From the Author:
This book originally started life as Angels High, which I wrote back in 2010... wow! I returned to it this year and decided it deserved to be finished. It outgrew its novella intentions and became a novel in its own right. Now ENTIRELY rewritten from start to finish (It is completed) I present... The Angel On Her Wing. She deserved a new title because she's an entirely new book; one that young me could never have written. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter One - Bandits Twelve O’Clock

There was nothing quite as beautiful as a late summer morning in the English countryside. The day had not yet found its fire as Pilot Officer Brian Campbell stretched lazily on his deckchair by the Squadron hut. It was pleasantly warm as the mid-morning sun played lazily over the grassy expanse of The Royal Air Force’s Biggin Hill Aerodrome. Behind him, the Supermarine Spitfires of the Forty-Thrird Fighter Squadron lay waiting for their crews and the day’s inevitable call to action. All around him, his fellow pilots sat, trying to occupy their time before they were called to fight. Some read the newspaper, others slept, and most sat conversing quietly amongst themselves. The tranquility of the scene belied the reality of a momentary break in the savagery of modern warfare.

It was often said by the men of the Royal Air Force that August of 1940 would have been a glorious time had someone mentioned to Mister Hitler that it was cricket season. Every day the men and planes of Fighter Command took to the skies above England to fend off the swarms of Nazi warplanes that plagued land like gnats to a horse. The Battle of Britain was in full swing as they fought the German Luftwaffe for control of their home island.

Drawing on his third cigarette that morning he allowed his eyes to drift up to the sky above, watching the clouds roll past in a lazy procession. This damned war; for all its danger and uncertainty it had certainly given his life some meaning.

Brian had always been the preverbal black sheep of the well-regarded Campbell family. While his school grades had always been good and he had never sullied the family name, he was never able to truly find favor with his strict father. His older brothers were ideal sons; successful sportsmen at school, academically successful, and with a string of girlfriends, they were perfect in their father’s eye. Both had joined the Army before the outbreak of war and now served distinguished careers.

Brian had always been encouraged to follow in their footsteps for the good of the family but seemed to always fall far short of expectations. His father’s career in finance seemed dull and meaningless to him, and as for sports; he simply wasn’t cut from the same cloth as his far larger siblings. Briand had always taken after his mother. He shared her fair hair and short stature; something his father seemed to greatly lament.

Leaving school at eighteen, he had attended university as a way of avoiding his parents’ repeated insistence that he find a job, find a girl, and settle down. Of course, he had made all the correct noises about advancing his life and career without ever holding any real convictions on the subject; nothing had ever felt right to him. His studies were interrupted by the outbreak of war in Europe had provided him with a chance to escape his father’s mournful disappointment. It had given him the chance to fulfill the niggling feeling that he should make a man of himself. It was good for that much at least.

War was a grand distraction for Brian. It helped him to shove aside his malaise at life and focus instead on something far larger than himself. Nobody could protest his putting off his life decisions when there was a war afoot. The Royal Air Force had only seemed logical; His uncle had been with the Royal Flying Corps in the Great War. During childhood, Brian had spent many a happy summer on his Uncle’s farm in Kent learning to fly in his little Dehaviland Puss Moth.

When the RAF had learned his family name, he had been quickly accepted and entered the pilot training program. Early experience in the war and the poor progress of the British Expeditionary Force in France had changed his career trajectory when command had needed more fighter pilots. Brian hadn’t minded; for once he had found something that he was good at.

The shrill ring of the telephone in the squadron hut snapped him from his thoughts as it did every single man on the flight line. The seconds ticked by slowly as the call was answered; almost always it was a scramble. Of course, there were the occasional false alarms and admin phone calls that got the pilots on edge as they waited for the next frantic burst of action but today was not to be that day. Sergeant Tomlinson’s appearance at the doorway to the hut was enough clarification for Brian and the others in the duty section that this was no false alarm. The pilots were halfway to their aircraft before they heard him call the official order: The boys of Forty-Three Squadron were the best in the whole Royal Air Force.

Jumping into the cockpit of his Spitfire, Brian ran through the startup sequence for his aircraft’s mighty engine with one hand while he used the other to fasten his flight harness about his torso. Checking the straps were secure, save for those at his crotch, he checked over the vibrating cockpit instruments as the Spitfire roared to life. All along the line of aircraft, clouds of smoke and bursts of noise signaled that the squadron was roaring to life. A crewman slammed his door closed and latched it before clapping him on the shoulder as they hopped off the wing. Brian gave the man a salute before opening the throttle a crack and releasing the brakes.

