The drive to Saint Léger was completed almost in total silence. That they would help their French comrades was not in doubt, they would do whatever they could. It did however feel a great deal like tempting fate to deliberately put themselves once more in the hands of the Nazis. They had made it this far against so many odds, and now here they were presenting themselves for capture once more. Was it worth it?

They were dressed once again in their Luftwaffe uniforms and the the French had made up a civilian vehicle to resemble one of the German staff cars. Within it, Matheson and Maria rode, driven by Arthur Hamley while Down and Maddox followed up behind them with the Opel Blitz lorry with a handful of Frenchmen in German uniforms.

Manching had felt possible because, like them, those Germans were Air Force personnel. They knew how to behave around them and what to expect. The SS, however, was an entirely different matter. Maria remembered her brother Christopher’s stories of the Waffen SS units that they had faced in this very same countryside less than a year earlier. Those units had been skilled and ferocious fighters with the zeal of fanatics. They had been strong-willed and dangerous men who didn’t give up easily. From what she had heard, the SS Police units that hunted partisans and dissidents were no different.

Maria put the thoughts out of her mind as they turned off the Rue d’ Arras and into the sleepy French town of Saint Léger, its church steeple rising high above the hedgerows. Now was the time to be ready for the job at hand. The nazi boogyman was just that; a boogyman. Now was not the time to be afraid. The Germans had no idea that this was coming and they were not going to be prepared.

The SS headquarters were located on the southern edge of the town in a patch of woodland that kept it isolated from the town proper. The house had clearly belonged to a wealthy landowner before its latest resident had been evicted by the Germans. As they passed the stable blocks on the way up to the main house, Maria briefly imagined what it might have been like in more peaceful times.

As the vehicles pulled up, she regarded the building’s gothic visage sadly. From the leaded roof and spiked peaks to its cool stone exterior the home exuded a great deal of history. That it now played host to such horrible people felt entirely wrong.

They were in the process of disembarking the car when a worried-looking man in SS black trotted up and threw a Nazi Salute directly to Matheson.

“Herr Major, we were not expecting any visitors today, my Sturmbannführer is away on operations presently.”

Matheson nodded gravely, as though he understood the man’s concerns. “I understand Schütze, this was not a planned visit I’m afraid. Who is the highest ranking member of your unit on site?”

“That would be Hauptsturmführer Zimmermann, Herr Major.”

“Please tell him that Major Weber of The 86th Security Saffel wishes to see him if he has the time, of course.”

“Right away Herr Major,” The Private agreed, snapping his heels and darting off to go find the man Maria interpreted to be a captain.

Standing politely beside Matheson with her hands clasped behind her back, Maria glanced at Hamley and Down. Both men were playing their roles as grim security types, their hands resting on their submachine guns casually.

“He seems a little stressed,” She observed quietly in German.

“Not every day that the Headmaster is out and the other school’s first fifteen show up to play.” Matheson chuckled.

“Think this Zimmermann chap will buy our bit?”

“Hope so.” Matheson shrugged, “or we’re all a bit buggered.”

Maria rolled her eyes and straightened up as the soldier returned, accompanied by an older man in an officer's uniform, his cap at an almost casual angle atop his head.

“Herr Major, I am sorry for the delay, Hauptsturmführer Zimmermann.” the man began, snapping a straight-armed salute at Matheson. “Can I ask why you’re visiting our unit? As the Private here has indicated our commanding officer is away on… assignment, today,” he added with a thin smile.

“Could we speak inside?” Matheson asked. “I come with a request from my commanding officer and I’d like to discuss it with you somewhere more private.”

Zimmermann considered this for a moment before nodding slightly and gesturing back towards the chateau. “This way Herr Major.”

“Oberleutnant, Hauptmann, with me please, the rest of you remain here,” Matheson grunted as he followed the SS Captain up the front steps of the building.

The interior of the Chateau still reassembled the well-appointed home it had once been, even if it was now adorned with Nazi regalia and its furniture rearranged into offices and accommodation for the SS unit posted there.

The building was far from empty Maria noted. Although it was not as full as they had feared, there was still a significant number of personnel present that might complicate their plans. She counted at least Seven men and four women in the parts of the house that they saw on their way up to Zimmermann’s office.

