If side-eye was a quantifiable resource, then Daniel Maddox would be one of the wealthiest men on the planet that morning at breakfast. Andrew had returned to his room shortly before dawn after kissing a sleeping Maria goodbye. She had gotten up shortly after, the bed now feeling depressingly empty without his presence. The two of them had needed the night before; it had been a long time coming. It might not have been sensible, but when were things?

Maddox had given Maria a look over breakfast that told her categorically that he knew what they had done. It held not judgment, either positive or negative but was simply informative; he knew. With little desire to alert the entire group, Maria had simply smiled politely in return and accepted his message as understood. She wasn’t sure what Andrew had told him or what explanation he had given for his absence the night before, but she knew the man was far from a fool.

The hotel had served a standard continental breakfast and the group had eaten well. They had known that they would likely not stop again until they crossed into France. The journey would be long but would see them finally able to discard the hated uniforms of their enemy and vanish into the civilian population.

Maria registered the nervous looks and general unease of the wait staff. Their presence as apparent Germans was difficult for them and she felt for the Belgian people. Their home had been invaded and here they were, by all appearances the enemy that had scorned their sovereignty. If they let her fight once more when they returned, she wouldn’t stop until they had their homes back.

Their breakfast finished and their belongings packed, the group returned to the truck and climbed aboard to continue their journey onward. Maria smiled as they trundled down the street past the spot where she had protected the little Belgian girl. She hoped the child would survive the war and grow up in a time of peace.

As the road climbed out of Huy, they turned onto the Chau d’Adenne and accelerated out of town along the southern banks of the Meuse. The tree-lined road carried them westward, through Namur and Charleroi but remaining to the south of Brussels. The route they had planned would cross into France at the city of Valenciennes just south of Lille. The journey was seventy miles of relatively straightforward Belgian roads.

This was it; the final leg of their journey. If everything went to plan, by nightfall they would be in France and with all luck, stealing a fishing boat to cross the channel before dawn. The very idea was almost too wonderful to consider out loud. Conversation was low as it seemed, the group were all lost in their own thoughts of their imminent future. While they had been theoretically free since their departure from the camp, none of the group had felt truly as though they were going home until this very moment. This final stretch of the journey made it all seem tantalizingly real; a thought they hadn’t dared to allow themselves until then.

During their time together, Maria had gotten to know these four men fairly well. She wonder if they too were dreaming of life back at home. She smiled to herself as she pictured Arthur Hamley hugging his wife and daughters back home in Dublin, or Daniel Maddox with his West Highland Terrier, Winston.

As they drove, Maria daydreamed about her family; of her parents, her siblings Richard, Christopher, and Anne back home in England. It had been seven long months since she had heard any news about them and the not knowing was almost more painful than she could have imagined.

Her father and mother were likely well, she knew that. While not a reserved occupation her father was a money man and far too old for military service. His contributions to the war effort happened in the powerful halls of the banks and money houses that powered London and her war effort. Her brothers had both joined the Army; Christopher, older than her by a year was in the West Yorkshires with their Ninth Battalion. He’d made it back from France after the bloody fighting at Dunkerque but only by the very skin of his teeth, riding home aboard some chap's cabin cruiser. Richard her eldest brother was a Captain in the Eleventh Hussars, the Royal Tank Regiment. He was, last she knew, somewhere over in Egypt. News from him had been spotty at best before she had gone down, so his fate was anyone’s guess.

Her sister Anne made her wonder. The girl was younger than her and had just left school. She had no idea what she’d be doing but expected she’d throw in like the other Campbell offspring… her brothers… as far as she knew.

The thought of her sister made Maria the most homesick. She had always been closest to Anne when they were younger, but as teenagers do, she had drifted apart from all of them. She hoped that of all her siblings, Anne would accept her new sister upon her return. She didn’t expect Richard or Christopher to be awful about it, but they were boys after all. That thought alone made her smile to herself as they traveled onward; boys were boys, weren’t they?

The city of Charleroi provided a rest and fuel stop for the group where they could purchase provisions to last them for the onward journey. Little attention was paid to the Opel truck on the roads full of wildly varied military traffic; they were simply one vehicle amongst many.

Their journey onward was without great fanfare. The further West they drove, the more varied units of the German military were present. It gave five apparent Luftwaffe personnel in a lorry an exceedingly good cover.