The aircraft began to roll forwards across the grass as he made his final instrument checks and lined up for takeoff alongside his wingmen. He wasn’t sure why he always made sure that he left the parachute straps loose, but it had become almost a personal preflight ritual. He remembered during training, one of his instructors had joked to the group about keeping them too tight for too long was a sure way to see off fatherhood. Like the other young and inexperienced trainee pilots, he’d burned the advice into his memory.

The Spitfire’s engine growled as Brian throttled up for takeoff, the power forcing him back into his seat as he began to accelerate across the airfield. The mighty Rolls Royce Merlin engine’s torque was so powerful that he had to give the aircraft right stick to avoid it winging over and digging into the grass as the tail lifted. Within seconds, the aircraft was pulling itself up into the air and away from the green and pleasant lands of England down below.

“Ascot three, airborne.” He called over his radio transmitter as the heavy metallic sounds of the landing gear tucking themselves into the wings of his fighter reverberated around the thin airframe. Testing the response of the controls with a quick wiggle, he settled into a steep intercept climb alongside his comrades.

“Roger that Three; form up at angels one eight with section, Ascot One out.”

Ascot flight grouped up in tight formation at the designated altitude and cruised south from Biggin Hill towards the channel coast.

The radio crackled in Brian’s flying helmet. “Hello Skipper, Ascot two, what’s on the menu today sir?”

“What have I told you about calling me Sir, Jenkins? For god’s sake stick to radio protocol.” Squadron Commander Barton replied sharply over the radio from the front of the echelon.

Brian smiled as he listened to the sweet sound of someone else suffering the Commanding Officer’s ire.

“Twenty bandits at angels one five; approaching from the southeast… Just bombers lads.” Barton advised. “Don’t get bloody sloppy on me, there might be fighters lurking above them that Radar can’t see so I don’t want anyone showing off, copy?”

Responses from all aircraft signaled their understanding as Ascot flight climbed above the incoming bombers and waited to spring their trap. Masked from view by the cloudy coastal skies, the German aircrews never saw the fighters until it was far too late. The agile aircraft descended on the lumbering Heinkel bombers with the gusto of lurking predators.

The battle was swift and brutal as the fighters darted amongst the German aircraft. Despite their tactical advantage, their training had only barely prepared them for the reality of aerial combat. Tracer fire arced through the sky from the guns of the bombers who desperately maintained their close-packed formation to ward off the marauding aircraft. The g-forces slammed Brian around his cockpit as he ducked and weaved avoiding the vicious streams that lanced towards him.

Every time he depressed the trigger on his control grip, the entire aircraft shuddered violently with the recoil of the .303 machine guns mounted in his wings. The battle was a violent medley of sight, sound, and sensation as they fought to down the German aircraft before they could release their deadly cargo on their targets down below. One by one, the Luftwaffe bombers plummeted from the sky, their broken forms enveloped in smoke and fire, the white dots of parachutes littering the sky.

“One more in the bag, I think that’s the last of ‘em boys. Jolly good work,” Barton announced triumphantly as he climbed back to join the formation after trailing the fiery plummet of a stricken bomber down towards the British countryside.

The radio crackled in Brian’s headset as he heard the voice of his friend Andy Gold. “Ascot Four to Ascot lead, we’ve got two limping away at low altitude. Do I have permission to pursue over?”

Audibly sighing over the radio, Barton reluctantly agreed. “Roger that Four, Three will go with you, and don’t drop your guard, over.”

“Wilco sir, Four out.”

“Tallyho Brian.” Gold called before diving down after the disappearing jerry bombers. Brian shook his head and smirked as he rolled his Spitfire over and dove to follow his wingman.

The two spitfires dropped down and began to trail the enemy bombers as they attempted to flee back towards the channel. Safely out of kicking range of the German aircraft’s guns, they closed the distance. Brian slipped his Spitfire into an attack position off the lower quarter of the damaged aircraft, it was best to stay away from directly astern of the Jerry bomber. As he began to line up the kill, the Heinkel’s starboard engine began trailing a thick black pall of smoke that obscured his view.

“No good Andy, I can’t get a clean shot through the smoke, take a pop at the Bosh and I’ll cover you.” He offered, deferring the kill to his wingman off to his right.

“Roger that Brian, I’ll save you the other one,” Gold chuckled, maneuvering his fighter in for the kill.