“As I am sure you can appreciate, the times are extremely busy for us at the moment Herr Major.” the German continued. “As I mentioned, my commanding officer, Sturmbannführer Bauer is not here, he is off-site conducting anti-partisan operations. They take a great deal of our time at the moment.”

“I can appreciate that,” Matheson agreed as they stepped into the man’s office. The man seemed politely curious as to why Maddox and Campbell were with the Major, raising an eyebrow as he regarded them.

“This is Hauptmann Schmidt, my second in command, and Oberleutnant Horler, my interpreter.”

Zimmermann nodded and gestured to a chair in front of his desk. “Please Herr Major, sit. What can Sonderkommando 55 do for the Luftwaffe? Have you lost an airplane, by chance?”

As Maria and Daniel stood at attention behind him, Matheson took his time to casually sit and remove his cap, placing the item in his lap before looking up and smiling at Zimmermann’s quip. “As you must be aware, there was an escape from Luft XI in Bavaria roughly seven days ago. We are one of a number of units tasked with rounding up the escaped British airmen.”

“And you think they have made it to France? This far?” Zimmermann asked, his eyebrows quirking slightly.

“We know they have,” Matheson sighed. “We are tracking a particular group that was last seen in Huy, Belgium. Our last reports have them crossing the French border and heading this way.”

“Impressive effort on their part, they have transportation?” Zimmerman mused.

Matheson paused, feigning reluctance to answer. “They… stole a transport from our Air Base at Manching. This later crash-landed on a farm outside Oberwesel where they stole ground transport.”

Zimmerman chuckled. “Enterprising group it seems. I can see why you would ask for our help in this matter, it must be quite an embarrassment for you.”

Matheson nodded slightly, accepting the jibe.

“We have not heard any rumors of movement in our sphere of operations but as you know with partisan activity anything is possible. Do you think they are working with local groups?”

Matheson masterfully affected a humble tone and sighed. “It is what I am hoping you could help us with Herr Hauptsturmführer.”

Zimmerman smiled politely and regarded Maria for a moment before looking back at Matheson. “We would need to wait for my commanding officer to return, but in the meantime, would I be able to ask you for a favor? Call it perhaps, professional cooperation.”

“Anything.”

“Could I perhaps borrow your interpreter for a short while? We have some…guests at the moment. I assume she speaks French?”

Maria kept her mouth shut and looked at Matheson for an answer. He glanced over his shoulder at her and waved a hand for her to speak.

“Oui Monsieur, je parle bien Français.”

Zimmermann clapped his hands together and smiled broadly. “Oh, that is most excellent, excellent indeed. If it is not too forward, a beautiful Fraulein that speaks their language might just loosen the lips on these partisan agents.”

“You wish me to speak with your prisoners?” Maria asked carefully, switching back to German. This hadn’t been their plan, but when in Rome, she reasoned, take advantage of the Romans.

“If you would be willing to assist us with this… less than pleasant work. You could help to save German lives.” Zimermann asked, pressing a button on his desk. “I’ll have one of my staff take you downstairs. If nothing comes of it, it will be no great loss. We ship them off to Central Receiving tomorrow before they’re taken to Germany. If you do manage to get them to speak, it might prove extremely useful for us.”

Maria glanced at Matheson and wordlessly asked his thoughts on the matter. The man seemed to consider the proposal for a second before nodding his assent. “We shall collect you before we leave OberLeutnant, we must wait for Sturmbannführer Bauer as it is.”

The office door opened and a young female SS auxiliary smiled politely at Zimmermann.

“Frau Rottenführer, escort the Oberleutnant here down to the cells, she is to try her hand with our guests.”

“Yes, Herr Hauptsturmführer,” the woman replied, saluting crisply.

Maria followed the woman out into the hallway and back along the corridor as they retraced their route back to the entrance hall.

“What is it you do here for them exactly?” Maria asked, more out of a desire to dispel the silence than make conversation.

“I am an auxiliary Frau Oberleutnant, I complete whatever necessary tasks are assigned to me, but I mostly answer the telephone.”

Maria nodded, suddenly feeling like she had asked a stupid question. “Yes, well, I did wonder if the SS did things differently.”