In almost an insult to the French and Belgians, the border crossing east of Saint-Saulve and Valenciennes was wide open and unstaffed when they arrived. German military traffic flowed freely across the border unhindered by pointless checks in the greater expanded Reich. The line seemed to mark a real turning point in their odyssey however, they had entered France and the final leg of the journey.

“France, sweet France,” Down murmured as he swung the truck south to bypass the city center. “I came here a few times before the war you know. Paris, Marseille, Cannes; really is nothing like it in the world.”

“Not the way I wanted to visit,” Matheson observed as he watched a German patrol searching a lorry on the side of the road. “The climate isn’t quite to my liking at the moment.”

“The wife always wanted me to take her to Paris one day,” Hamley mused from the back of the truck. “She wanted me to take her to the Eifel Tower and the art galleries. That woman thinks I’m made of bloody money.”

“Once this mess is over Arthur, you make sure you take her along,” Andrew called back to the Irishman. “You’ll owe her a bit after the last nine months of heartache.”

“Sure enough I will,” he agreed, “if they don’t hug me to death.”

Down glanced over at the map on the dashboard, “Ninety miles as the crow flies to the coast, and we have most of the afternoon to do it. Where do you want to ditch this thing and change up?”

Matheson studied the map he kept inside his jacket. “Hm, Not quite set, perhaps something south of Arras would be best. We’ll ditch the truck in some woodland, change, and go out and find fresh civvy transport. Lots of small towns and villages around there should be fairly simple to lose this beast.”

Maria glanced over at the map. “No major cities or towns between us and the coast from there. It’s as good as anywhere.”

Matheson nodded his agreement. “Home stretch; keep our formation tight and we’ll see the white cliffs before dawn.”

“I’ve missed those monstrosities,” Maria murmured softly as they whipped along the road.

A short while later, the group stopped to rest outside the village of Bouchain. Long hours in the truck had certainly taken its toll on their bodies and Maria wished sorely that she’d managed to steal an aircraft with more petrol in its tanks.

They had parked down by a broad canal that flowed lazily past on its way west, its murky water heavy with sediment. Provisions purchased cautiously in Belgium could now be consumed in relative comfort, their German cover able to drop for the time being out of the sight of watchful eyes.

Maria slowly buttered a piece of bread before taking a less-than-ladylike bite, her eyes fluttering as the creamy taste hit her senses.

“You look happy,” Andrew pointed out from beside her.

Swallowing, she nodded happily, “I am; real food, real freedom, and an end to this nightmare so close at hand? It’s difficult not to feel blessed today.”

Andrew smiled and squeezed her free hand as it rested in the grass. “I certainly feel extremely blessed today.”

Maria put down her food and turned to the man beside her, a more serious look in her eyes. “Look, Andrew, about last night… We can’t do this again, not until we’re home safe in England. It’s… It’s not because I don’t want to, but we have to focus on important matters.”

“I understand,” he agreed, the slightest tug of a smile on his lips.. “Focus on the task ahead and all that, but after Manching… I couldn’t resist.”

Maria glanced at the others a short distance away and flushed slightly. “Neither could I,” she admitted quietly with a quick embarrassed smile. “But you do understand, don’t you?”

Andrew nodded and squeezed her hand before returning to his food.

 

 

The bed of an Opel Blitz truck was not the most comfortable place on earth to attempt sleep. Maria had traded places with Arthur Hamley to have a spot in the rear to stretch out and get some rest before they reached the coast, but she of all people should have known better. Long hours in the back of a very similar vehicle on her way to the camp had already proven its comfort level to be woefully inadequate.

Maria gave up on her attempts to rest and instead, found a seating position by the tailgate where she could watch the countryside flying past behind them.

“So…” Maddox called from the left bench seat where he was reclining with his rolled-up jacket as an improvised pillow. “My room was rather quiet last night.”

Maria blushed and glanced away before looking back at Maddox. His face was blank, nonjudgemental, but the question remained.

Glancing towards the cab, Maria nodded quickly.

Maddox nodded as though he was already fully aware of the answer. “I know you wouldn’t, but as he’s my oldest friend I fear I would be remiss if I didn’t say something. Please don’t hurt him, ok?”

Maria shook her head emphatically, “my gosh no, I wouldn’t dream of it.” She glanced over at Maddox trying to read his still placid expression. “It…we, it doesn’t bother you, does it?”

Maddox looked up at the canvas cover above them and shrugged. “Why would it? Him man, you woman, go forth and… well perhaps procreate isn’t quite the follow-on from this, but you get a general idea.”