As the aircraft got closer, the Heinkel’s final engine spluttered and died spraying thick black engine oil out into its wake. Lining his guns up on the sedate target, Flying Officer Andy Gold never saw it coming as the thick black oil smothered his windshield.

“Blast it Brian I can’t see a bloody thing, I’m pulling out!” He called breaking off from the attack. Brian was in the process of lamenting the difficulty of downing two limping Jerry bombers when he saw his wingman’s fatal error and felt the sickening grip of dread. Instead of diving away to safety, his wingman and friend pulled back on his controls for fear of the low altitude and brought his Spitfire directly into the dorsal gunner’s sights. Yanking his aircraft sharply to port, Brian barely missed being hit by the burning wreckage of Gold’s Spitfire as it was torn to pieces by the hail of German bullets.

“Andy!” Brian screamed in futility as fragments of Gold’s aircraft clattered off his fuselage. “You damn fool, you damn fool…”

With a heavy heart, he centered his crosshairs on the bomber’s port engine and jabbed angrily at the trigger. He felt the airframe shudder as the Spitfire’s eight .303 guns rained down on the German aircraft. With a lurch, the bomber began to come apart before rolling over and diving into the ocean. “That one’s for Andy,” Brian muttered to himself as he lined up on the healthier of the two enemy bombers which was now diving and twisting in erratic evasive maneuvers in a desperate attempt to escape.

Taking a breath, he focused his attention on the final bomber as it dove into a fog bank low above the water. Staying on top of the fog, Brian waited for the German to resurface. He could see the edge of the fog bank coming up quickly and was ready on his trigger to send the bomber to join its wingman once he reappeared.

Without warning, the German bomber speared up out of the fog and shot across his nose. Brian reacted quickly, pulling the trigger as he rolled to port to avoid a collision, his rounds raking the belly of the German beast as it screamed past. His aircraft rattled and shuddered as a bust of fire from the German’s dorsal gunner ripped into his belly.

Circling around again, Brian took stock of his aircraft after the surprise encounter. His instrument panel was smoking and sparking, although for the moment, all seemed to be well with his engine. Feeling his legs and torso, he found no injuries. Craning his neck, Brian looked around desperately as he tried to spot the lone enemy aircraft in the swirling clouds, but it had vanished once again. Dropping down, he dove down under the cloud layer and skimmed the surface fog in a vain attempt to find the marauder as it tried to slither back to its own lines.

The world between the clouds was bright and eerie, a world of mist and shifting shapes. The sun’s light penetrated unevenly through the upper layer, casting warping shadows onto the sea fog below. Out of the corner of his eye, Brian spotted a moving shape a distance off to his starboard. Moving closer to get a better look, he recognized the shadow cast by the German bomber as it was silhouetted by the sun above. The bomber was hiding in the upper layer of cloud, attempting to sneak back to friendly skies.

Brian used the shadow as a guide and eased himself into position to the rear of where the German aircraft would be as he flew alone through the strange in-between world in the clouds. Once he judged himself close enough, he eased back on the controls and began to climb slowly towards the aircraft like a shark rising from the deep. The world became grey around him as he climbed into the clouds, relying entirely on his instruments. Keeping his bearings, he rose until eventually, he could just make out the tail of the German bomber through the soup. Smiling darkly to himself, he depressed the trigger and opened up with all of his guns.

The bomber burst into flames as the bullets ripped through its engines and fuel tanks, lighting the clouds around it in iridescent color. The aircraft seemed to falter and sway before it dove spiraling down into the fog, never to be seen again.

Gritting his teeth, Brian resisted the urge to celebrate the kill. Methodically, he eased back on the controls and began his climb up and out of the clouds to find clear air once more. Keying his radio, he called the boss. “Ascot Three to Ascot Leader, Jerries down, but… sir, Ascot Four bought it, over.”

Hearing no reply Brian tapped his transmitter switch and tried again, greeted only by the cold tone of static. “Ascot Three to any aircraft, do you read me over?” He tried again, cycling through the radio’s channels, hoping that for some simple reason, things would work again. He shook his head and unclipped his mask before muttering a curse under his breath; another repair to add to the list for the ground crew back home.

However, at that moment in time, his blinkered pursuit of the German bomber left him entirely unaware of where home exactly was.

Checking through his instruments, Brian began to spot damage throughout the aircraft. His fuel gauge, compass, and radio all seemed to have faults, holes, or damage. The German gunner’s rounds had done a number on his poor spitfire; heaven knows, looking out at his wings showed that he had been utterly peppered. Gentle tests of his flight controls showed them to be working as well as he could hope under the circumstances. It was a small mercy, he supposed. More worrying was the fact that he now found himself high above the channel, low on fuel, and utterly clueless as to his exact location.