“We are very much the same Frau Oberleutnant.”

Maria smirked, “I did get the thought that he was going to ask me to bring him coffee up there for a moment.”

The young woman seemed momentarily aghast before smiling slyly. “I don’t think he would ask an officer to do that Frau Oberleutnant.”

Maria thought back to how some of the WAAF officers were treated by their male counterparts in England and frowned to herself; she was positive he would have if she were not a guest.

The auxiliary led Maria down to the basement of the Chateau. The space had once been used for storage and wine cellars before the occupation, but now, its new purpose made itself immediately well known. Once she entered, the smell of blood and urine immediately assaulted her senses.

The woman glanced at Maria’s wrinkled nose and smiled apologetically. “Speak with Scharführer Schneider, he should be in the room on the end.”

Without further word, the woman turned and retreated back the way that they had come. Maria got the distinct impression that the woman hated the space as much as she was beginning to. She was momentarily stunned at the trust the Germans seemed to place in her; nobody had asked to see paperwork or identification, and yet they had been welcomed straight into the facility. Here she was barely meters from their targets and she had been casually left by herself. It might benefit them this time she reasoned, but it would likely be their last before protocols were tightened if they were successful.

Proceeding cautiously along the dim corridor, Maria found a stout, grim-faced man in the uniform of an SS Sergeant sitting behind a small desk writing in a folder.

"Scharführer Schneider?”

The man looked up and frowned at her before hauling himself to his feet. He saluted lazily as he did so, “Frau Oberleutnant? What are you doing down here?”

“Your boss, Zimmermann, he sent me down,” she explained. “He asked me to have a chat with your prisoners as I speak fluent French.”

Schneider considered her explanation for a moment before nodding curtly. “If he thinks it will help. These three haven’t said a word since we caught the bastards.”

“Perhaps they might speak to someone with a different approach.” Maria offered tersely, eying the bloody gloves on Schneider’s desk.

Schneider followed her eyeline and smirked. “My apologies Frau Oberleutnant, but sometimes scum only speaks one language. This lot are killing our boys after all.”

Maria wanted to give the man a piece of her mind but realized the futility of such a sentiment at that moment. The irony of an invader being upset that the people they had occupied didn’t want them there was simply staggering. Her lecturing this man on humanity while he wore the uniform of the SS felt wasted, and potentially dangerous for her cover.

The Sergeant led her through to a locked room where one of the prisoners was chained to a desk in the center of the space. A single lightbulb flickered, high above the damp space casting the young man in deep shadows.

“I’ll leave the door open,” he added gruffly as he departed, “Give me a shout when you don’t get anywhere.”

Moving further into the room, Maria regarded the young man cautiously. Bruising and dry blood caking his face and he held his body in the careful hunch of someone who was in extreme pain. The poor young man appeared totally defeated. That he had not broken as the German had said surprised and emboldened Maria.

Taking a seat across from him, she opened the folder and began to read. “Martin Lacroix?” She asked softly, glancing up at the man across from her.

The young man’s eyes, which had been staring off into the corner of the room flicked towards her before returning to the spot on the wall he had chosen. Maria did her best to recall her spotty school French and started in.

“Martin, my name is Maria, how are you doing today?”

The man glanced back at her again before averting his eyes. “The same as the other day,” he muttered.

Maria lowered her voice and leaned forward to pass on the phrase she had been coached to use. “Martin, the cow needs milking at four not five.”

The man’s head snapped around and he stared at her, for the first time taking in her uniform and appearance. “But you’re German?” he asked dumbfounded.

“Keep your voice down,” Maria insisted. “I’m actually English but don’t tell anyone. André and Yvette send their regards.”

“Are you a spy?”

Maria shook her head, “Right place, wrong time, doing a favor for your friends. Are the others ok?”

Martin shrugged, clanking the chains on his wrists. “They’re still alive but we are the worse for wear thanks to the Nazi pigs.”

“Do me a favor and play dumb, we’re going to be working on getting you out of here.” she smiled slyly, giving the young man a wink.

Martin Lacroix’s tired eyes watched Maria for a moment, almost not believing what he was seeing. “I thought I was dead.”

 

 

Andrew Matheson accepted the cup of coffee that Zimmermann’s auxiliary brought into the office and smiled politely.

