin-Dawes of Derby.”
“You will. And we’ll celebrate a free Europe.”
He was just about to say something else—anything to make the moment last—but she swept him into a hug, which he returned with intensity. They held on.
Roby’s voice ended their embrace: “It’s time.”
Alec followed Sarah to where the others had gathered around the city map and hand-drawn diagrams. The electrical current that crawled up his spine was the very same one that he felt at the aerodrome each time the captain outlined the next mission. Objectives were important. Tactics were important. But woven through all of that was an element of prodigious risk, the cold probability that someone on the team would not make it back. Alec had earned the title of ace because he thrived in that environment, even though his teeth rattled during combat and his balls felt packed in ice.
“This is how it will happen,” Sarah said.
Everyone waited and watched.
“Roby will drive Alec and Ellenor to their plane, along with the supplies readied for them. Roby will then return here, where he and Jules and I will pack and compress the burnables. We’ll make more than we need, just in case. At one hour before midnight, we’ll leave, arriving at the bunker approximately twenty minutes later.” She used a screwdriver as a pointer. “Here and here are the two most obvious entry points for the smoke, and also these smaller windows here and here. At exactly midnight, we’ll light the burnables, smash the glass, and place them inside. If we’ve done our jobs correctly, they’ll burn slowly and produce an abundance of smoke. The only thing that can go wrong at this point is if we’re spotted by someone before we’re finished.”
“And if we are?” Roby asked.
“We’ll be armed. We’ll do what we have to do.”
Roby nodded solemnly.
“The bunker’s interior is approximately two hundred square meters. Thank God it’s not a very large space.”
“Wait,” Alec said. “Aren’t the windows fortified somehow? What if you can’t get your fire inside the building?”
“The windows are highly secure because they’re narrow. They’re like arrow slits in an old castle. No full-grown adult could wiggle through one of those unless he happened to be a carnival contortionist. But the oil-soaked bundles we’ve made are sized to fit.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“We tested one of them earlier outside of town. It produced so much smoke that we’re anticipating the radio operators inside will abandon ship in a matter of minutes. At half past midnight, Alec and Ellenor will get in the air and do the rest.”
“What about contingencies if something goes wrong?” Alec asked. “What about backup plans?”
“There are none.”
“Well, that’s comforting. And here I was beginning to worry.”
“If the smoke doesn’t work, or if we get intercepted before we can deliver it, then you two are on your own. The German planes from airfields in nearby towns will be alerted within minutes.”
Ellenor crossed her arms in a posture of concern. “Can we outrun them?”
“There’s no moon tonight,” Alec said. “We won’t be faster than they are, but Hildegard can climb to twenty thousand feet. It will be dark. They’ll never see us.”
“How cold is it at twenty thousand feet?” she asked.
“Oh, I’d say a balmy fifteen degrees below zero or so, but the wind makes it feel about fifty degrees colder.”
“People actually fly that high?”
“Believe it or not.”
“They’d freeze to death, wouldn’t they?”
“When I was an observer on a high-altitude run, they made me wear an insulated suit with so many layers that I had to be hoisted into my seat by a team of mechanics. I could barely move to work the camera, let alone the gun. I hear these days they’re experimenting with electrically heated trousers. Not sure how I feel about that.”
Sarah got them back on track. “We’ve given you all the extra clothing we can spare. That will have to be enough. Now, shortly after that first detonation, the city sirens will be activated, and all of Metz will go into bombing protocol. Every unnecessary light will be extinguished. Shutters will be closed. That will make it all the more difficult for you to see well enough to score a direct hit on the rest of your targets. Are you prepared for that?”
“We will be,” Alec assured her.
“Are you sure? That same darkness that will keep you safe will also work against you.”
“I said we’ll be fine. We won’t miss our targets. I have something in mind.”
“Would you care to share?”
“I know you trust me, sis. Me and no one else.”
She paused for a moment, then said, “One of these days, that trust in you will likely be my undoing.”
He grinned like he was twelve years old and had just tied a rocket to her bicycle seat.
Then Sarah did something Alec had not predicted at all: she stepped around the table and pulled him close. “I love you, little brother.”
“I love you back.”
“We can do this, right?”
He withdrew just enough to give her his most formidable and reassuring smile, though he did not feel formidable nor assured in the least. “Consider it done.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
In the burnished light of late afternoon, on the same day he’d killed an unruly civilian, Gustov prepared his triplane for whatever the coming night held in store. The aircraft’s nose and three wing decks were painted a color the Voss family genealogist called jacinth orange, named after a gemstone embedded in the pommel of the swept-hilt rapier hanging in the library of Gustov’s paternal grandfather.
The mechanic he’d conscripted from the local airfield sat on an overturned bucket and looked nervous. Gustov would need him when the time came to fire the Fokker’s engine.
He checked his wristwatch; he was the only man in his squadron who owned one. Then he took a seat on the lower wing deck and swung his legs back and forth, searching for a tune to whistle but finding nothing to his liking.
Even if the Englander was miles from the city when he lifted off in the Rumpler, his engine noise would give him away. Gustov looked to the sky and waited for the man to appear.
****
Alec and Ellenor watched Roby’s lorry disappear through the trees.
Alec said, “It’s only us now.”
“I’m sorry about Sarah. I wish you didn’t have to be apart from her.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Isn’t it?”
He felt her nearness. She stood beside him, no more than two inches away. “Don’t be silly,” he told her. “None of it is anyone’s fault, except maybe God’s.”
“You shouldn’t say such things. Some would call it sacrilege.”
“Bugger that. Any god who abides trench warfare isn’t worthy of the name.”
“You think He should intervene?”
“I don’t know what I think. I just want a well-mixed drink on a warm veranda and no barbed wire in sight.”
She turned and looked up at him. “Where is this veranda of yours located?”
“Where would you like it to be?�
�
“Don’t ask questions like that if you don’t mean it.”
“I completely mean it.” He startled himself by saying that. It just came out. Now, with her eyes on him, he groped around for a follow-up line but didn’t find much. “What I’m saying is…I’m glad you’re going with me, that we’re going together.”
“Me, too. But…where?”
“I’m still working on that.”
“You better work faster.”
“Sarah said that nowhere is safe. I’m hoping she isn’t right.” He glanced at the sun, which was a few notches closer to the western horizon than it had been moments before. “I should, uh, give Hildegard one last inspection.”
“Of course.”
Alec, holding back all manner of inconvenient emotions, stepped away and gave as much of his attention as possible to the plane. He knelt and inspected the explosives array. Each of the four bombs weighed fifty pounds and was painted a rather pleasant sky blue—an odd aesthetic choice for a weapon of such destructive power. From extensive briefings on enemy armaments, he knew these were designed by the German Air Service’s experimental workshop, Prufanstalt und Werft. These four PuWs were activated by a nose fuse that ignited upon impact. The TNT crammed into these solid steel meteorites wouldn’t eradicate all of the anti-aircraft guns, but it would destroy enough to clear a path for the French flyers, assuming Ellenor hit all of her targets.
“Is everything all right?” she asked, crouching beside him.
“So far.”
She pointed to a length of wire extruding from Hildegard’s navel. “What is that?”
“It’s an aerial for the wireless Morse unit. I believe you Yanks call it an ‘antenna.’”
“I see. I wish we could use the wireless to call for help.”
“Who would we call?”
“Woodrow Wilson.”
“The American president? And what on earth would we say to him?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Dear Mr. Wilson. We’ve gotten ourselves into a tight spot. We need to wipe out a lot of guns so that our allies can in turn wipe out a factory. Please send the Marines and chocolate.”
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