Dropping down below the clouds left him a narrow corridor of several hundred feet above the dirty gray waves of the English Channel. He had three hundred and sixty choices to make and while two hundred and seventy of them would result in reaching land at some point, the remaining ninety could fly him out into the open Atlantic without hope of survival. Crossing his fingers on the control grip, he banked left and took a chance. Sailing had been one of the few interests he had shared with his father. That memory of childhood brought one fact to the forefront of his brain at that moment however: In the morning, winds predominantly blew out from or into the channel, bound either for, or coming in from the Atlantic Ocean with the tides, and judging by the wave patterns, he could estimate broadly which direction that was. Completing the turn, he leveled off flying parallel to the waves below praying that his fuel load held out long enough for him to reach dry land.

Within fifteen minutes of his decision, Brian’s gamble appeared to have paid off; he began to make out the dark mass of land through his propeller’s blur. Heartened by his discovery, Brian opened the throttle to a fighting speed, unsure which coast he was approaching: He didn’t very well want to go strolling over the French coast and become a leisurely target to the anti-aircraft guns the Jerries lined the cliffs with since the fall of France.

Dropping down to the wave tops. He pushed onwards, hoping his gamble would land him on friendly soil. By his estimation his fuel load had to be dropping dangerously low; any port in a storm suited him just fine at that moment.

Racing up over the beach and headland, he sped inland encountering no immediate resistance. It wasn’t a part of England he recognized, but there was no anti-aircraft fire. Flying low over a coast road, his heart sank; traffic was passing by on the wrong side of the road and to make matters worse, it was all dull grey German military traffic.

Brian’s heart rate quickened and he yanked back on the controls, urging his aircraft up and away from potential ground fire. He was flying alone over occupied France with extremely low fuel and a damaged kite. He knew that his chances of making a return trip to England successfully were slim. At between twenty and forty miles in width, depending on the portion of the coast he was over, he estimated that he would need to swim a good distance of the way home at the very best. His other options were less inviting still; bail out now, attempt a crash landing when he ran out of fuel, or wait for a Jerry fighter to turn up and deal with his wounded aircraft.

It was the first time since he had joined the RAF that Brian had been required to decide his own fate with more than just guns and guts: It was not a pleasant feeling to realize one would either die or spend the rest of this sordid affair in a prisoner of war camp. That morning his biggest decision had been whether or not he wanted eggs with his breakfast. He was still pondering his fate when the chatter of guns behind him told him unequivocally that the decision had already been made by a higher power than himself.

Brian cursed and yanked at the controls throwing the fighter into a steep turn up and away from the tracer fire streaking past his cockpit. He worked to evade the German fighter that had so successfully stalked its prey until it was well within striking distance. Diving steeply he barely dodged a second burst as he used what he expected to be the last of his fuel in this fruitless dance. He jerked his head around quickly from side to side trying to catch sight of the aircraft behind him. The German stayed close and remained glued to his tail regardless of the maneuvers he pulled off. That fact alone worried him greatly: For a Jerry pilot to be able to match a Spitfire in their older and less maneuverable Messerschmitt he would have to be quite the aviator.

Brian shook himself mentally and cleared his head. He couldn’t let the German pilot win before the battle was even over. The man clearly knew what he was doing, and what to expect. He was probably a veteran aviator, meaning he’d seen a great deal of spitfires if he was able to keep with one. What Brian needed, was something the man hadn’t seen yet. As he ducked and weaved, dodging short sharp bursts from the German’s guns, he had an idea and it hadn’t come from his RAF training.

Flying with his uncle reminded him of how the little monoplane he owned would buck and pop up when they deployed its flaps, boosting the little aircraft up on short takeoffs. Brian considered the act for a moment. He needed to turn the tables on the German with an unconventional move the pilot wouldn’t expect; It was risky but offered greater odds than the certain death that waited should he keep up this fruitless game of cat and mouse. He didn’t know what it would do to his damaged aircraft, but he had little choice. Using what he knew of the German attacker’s weaknesses, he opened the throttle wide and began to accelerate away from his pursuer. At first, the slower German aircraft lagged behind but soon began to eat away at the gap as it built momentum. As the plane got bigger and bigger behind him in his mirror, Brian cut the throttle and dropped the spitfire’s landing flaps as he hauled back on the controls with all his strength. With a stomach-churning lurch that forced him down into his seat, the fighter creaked and complained as it lept upwards losing significant airspeed. Unable to react in time, the 109 still fighting to match the speed of its faster prey shot beneath Brian’s aircraft. Closing his flaps Brian nosed down and took advantage of the change in positions by opening fire with the browning machine guns mounted within the leading edge of his wings. The German fighter began to smoke as Brian’s bullets raked across it. His guns clicking dry, Brian could only watch as the fighter began to spiral downwards into its death throws. The canopy popped off and he saw the pilot bail out, his white chute popping against the green of the landscape down below.