“So this… escape,” The German mused, adding sugar to his own cup. “You never explained what happened.”

“There was an altercation and a revolt. Prisoners took weapons and overran the guards, a total mess. High command is in full face-saving mode.”

Zimmerman nodded, “That would be a terrible mark on one’s record. It does explain why they’re so keen to retrieve them all so quickly.”

“High command dispatched us and other teams to follow leads.” Maddox offered. “They send us after this particular group because they had made it the furthest and… caused the most trouble.”

The SS man smirked and nodded as he sipped his coffee.

Matheson glanced at his compatriot and nodded imperceptibly. By now, Maria would likely be downstairs with the prisoners and have a good idea of what she would have to do. Their separation hadn’t been part of the plan, but it was one they could use to their advantage if they were careful.

The French had done their jobs well, and Sturmbannführer Bauer and the majority of his men were off on a wild goose chase that would hopefully keep them occupied until after the dust had settled. Outside, Hamley and Down would have crowd control in hand with their French allies; take charge and secure the exterior of the facility, and ensure nobody else entered. Maddox’s wink told him everything he needed to know. Now, it was time to execute.

Slowly, Matheson unfastened the flap on his holster and eased the Luger pistol out along the side of his thigh. His finger was easing the safety catch over when there was a knock at the door. He eased his posture and slid the firearm back into its holster.

“Come,” Zimmermann barked. He glanced at the two officers and smiled apologetically. “I do apologize about this gentlemen, but work is work.”

An auxiliary entered and stood to attention, “Sir, a Major Bergmann of the Luftwaffe and his men request an audience with you about… escaped prisoners of war.”

The two British officers exchanged nervous glances. Matheson knew the name, and it was one he hadn’t ever expected to hear again. Remembering what Maria had told him of the man’s conduct, he felt far more worried. The man’s presence now was a terrible thorn in the side of a well-structured plan.

“It seems you have double booked us today.” Matheson smiled at the German. “Perhaps great minds think alike.”

“It might seem so. Come, let us meet with your colleagues.”

The two pilots followed the SS Captain out of the office and back down towards the Lobby. As they walked, Maddox glanced at his friend, looking for instructions. Matheson shook his head subtly, the time was not yet right. As far as he knew, Bergmann didn’t know them, nor did he have any reason to suspect they were the very prisoners he likely hunted. They needed to stick to their plans and keep Maria far away from the Kraut bastard.

“Schmidt, why don’t you check on Frau Horler and see how they’re getting along while I meet with our friend Bergmann,” Matheson instructed casually. “I’ll sort out this silly conflict and we can stop wasting precious time on the same lead.”

“Right away Herr Major,” Maddox agreed and vanished off in search of the basement. Hopefully, Matheson thought, he could keep Maria from showing herself any time soon.

Zimmermann exited the building with Matheson by his side and made his way down the steps to the now far more crowded driveway. In addition to their own transports, a second staff car and a pair of motorcycle outriders waited patiently behind the real Major and his adjutant.

“Major Bergmann, Hauptsturmführer Zimmermann,” The SS Captain introduced himself offering a hand to the Luftwaffe Officer. “This is your colleague Major Weber, it seems we are quite popular today with the Air Force.”

Bergmann regarded Matheson curiously for a moment. “I have not had the pleasure, you are based here in France Herr Major?”

“He too is hunting the prisoners like you it would seem,” Zimmermann chuckled. “You seem to be quite affronted by this affair.”

Bergmann smiled as he removed his leather gloves and extended a hand to Matheson. “Well, it seems we come for common purpose Herr Major. What chance it is that we are both here today seeking the aid of our colleagues in the SS.”

“Quite so Herr Major,” Matheson smiled politely. “You have traveled far?”

Bergmann nodded, “From Manching, we landed at Cambrai and followed the trail west.”

“Where they stole your aircraft?” Zimmerman asked with a smile. “I would love to know how they managed that from right under your noses. Quite the scamps these prisoners are turning out to be eh?”

Bergmann’s expression darkened. “They appropriated Luftwaffe uniforms and infiltrated our base. Several men were killed in the distractionary explosions they caused. My Kommandant is extremely keen to have them located and shot as spies.”