It was far more blunt than she had expected but she appreciated his candor. “Honestly, it wasn’t planned, nor do I plan to repeat it until we are safely home if at all. We need to keep focused and if he can’t, I must for both our sakes.”

“Sensible,” Maddox mused, “not the place for entanglements, but I do understand why they occur.”

“When did you get so wise, Daniel?” Maria asked quietly, as they passed through a small village, its residents going about daily life as best they could under the German occupation.

“I’ve been around the block a few times, but that’s not important,” he shrugged. Maddox’s face looked a lot more serious as he sat up and faced Maria across the bed of the truck.

“I know why you’re worried and believe me; I really am fine with it. This whole mess can’t be easy for you; lord knows, I can barely begin to understand it. One thing however is clear to me, as clear as day. Whatever has transpired, you are quite clearly a woman. Even back in the camp, I think I could see it. There was this, I’m not sure what to call it, feeling?” Maddox shrugged. “I didn’t quite know what it was, but you were different from the others there. I had to fight this growing urge to treat you like my little sister. Hindsight is a powerful force admittedly. When I look back now I see every little sign that you weren’t like us chaps at all but back then it wasn’t as clear.“

Maddox looked over at Maria and smirked. “By the time we scarpered and you took on this version of you, it was exceedingly obviously not a disguise.”

“And here I was, struggling to understand it myself this entire time,” Maria sighed.

“Do you see it now?”

She nodded.

Maddox shrugged and returned to his improvised bunk. “Then I have no problem with you and Andy. I’m glad that something good could come out of this bloody mess.”

Maria watched the French countryside zip past from the tailgate of the German truck. Could she begin to hope that there might be a future for her and Andrew after all this was all over? To hear Maddox trivialize her fears in such a way was both confusing and humbling. That he could sense who she was before she had even readily accepted it herself was extremely validating to her sense of self. In its own small way it proved she wasn’t entirely insane. Time would tell if others felt the same way.

Maria made her way forward and peered through the window into the cab. “Well? Where are we boys?”

Hamley glanced back and smirked. “We’re just debatin’ that lass. See, our driver here thinks we’re near Saint-Léger, but our fearless leader thinks we’re on the road to someplace… Bap oom?”

“Bápaume,” Matheson grinned, shaking his head. “You two doing alright back there?”

Maria nodded and was about to reply when she spotted the tractor slowly hauling a trailer out into the road ahead of them.

“Mike stop!” she screamed, bracing herself against the metal frame of the truck bed as the American slammed on the brakes. The big truck skidded and shuddered as it slowed from the sixty kilometers per hour they were traveling at when they had seen the obstruction. The tractor seemed to grow bigger and bigger in the windshield until the truck finally slid to a stop mere feet from the suddenly very armed farmer aboard it.

“What in the Sam hell is this?” Down growled as a shotgun barrel was tapped briskly against the glass of the driver's side window. Everywhere Maria could see, weapons were pointed in their direction. Civilians armed with a mixture of shotguns, rifles, and assorted submachine guns surrounded them, their weapons trained for the slightest sign of resistance from within the Opel.

They were along the hedgerows, atop the tractor’s trailer, and in the van that had neatly pulled up behind them. Every avenue of escape had been cut off in the blink of an eye and the slightest mistake would result in a deadly duel they had little hope of winning.

“What the hell do we do now?” Hamley whispered under his breath to Matheson, keeping his hands raised.

“I think perhaps, that these are French partisans,” Matheson replied eying the citizen soldiers. “They think we’re Jerries. The fact that we’re not dead yet means that they want something. Let’s not confuse the issue and just keep quiet and play it by ear ok? We don’t know what they want or who they are. They might not want to help escaping airmen after what happened at Dunquerque.”

Around the rear of the truck Maria was facing three armed Frenchmen with weapons trained on herself and Maddox “Keep your hands up, where I can see,” a man at the tailgate ordered in broken German, “ You out now.”

As they climbed down from the truck, Maria realised just how futile any form of resistance would have been. A group of around ten Frenchmen and women were armed to the teeth surrounding the truck on the sleepy French lane. They were too far from any town and there would have been no chance of a random Patrol spotting them in time to effect any kind of rescue, had they, in fact, been actual Germans.