Banking around, Brian circled the German pilot as he descended under silk towards the French countryside. He knew that he too would soon join the man. Passing the man one final time, he cut his opponent a jaunty salute like a knight acknowledging his defeated opponent. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to see if the man returned the gesture.

As Brian rolled away to find a location to set the crippled aircraft down, the stresses of the fight and the existing damage caught up to the Spitfire suddenly and violently. With a sickening tear, the port wing ripped away at its root causing the aircraft to roll upside down and begin a vicious spiral towards the ground.

Fighting the g-forces, Brian desperately tried to lift his arms to release his harness. The few seconds it took felt like minutes as the aircraft plummeted closer to the ground. As his fingers reached the catch and released the straps, he was slammed against the sidewall of the cockpit knocking the wind from his chest.

Adrenaline pulsed through his veins he grasped for the canopy handle above his head and fought to find purchase on the release. Fingers finally closed around the handle and he yanked at the catch as hard as he could. The catch slipped free and the canopy was ripped backward by the wind that suddenly enveloped the cockpit. Struggling to breathe in the strong airflow Brian forced his complaining muscles to comply and lift him upwards and toward salvation, his body straining against the crushing forces. With a monumental effort, he dragged his torso upwards and out of the cockpit. Gasping for air as it sped past, he forced his legs to lift him into the buffeting wind. Feeling drained by the simple act of climbing out of the cockpit he lifted himself a fraction higher till the wind caught his body and dragged him from the stricken craft.

As he was yanked by the slipstream, he felt his harness catch momentarily as he tumbled away from the aircraft. Opening his arms as he was taught, he fought to stabilize himself as his Spitfire hurtled past him towards the ground. Tugging at his harness with his gloved hands he checked for damage; His waist strap was flapping in the wind but everything else seemed in order. Ensuring he had a strong grip on his shoulder harness he yanked at the ripcord and waited for the jolt that would follow. It felt as though it took minutes for the tiny drogue chute to pull his main clear but suddenly the parachute unfurled with a deafening crack as it caught the wind, slamming him into his harness as his terminal plummet was brought to an immediate halt. He was, however, barely aware of this as bright white pain flooded his entire body and darkness claimed him.

Brian’s vision swam slowly back into focus as sharp pain coursed through his body. He could hear the rustle and creak of the wind in his parachute and felt the weight of his body against the harness straps that held him aloft. When his mind cleared enough to focus, he began to groggily search for where the bullet had hit him. Finding no blood, he realized the pain was radiating out from his crotch. The damn loose jump straps he realized: His harness was so comfortable in the cockpit and he hadn’t the time to even think about tightening them when it had come time to leave the aircraft. As the parachute had deployed the damaged waist strap had allowed the full weight of his body to slam down into the harness with enough force to make him black out.

Brian fought the pain to stay conscious as he drifted down toward the ground. Each gust of wind that caught the parachute felt as though a knife was being twisted in an open wound. The French countryside rushed up towards him as he hung below the billowing white silk. Brian grimaced through the blinding pain as he attempted to brace for a parachute landing the way the instructors had taught him, but before he was ready, he slammed into the damp morning grass and the world turned black.

Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!

From the Author:

Note, the references to Spitfires were changed to Hurricanes to better reflect 43 Squadron's actual aircraft.

Chapter Two - The Future

To this day, there is a great deal that we do not understand about the human mind. We can often theorise how it works and how it processes our emotions but many elements are as alien to us as the surfaces of distant worlds. Our dreams often serve as a sorting yard for our waking sensations. They are a world in which we can subconsciously file away our emotions and feelings into more recognizable and more digestible elements that allow our lives to go on in as unhindered a fashion as possible.

Brian’s dreams were filled with violence and fire. He did not replay his final waking moments in order, but rather a journey of more general sensation as his troubled subconscious attempted to process the sheer volume of signals and sensations that had rushed through it in the moments before the darkness claimed him. For a human being to feel so much, so very much while under such extreme stress was and is still poorly understood.