“They are prisoners, no?” Zimmermann raised an eyebrow.

Bergmann shook his head and smiled darkly, “Not anymore.”

Matheson caught Down’s eye and scratched his nose.

“Shall we compare notes inside Major?” He asked brightly, “It might seem we seek the same individuals.”

Bergmann seemed momentarily reluctant before nodding his agreement. As Zimmermann escorted them back up the stairs, he fell in line beside the Englishman. “So you are from where Herr Major?”

“Luft XI, the camp in question Major Bergmann, we have been tracking several of these groups for the last few days. We have returned thirty-five prisoners already to the camp.”

Bergmann nodded, looking suitably impressed. “Fine work indeed Major, but please, tell me one thing. How is it you have been so successful when you are at this moment, quite dead?”

Matheson stopped and stared at the German, “I beg your pardon, Herr Major?”

Bergmann smiled and held his arms out, showing the Luger he now held in his right hand. “You are dead Major,” he repeated. “Yourself, Hauptmann Schmidt, Oberleutnant Horler, and the other two Unterfeldwebel we have been tracking for the last few days are, in fact, quite dead. I know this because your bodies were recovered at the camp. This does in fact leave me to wonder how exactly we can be holding this conversation.”

He smirked and shrugged, playing up to the moment theatrically. “Now certain people have suggested our great Führer has an interest in the occult, but I do not. I do not believe it is possible to hold a conversation with the dead. This leaves me in a quandary,” he continued. “Either you are dead and I am experiencing some sort of otherworldly event, or you are in fact, not Major Weber.”

Zimmermann had now stopped, his hand resting cautiously on the holster on his hip. “Major Bergmann, you have proof of this accusation, I suppose?”

Bergmann smiled. It was a pleasant smile in all reality, but coming from that man, at that moment, it carried the sentiment of a shark catching sight of it’s next meal. “Of course Herr Hauptsturmführer, I have all the proof I need. Why don’t you save us the time and tell him yourself Herr Commander Matheson, of His Majesty’s Royal Navy?”

Andrew glanced down at the German’s pistol, now pointed squarely at him, and grinned sheepishly. “I suppose you think you have me at a disadvantage Major Bergmann?” He answered in English.

 

 

Martin Lacroix’s tired eyes watched Maria for a moment, almost not believing what he was seeing. “I thought I was dead.”

“No,” she smiled, “not dead, not yet at least.” Glancing back at the door, she checked her watch. They were so far off script she didn’t exactly know what the others expected of her. She could attempt to take on the Sergeant on her own, but he was a lot bigger than she was, and a gun would draw attention. Voices in the corridor caught her ear.

“Keep up the act, I’ll be back,” She whispered to Lacroix before standing and tiptoeing over to the doorway.

Glancing out into the dim corridor of the basement, she could see Maddox speaking with the SS Sergeant who seemed far more reluctant to admit him than he had her. Reasonably sure that his arrival meant that it was time to act, she slipped out and approached the desk. Maria effected an air of resignation and shook her head as the man turned towards her. “Perhaps you were right Scharführer, the Frenchmen they will not speak.”

Schneider smirked with the self-assured confidence of a man who knew he had been right all along. “I told Zimmermann I’d gotten everything out of them that we could, the little rats wouldn’t talk.”

“Possibly something to do with you being a bloody Nazi,” Maddox observed sarcastically in English, as he clocked the man over the back of the head with the butt of his pistol. The German dropped like a sack of potatoes, hitting the floor with a dull thump.

“That’s a little presumptuous of you, what if he had friends?” Maria replied dryly raising an eyebrow.

Maddox shrugged and waggled the pistol in front of her. “Did you know that the other end of this thing shoots bullets? Really useful for more than one Nazi.”

Maria rolled her eyes and helped the man to tie the sergeant up after they had dragged him behind the desk.

“How are our chaps?”

“Only seen one so far, but he's not fantastic, I suspect the others are similarly injured,” Maria replied with a grimace. “These Nazis are bloody savages.”

“That’s the SS alright,” Maddox nodded, glancing back at the stairs.

“What made us move the plan up?”

Maddox chuckled darkly, “Would you believe your pall Bergmann has shown up? He’s like a bad bloody penny.”