“You all, hands on head, you go over there.” the man barked, resting with his weapon toward the gate the tractor had emerged from. Following his orders, the five were marched through into the secluded field and away from prying eyes.

While the partisans moved the vehicles and their truck out of the roadway, an older man with dark black hair and a thin mustache walked along the line of prisoners regarding each with care. The man carried an older German submachine gun on a sling that appeared to be a relic of the Great War but his casual, easy handling of the firearm spoke volumes however; he was very comfortable with it.

When he spotted the insignia on Matheson’s uniform he stopped before him and looked him up and down before nodding with satisfaction.

“Herr Major, you and your personnel are now my prisoners. Unlike you and your countrymen, I won’t harm you if you follow my orders to the letter. You will even be released back to your own people if my demands are met. You are to be exchanged for my fellow countrymen in your own captivity, pray for your own sake they are still alive and unharmed.”

Matheson shifted his weight, his hands still held casually on top of his head. He grinned slyly before switching to English. “I’m very sorry to ruin your day Monsieur, but you seem to have picked the worst five Germans to take as hostages. I’m afraid we even have an American among our number.”

To his credit, the Frenchman seemed to hide his surprise relatively well. “Excusez-moi, you say you are… English?”

Matheson nodded as he glanced at the partisan’s compatriots watching them uncertainly from the wings. “Royal Navy old chap, this is… a little awkward. May we lower our hands?”

The man waved his hand dismissively and the group lowered their hands. Maria eyed the French partisans cautiously, their guns were still very much pointed in their direction, relaxed or not.

“Explain this to me Monsieur…?”

“Matheson, Lieutenant Commander Andrew Matheson, Royal Navy.” Matheson smiled offering the man a hand. “You understand we weren’t entirely certain what you were after when you rolled up or we’d have said something sooner. There is a war on, you understand.”

“André Laurent, leader of the Maquis du Nord,” the man replied as he accepted the handshake.

Matheson pointed to the others in order. “This is Michael Down an American civilian pilot, Lieutenant Daniel Maddox of the Royal Navy. Flight Sergeant Arthur Hamley and Pilot Officer Maria Campbell both of His Majesty's Royal Air Force.”

A redheaded woman with her hair up in a scarf approached Laurent and whispered into his ear, all the while eying them suspiciously. The man nodded and the woman stepped forward to address them. “So explain to me why are you English are driving through the French countryside in a German lorry, wearing uniforms of their air forces?”

Matheson reached inside his jacket, pausing momentarily when ten weapons snapped their focus onto him before slowly extracting his cigarette case and wagging it at the trigger-happy French to show it was harmless. Offering one to Laurent and the woman, he took one for himself and lit it before casually puffing away.

“Jumpy lot aren’t you? The short answer is that we are escaping prisoners of war. We took uniforms and identification from Germans at our camp to allow us to masquerade as Jerries and hoof it across Europe without raising too many eyebrows. You’ve caught us just short of ditching these togs for civilian attire. We were on our way home to England, not that your fine country isn’t worth a visit.”

“Where did you come from?” the woman pressed, “What camp?”

“Stalag Luft IX, near Regensburg.”

The woman turned to Laurent with a Gaelic shrug, “They might be telling the truth, there was a mass breakout reported there last week. It ties in with some reports we have had.”

Laurent raised an eyebrow and regarded the group for a moment. “You mean to tell me that you drove all the way across Germany in stolen uniforms all the way to France?”

Down smirked at the aghast Frenchman. “Well sir, if you don’t mind me saying, we flew about half the way.”

 

 

The resistance fighters were based at a remote farm several miles to the south of where they had been stopped. It was an old white-walled Napoleonic structure reminiscent of times long past and, from the exterior, it gave no sign of its true purpose. With their credibility settled for the time being, the group had driven their truck back to the farm with an escort from their strange new bedfellows.

The appearance of the resistance fighters had created a new bump in the road ahead for the group. Clearly unsuitable bargaining chips for the French, they were as yet unsure how they would fit into André Laurent’s plans to free his men. One thing the group had agreed, however, was that if they could, they would offer their help.

After the evacuation of the British Expeditionary Forces from Dunquerque in the summer of 1940, most of the British and Commonwealth forces had felt as though they had let down both the French and themselves. The British did not cut and run; the affair had been a slight on the national dignity. Any chance to get payback would be a welcome one.

The farmyard was, at a glance, utterly unremarkable in its normality. Once inside the barn, however, a hatch beneath the hayloft revealed a cellar that was home to Laurent’s band.