Flashes of gunfire and burning wreckage flashed through his mind as he relived his fraught and terrifying battle to survive. The adrenaline-fueled horror of combat warped and demonised the Nazi aircraft into strange and horrifying visions of evil. Cannon fire shook his aircraft as blood and oil clouded his eyes. The aircraft shook, jolting his body violently. Fire and terror gripped him as his eyes snapped open suddenly, searching for the eldritch horrors that pursued him. Instead of fire and violence, the sky above him was a beautiful blue. The blood rushing through his ears began to subside, only to be replaced by the growling rumble of a truck engine.

It took his foggy mind a moment to comprehend where he was and what had happened. No longer lying in a French field, he felt the hardness of wooden boards beneath him and the vibration of a truck engine. The trees lining the roadway flashed by between the bars that secured the canvas cover to the body. His eyes wandered slowly over the people seated around him. German Field grey uniforms and helmets lined the benches on either side. It took him a surprisingly long time to realise that they were looking at him.

“Du bist aus England, ja?” Asked a man kneeling to his left, seeing that Brian was awake. “You are Englisch, English pilot, RAF yes?”

Brian nodded weakly, raising his hand to his head. “Yes, I am English,” he groaned quietly, apprehensive of the response his admission would receive from what he now realised was his German captors.

The Soldier nodded as if he had suspected as much. “You lie still Englisch. You are hurt. We take to Field Hospital. You are prisoner now.”

Brian nodded but remained silent. A Prisoner of War camp was his future from now on and there was little point resisting his fate in his current state. His best chance of escape, it was said, was during the first few hours after capture; however, in his current condition, he was in no shape to fight back. His body was a canvas of different painful sensations and he wasn’t even sure he could stand. He had done his job, he’d fought and killed and it was over. With a calm acceptance of his fate, he allowed the pain in his head to reclaim his consciousness.

When Brian woke up again, he was lying on a bed under a gently rotating ceiling fan. There was a strong smell of disinfectant in the air and the unmistakable tang of blood that told him unequivocally that he was in a hospital. Looking around, he could see nurses attending to rows of occupied beds similar to his own. He wasn’t sure if they were all Germans or fellow prisoners like himself.. Besides medical staff, he could see no guards watching over him. Raising his hand slowly and carefully, he confirmed his suspicions; he was handcuffed firmly to the metal frame of the bed.

Upon hearing the rattle of the cuff, a dark-haired nurse in a smart white uniform turned away from a chart she had been reading and approached his bed.

“Hello, can you tell me your name?” she asked politely in German-accented English. “We need it for our records.” She shrugged apologetically. “I am not here to interrogate you, but it would help us ensure you are recorded as captured, not dead,” she offered as Brian hesitated.

“Brian Campbell,” he offered simply, not quite certain of who he could trust at present, military or otherwise.

“Ok Mister Campbell,” the nurse smiled. “You are in a Military Hospital in Valognes, a patrol found you and brought you in after your aircraft crashed not too far from here.”

“How long have I been here?” Brian asked quietly, closing his eyes and grimacing as a jab of pain shot through his body once more. “Do you know what happened to me?”

The nurse smiled sympathetically and lowered herself into the plain chair beside Brian’s bed. “You were brought in two days ago as far as I know. I was not working at the time, but it must have been then. As for what is wrong with you, I can tell you that you needed surgery to repair a bleed. Beyond that, you will need to ask the doctor about the specifics when he comes around. I know that at this time you are at no risk though, your charts show you are recovering well. Your vitals are good and you seem coherent enough for a head injury, so things are not so grim yes?” she smiled, touching Brian’s arm.

“Aside from being in an enemy military hospital, I’d be inclined to agree with you.” Brian murmured softly, “thank you, nurse.”

Squeezing his arm with a polite smile, the nurse stood and left him to attend to another patient in the ward.

Brian lowered his head back to the pillow and tried to focus on the ceiling fan above him. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore. His body hurt, and he wasn’t in a position to examine himself as he lay cuffed to the bed. He’d never been this seriously injured before in his life, even as a child, so his expectations of hospitals in general were limited.

His body hurt, though where specifically was hard to place as he was on relatively strong pain medication, drip-fed into him by the German medical staff. He remembered the pain he felt when his parachute opened and how it had sliced through his body like a hot poker. He could move his legs and hips, although painfully, so he assumed that he hadn’t somehow shattered his pelvis in the accident.