Maria’s blood ran cold at the information. Bergmann being here meant one thing; that he’d somehow tracked them all the way from Germany.

“Does Andrew?”

Maddox nodded, “he’s aware and he’s working something out; you know him. Let’s get these chaps ready to move so that we’re not hanging around eh?”

 

 

“I suppose you think you have me at a disadvantage Major Bergmann?” He answered in English.

Matheson glanced back and forth between Zimmermann and the Luftwaffe Major’s pistol before smiling slyly and fixing his gaze on Bergmann. “Just can’t seem to take rejection, can you old boy?”

Bergmann frowned and his expression darkened. “I do not know what you mean.”

Matheson’s smile broadened. “Oh I’m sure you do old boy; how’s your head?”

Bergmann glowered.

“I’m sure she’ll be glad you’re ok,” The Englishman continued “She’s rather cut up about having to wallop you on the head. Just be glad your gentleman was still in your pants or it might have been worse for you eh?”

Bergmann snarled and his fingers tightened on the pistol. Matheson eased off, realizing he was pushing the man too far. “Look chaps, this is wonderful and everything, but I think we’ve had our fun. Time to leave, I’m rather done with this nazi getup.”

“What makes you think you are in control here?” Bergmann snapped.

Matheson glanced around and shrugged. “Well Old Zimmermann here’s friends are rather busy, and anyone outside that isn’t on our side is a little occupied currently.”

As if to punctuate his point, Hamley and two Frenchmen entered the lobby.

“Your guns gents, please?”

Bergmann grimaced and let the butt of the luger go, allowing the gun to swivel butt-forward on its trigger guard. Matheson plucked the firearm from his grasp before holding his hand out to Zimmerman for his own.

“Gents, why don’t you go secure the place, I’ll hold on to these two.”

With a quick salute, Hamley and the Frenchmen set off into the building and began rounding up the remaining support staff.

“So explain to me what exactly this is? A robbery? A rescue? A suicide mission?” Zimmerman growled as one of the Frenchmen tied his hands behind his back.

“Bit of both old boy, a bit of both,” Matheson admitted, disassembling the two lugers before tossing the parts into a flower pot. “Our French friends told us you had some of their boys here and they asked us for our help to get them back. We somewhat felt like we owed them one after Dunquerque.”

Grinning at Bergmann, he continued. “The truth is, we did escape from prisoner of war camp Luft XI as Herr Bergmann indicated. We took uniforms and identities and used them to escape Germany. Did we kill them ourselves? No; The only Germans I’ve shot had guns in their hands at the time.”

Matheson glanced at Bergmann, “Did he tell you how one of our number managed to slip into his airbase and steal a transport from under his nose? She blew up several hangars and half a dozen aircraft too I believe. You’ve met her already Herr Zimmerman, you sent her downstairs to visit your precious prisoners.”

Zimmermann suddenly seemed extremely nervous, “you are British Agents?”

“No, just opportunistic pilots that want to go home.”

“How are you planning to escape Europe? Do you really think you have a chance to get away with this?” he spat.

“That my dear fellow is for me to know, and you never to find out.” Matheson chuckled.

 

 

Maddox nodded, “he’s aware and he’s working something out; you know him. Let’s get these chaps ready to move so that we’re not hanging around eh?”

“So has Andrew got an actual plan or are we winging this one again?” Maria asked, helping the final Frenchman out into the corridor.

“With Bergmann here? Not sure.” he admitted. “Probably version two of amendment three if I know him.” Maddox offered, kicking the unconscious German to ensure he was still out.

“So we wait till he comes to get us or?”

“I don’t think we’re looking super mobile with these chaps, are we?” Maddox raised an eyebrow glancing at the huddled French prisoners.

Maria could see his point. The Germans had done a number on the poor men in the days that they had been held prisoner. It seemed that brutality was their default modus operandi here with the SS. News that Bergmann was alive both terrified and relieved her. She had worried that she had killed the man back in Manching. As much as she detested him, that hadn’t been her intention. How they would deal with his arrival now worried her the most. He was an unexpected problem that they would need to overcome. There was a chance that it might take her to achieve it.