“This place it allows us to stay out of the view of the Germans, they do not know it is here,” André explained as he led them down. “They build it during the Napoleonic wars, a place to avoid the fighting. For us, it serves a purpose to keep the invaders off our scent.”

“Not bad digs,” Matheson agreed, glancing around the well-furnished stone cellar. The space’s footprint extended far further than the surface barn might have suggested and had tunnels branching off in several directions toward the farmhouse and woodland behind them. The walls were lined with weapons and supplies and gas lamps burned merrily giving it a close and warm atmosphere.

“You have all been traveling for some time?” The redheaded woman asked, unslinging her weapon and placing it onto a rack against the far wall. “Excuse my manners, I am Yvette Garnier. I am the, how you say… sister by marriage of this miscreant.” She offered nodding at André. “My husband, he died when the Nazis first invaded our homeland.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Maria offered quietly. She knew that they suffered a great deal at home, but here, the French were living the reality of the war in ways she couldn’t begin to comprehend. Here, their homes and lives were under daily onslaught from the Nazi scourge.

“So how can we help?” Matheson asked, cutting straight to the point. “The way I see things, you have a problem, and so do we. I can’t speak for the others but we’d like to do what we can under the circumstances.”

The group nodded, their agreement was clear. They were only five, but if they could help in any way, they had every intention of doing what they could.

Laurent glanced at Garnier who seemed to consider the offer for a moment before shrugging, her expression blank as she stood with arms crossed. Turning back to Matheson, the Frenchman extended his hand and grasped the Naval pilots. “Merci, Lieutenant Commander, I accept your offer.”

“You mentioned they had some of your men?” Maddox queried.

“That they do,” Laurent sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging. “Three of my men were taken by the Nazi SS police during a recent operation. From what we know, they are holding them at their ‘eadquarters nearby in a town called Saint-Léger. Those swine, they take over a house on the south end of town that they are using to conduct operations in the region against resistance elements.

Matheson nodded thoughtfully, “And you wanted to trade some Jerry officers for their lives? Risky business.”

“My youngest brother, his son, and a good friend” Andé offered quietly with a dejected sigh. “I have to try non?”

“Why not just pull off what we did back in Manching?” Down asked. “Walk in the door.”

Matheson shook his head. “Sadly that wouldn’t work; this is the SS, they’re Hitler’s paramilitary police outfit, not the Luftwaffe. They are extremely territorial and the branches already keep to themselves in most things. We would need a bloody great reason to just show up.”

“What about us?”

The others turned to Maria, confusion evident on their faces.

“What about us… escaped prisoners. They’d be interested in us, right? I’m sure they already are.”

“What are you getting at? Surrender?” Down asked uncertainly.

“No no,” Maria shook her head emphatically. “They’ve got to know about our escape, you said it yourself, Madmouselle Garnier.”

Yvette raised her eyebrows and nodded. “Oui, they’re certainly aware of the Luft IX incident, it stands to reason the SS would be well informed, but they have no reason to suspect you ‘ave made it to France however.”

“Let’s give them one then,” Maria insisted, a smile spreading on her lips. “Look, we turn up, we’re Luftwaffe personnel on the hunt for escapees, this is our mess we’re cleaning up, doff caps and ask for help from the glory boys…a little groveling and they’d love it. It’s the kind of thing they’d expect.”

Matheson nodded enthusiastically. “That would work. It would get us in the door, but what we do after that point would be quite hard to predict.”

Laurent seemed to be warming to the idea. “We know they keep their prisoners on site; in the cellar of the house. From what my spies report, it is perhaps, twenty men.”

Matheson nodded and seemed to ponder the idea for a moment. “It’s a tall ask my friend. That’s a lot of Germans and none of us are soldiers in the literal meaning of the word.”

“You have gotten this far?” Laurent pointed out, “More than most I would say. Look, my spies tell me we have three days before they’re moved down to Paris to a central interrogation facility. If you can help me get them back, I’ll ensure you and your group make it home to England, we ‘ave a deal perhaps?”

Matheson glanced at the others, gauging their feelings on the subject. Maria could tell he was weighing his responsibility to them versus the Frenchman’s offer. The request was steep, but she felt confident that they would help. She also knew that they owed the French enough to at least try their damnedest.

Matheson nodded to the group and turned back to Laurent, “let's go liberate some Frenchmen.”

 

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