The fate of the German pilot he had battled with over the French countryside also clawed at the back of his mind. The man had been good, he knew that. The very fact he had survived almost felt like a miracle. By rights, the more experienced aviator should have torn him to shreds. He felt almost guilty having won the duel. He hoped the man had survived their encounter.

Later that afternoon, Brian was woken by a stern-looking older man with a thin moustache and round wireframed spectacles hovering above his bed. The man’s white coat was indicative of his career, even if the stethoscope around his neck had not given the game away.

“Doctor?” he asked groggily attempting to move himself up into a sitting position.

The doctor frowned absent-mindedly and waved a hand at Brian to remain where he was. “You are awake I see? Good. I wish to make you aware that you were injured by your parachute landing and there were complications, but you are recovering well. I have been instructed by the Luftwaffe to attend to your immediate medical concerns and then turn you over to them for transfer to a Prisoner of War camp when I deem you healthy enough to travel,” he replied stiffly.

“What complications?” Brian asked, concern edging his voice.

“Those… I am not permitted to comment on that at this time,” the doctor replied firmly. His mask of indifference slipped slightly to one of mild discomfort as he spoke. “You must wait for the Luftwaffe Officer who is coming to explain this to you.”

“Hey, I have a right to know what’s bloody wrong with me,” Brian shot back. “Am I your patient or the Luftwaffe’s?”

The doctor frowned deeply. “You are not my patient by choice, Englishman; I treat you because I must, as a doctor, not because I like you.”

“Surely a medical issue is just… it’s right that you tell me?”

The man hesitated, almost as though he was considering telling Brian the truth. Instead, he turned and left briskly without further word.

Brian was frustrated by the German physician’s attitude, but shrugged it off; he was, after all, an enemy combatant. There was no reason to expect flowers and chocolates at his bedside. He was more concerned however by the reference the doctor made to ‘complications’. It seemed at odds with his reportedly good health. The man’s apparent discomfort certainly made him uneasy.

That the doctor would not tell him the truth was frightening. What could be so horrific that he didn’t want to tell him? Brian tried to dig through the muddy pain and narcotic haze that he felt to locate the source of his injuries but failed. Nothing seemed quite clear. With a mix of apprehension and frustration, he drifted off to a fitful sleep.

The next morning, Brian awoke to find a German officer seated by the foot of his bed. The man was quietly reading what appeared to be a paperback novel and was in no hurry for him to awaken. Every once in a while, his eyes would drift back to where Brian lay before returning to the pages of his book. Brian watched the German carefully for a moment before the man realised that he was awake.

The man smiled broadly and closed his novel after meticulously marking his place with a leather bookmark. “Good morning Heir Campbell, my name is Hauptman Markus Bergmann,” the man announced formally as he reached over and offered Brian his hand. Brian accepted the greeting with caution and confusion.

“As you can see, I am not in a fighting state at the moment myself,” he grinned nodding towards a wooden crutch leaning against the window sill. “I desired greatly to meet with the English pilot that has awarded me this brief respite from the tireless pursuit of your brethren.”

“You were the pilot I shot down?” Brian asked with trepidation as he lifted himself into a sitting position in the bed.

“I am indeed,” beamed Bergmann. The man leaned forwards conspiratorially and lowered his voice. “I was speaking with your doctor just now. Between you and I, he is an awfully dour fellow. He mentioned that you were well enough to perhaps take a brief constitutional. Would you care to join me for some fresh air? Perhaps we could talk more about… our common experiences away from the formality of this place.” He added nodding in the direction of the doctor, who Brian could see was hovering just out of earshot.

Brian smiled. “I’d take you up on that offer Hauptman, but I am somewhat at a loss to personally agree,” he mentioned raising his shackled wrist and shaking the chain.

Hauptman Bergmann shook his head sadly and waved over a nurse. After a brief conversation she disappeared off and promptly returned carrying a set of keys. Leaning down, she unlocked the cuff around his wrist and stepped back. Freed, Brian rubbed his naked wrist, encouraging the circulation to flow once more.

“Thank you,” he offered, looking over at the German officer. “Although what’s to stop me doing a runner?”

Bergmann chuckled. “Oh, you could try, although like myself at present I believe you are no flight risk, as they say.”

Brian glanced down to the man’s lower limbs that had been previously hidden by the bed. Bergmann’s left leg was in a cast.