A bang on the cellar door drew their attention. Maddox moved to the bottom of the staircase with his gun drawn and glanced upwards. “Who’s there?” he called in German.

“Who do ya think, ya silly bollocks,” the thick Irish brogue of Hamley was unmistakable.

“How are things up there?”

“Aye fine, time to go.”

Maddox glanced back at Maria and shrugged. “Iets get out of here, eh?”

With Hamley’s help, they managed to assist the three Frenchmen up to the main floor.

“Where are Andrew and the others?” she asked the Irishman.

“Down is outside with the rest of the Frogs, Mister Laurent and Andy are in the office with our German guests.”

Maria nodded. “Help these guys outside to the truck, I’ll let them know it’s time to go.”

Making her way back into the house, Maria followed the sounds of elevated voices until she found Matheson and the resistance leader with a pair of quite irritated Germans tied to chairs. Matheson was sorting through filing cabinets while Laurent questioned the SS Captain Zimmermann.

“Finding anything useful?” She asked stepping through the doorway.

Bergmann’s head snapped around as he heard her voice. “Well if it isn’t the little bird that fell to earth.”

Maria leaned against the doorjam and regarded the German officer who had held so much power over her back in Manching. It was only a handful of days but it felt like a lifetime ago now. She wasn’t the same woman anymore, and she wasn’t afraid of him. “Not going to try to blackmail me into your bed this time Marcus?”

The German’s look was acidic, his mouth remained closed.

Matheson looked up from the filing cabinet he was searching. “Not so fun when the boot is on the other foot eh Major?”

Bergmann glowered, his teeth gritted. “What I said to you in my office still very much applies… Fraulein… When, and I do mean when you are captured, your deaths will be slow and painful.”

Matheson shook his head and smirked. “The matinee villain bit doesn’t work when you’re strapped to a chair old boy.”

“Time to go,” Maria interjected. “We’ve got the prisoners and we’re loading now, no point in hanging aroun…”

 

 

Maddox was helping the last of the wounded Frenchmen into the rear of the Opel Lorry when he heard the roar of an engine and the squeal of brakes behind them. Over the bonnet of the truck, he spotted a Kubelwagen and a lorry pulling to a stop, seemingly surprised by the knot of vehicles blocking their usual parking spots. The black-uniformed Germans that disembarked let him know in no uncertain terms that the SS had returned from their fruitless mission early.

“The hell are we gonna do now?” Down asked, cocking the bolt on his weapon. “There’s about a dozen of ‘em and they’ve got the only exit.”

Yvette Garnier hopped down from the truck and cursed under her breath. “Merde. They were meant to be occupied for another hour at least.”

Any idea that they might be delaying the Germans with another pretense was lost. The row of bound and kneeling prisoners gave the game away in no uncertain terms. With a snarl, the Frenchwoman checked her magazine and pointed at the American. “You, ‘ere, take the lorry. There is a gate to the rear of the chateau, it leads out into the fields and a farm track. Head that way and we will meet you there. I will fetch the others.”

“You got it, ma’am,” Down answered, heading straight for the cab.

“You and my men, you delay them, d'accord?”

Maddox nodded and flipped the safety off his weapon and squeezed the trigger in the direction of the SS vehicles.

 

 

Her voice was cut off by the sound of gunfire from outside the chateau.

Bergmann smiled darkly, “You were saying Herr Matheson?”

Andrew stuffed the last papers into his jacket pocket and trotted over to the window.

“What’s going on?” Maria asked, joining him but keeping her eyes on the bound men.

“Bloody hell, the damn SS are back early,” he growled, thumping his fist against the sill. “Let’s go,”

“So much for your bravado,” Bergmann smirked. “The shoe is, as they say, on the other food now.”

Maria turned around and marched over to the Luftwaffe Major and grabbed him by the chin before leaning down until she was at eye level.

“I have just about had enough of your goose-stepping, arrogant, self-interested rubbish. I might not have killed you back in Manching, but don’t think that makes me weak.”

The German smiled unpleasantly. “The offer that I gave you back in Manching is still on the table Fraulein Campbell, I meant what I said. I am a generous man, I can forgive a great deal for the right price.”

“Oh, what? This?” Maria raised an eyebrow as she reached down to grab Bergmann’s crotch. Squeezing, she returned the unpleasant smile. “That you imagined I thought so little of myself to consider such an offer is more fool you. If we never meet again Major Bergmann, it will be too soon.”

With a final punctuation mark, she twisted, enjoying the wimper of pain from Bergmann’s lips before she straightened up and walked away.

Waiting by the door, Matheson raised an eyebrow as she stormed past him, barely even glancing up as she passed. “Remind me not to piss you off any time soon.”

“We’ve got a war to fight and a boat to catch. We can worry about this mess later.” She snapped, not bothering to look back as she marched down the stairs.

As Andrew, Maria, and Laurent reached the lobby, The din of battle had raised significantly. Yvette Garnier jogged up from somewhere deeper in the house to join them, a submachinegun in her hands.

“Come, we’re ready to leave. Our men are holding back the Germans, but they will ‘ave reinforcements soon.”

“Front door not an option?” Matheson asked, glancing out to where their vehicles were located.

Yvette shook her head, “Non, the SS, they come home too early and we are working on a backup plan.”

“Sound a lot like you,” Maria quipped, checking the magazine of her pistol. Matheson shot her a sardonic look as he followed the Frenchwoman towards the rear exit.

The group retreated through the chateau away from the sounds of gunfire towards the front. As they were about to slip out the back, Maria remembered something she had seen in the basement earlier.

“Give me a moment, I’ve got to go get something.”

“Now is not the best time, they are coming,” Garnier replied, checking a corner. “We really need to go.”

“I promise, it’s worth it,” Maria pleaded, “I’ll only be a minute, please wait for me!”

She didn’t bother to wait for an answer before ducking through the doorway by the staircase that led down into the cellars of the Chateau. Down the narrow staircase, Maria retraced her steps to the small office near the interrogation rooms that the SS Sergeant had been using. Behind the desk, as she had remembered it, stood a small bookcase filled with files, each with a name and number on the jacket. Crouching down she began to leaf through the folders, looking for one in particular when she realized her mistake.

They had left the SS Sergeant behind the desk, exactly where she was now, and he wasn’t there.

The sound of boot leather against the dusty floor alerted her to the movement before it came. She rolled to the side just in time for the wooden club to impact the side of the desk where her head had been only moments before.

“Get back here you bitch,” The man grunted, yanking at the desk and pulling it across the hard stone floor with ease. “You fucking French assholes… We should kill every one of you terrorist assholes on sight.”

Maria scrambled back across the floor until she backed up against the bookcase. The large German took a staggering step forward, blood dripping from the head wound Maddox had delivered earlier. The wooden club he had tried to kill her with swung lazily in his hand, the wood, Maria could see, was stained with the blood of countless victims of the man’s torture.

Looming over her, the German’s bulk blotting out the light from the single bulb hanging over the space. He leaned down and grabbed the front of her blouse, yanking her up against the wall.

Maria’s mind flashed back to the camp hut and the man whose face was seared into her memory, the man who tried to force himself upon her.

“Sorry to ruin your day, but I’m not French.” She replied in German. The man paused, momentarily uncertain as he looked down at her. “Winston Churchill sends his regards,” she snarled, before pulling the trigger on the Luger pistol she had managed to retrieve from her jacket pocket.

The gun erupted in the enclosed space of the cellar, its shots deafeningly loud. Warm blood splattered across her as the large German staggered back before dropping to his knees. He swayed for a moment before finally keeling over backward, the wooden club clattering away across the floor like a fallen bowling pin.

Maria reached out and grabbed the bookcase to steady herself as she wiped the blood from her cheek. The Luger smoked in her hand, her finger still curled around the trigger. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, holding it before finally exhaling and clearing her head. There wasn’t time to worry now; the Germans were outside and she had a job to do. She couldn’t afford to break down, she would stuff it down inside and handle it later.

Turning back to the bookcase, she found what she was looking for and stuffed the book into her jacket before running back towards the stairs.

As she returned to the lobby, She ran directly into Andrew.

“What the hell happened?” he barked, staring at the blood splattering across her blouse.

“Difference of opinions,” she replied tersely. “Let's get out of here shall we?”

Without another glance, the pair ran for the back door and safety.

 

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