Brian pulled the woollen dressing gown about his shoulders as the two walked slowly through the small garden within the hospital grounds. Before the start of the war it had been a town clinic of some form and a few merciful vestiges of that civilian life still remained. The garden itself was surrounded on three sides by the Hospital; A quiet area of flower beds, paved pathways, and seating areas to allow the convalescing somewhere tranquil to get away from the hospital itself. The garden could have been anywhere in England if it had not been for the drab military signs on the walls in German text that proclaimed it property of the German Army.

Tugging the dressing gown tighter, Brian walked slowly and uneasily alongside the German officer in silence. He felt cold, despite the summer sunshine that bathed the courtyard; he wasn’t sure if it was the doctor’s words, his predicament, or his proximity to the enemy. His body felt stiff and unfamiliar after his time in the hospital bed. There was still pain, but it was far less focused now.

Stopping by a small bench, Bergmann gestured for them to sit before opening a silver cigarette case and offered it to Brian wordlessly. Gratefully accepting the cigarette, he held it to his lips as the German gave him a light before tending to his own; the two smoked for a moment in silence savouring a brief moment of peace. Whatever Brian had expected of life as a prisoner of war, smoking in a French hospital garden with the German pilot that he had shot down was not on that list.

He looked over at the German Captain and regarded him for a moment. The man was about his age or perhaps slightly older. Much taller than Brian’s five foot six, Markus Bergmann was almost the poster child for the Aryan movement; Tall, broad, and blonde-haired. His dress uniform was immaculate save the cast covering his left foot.

Bergmann caught his look and smiled. “You were flying before the war?”

“With my uncle, nothing particularly exciting, but I could fly. I only joined the Royal Air Force as war broke out,” Brian admitted. “Sort of a patriotic duty to serve I suppose.”

“I have been flying all my life,” explained Bergmann with a sheepish grin revealing his deeper feelings on the subject. “My father, he taught me when I was but thirteen. For most of my youth I would fly for pleasure; for any reason I could find. I almost wished I would never have to return to the land.”

“You joined the Luftwaffe before the war then?” Brian asked.

Bergman shook his head. “No, not at first. I was a naval officer of all things,” he chuckled. “My father was a Fregattenkapitän, ah, sorry, Commander? in the Kriegsmarine, our navy. I had wanted to possibly fly seaplanes, although I never did like the idea of being shot from a battleship into the air.”

“So dodging bullets was preferable?” Brian asked with amusement, a crease of a smirk on his lips.

“What is it you English say? I traded one frying pan for a fire,” Bergmann smiled sardonically. “But either way, I defend the Germany of my family and future generations. Regardless of the politics.” The Pilot said with a dismissive wave.

“So you’re not one for the goose-stepping about then?” Brian asked teasingly, feeling more comfortable in the other pilot’s presence as the man opened up to him.

Bergmann shook his head. “Why we fight, I do not wish to discuss, but fight we do. I do my duty; It is my job as a soldier. I follow the orders of those above me as an Officer should.”

“But what about Hitler and his thing with rounding up the Jews and others? I’m not sure I could willingly stomach that on my watch.” Brian offered. “There’s fighting because we must, and then there’s willing ignorance.”

Bergmann lowered his head. “That there is, but we are both airmen yes? Tell me this… Can you tell me of one time when you have flown a mission that was not a response to enemy action? We intercept, we escort, we reconnoitre, we attack, but all of it is a direct response to conflict, not politics. Our jobs are far removed from the desks. We fight because we must, not because we want to…. Politics.” Bergmann shrugged. “It is largely irrelevant once the shooting starts no?”

Brian nodded more to himself than in agreement. “True enough,” he offered softly. “True enough.”

Bergman chuckled. “On the subject of shooting, I had wanted to speak with you about the manoeuvre you used when we fought, where did you learn to fly in such a way?” the German airman asked with a hint of awe, “It is not a standard tactic I think.”

“Tricks of the trade,” Brian smiled, tapping his nose with his index finger. “I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”

Markus Bergman Laughed heartily. “I am not so sure it would be a complete loss if you did.” He grinned. “Rarely do I come up against pilots that understand the limitations of their own aircraft, never mind that of their enemies also. The way you forced me to commit to a chase before you sprang your trap…. It was truly a delight. I will not make the same mistake again.”

Brian blushed. “I think you give me too much credit,” He smiled weakly, “I could tell you were an experienced pilot and that I wouldn’t have much chance. I was low on fuel so I tried something absurd to try and rattle you and keep my behind out of your gun sight.”

Bergmann nodded, “That it did, I was not prepared for such an action.”

The conversation wore on, experiences were shared, the shop talk that aviators amongst their own kind engaged in. Eventually, things began to wind down and the pair sat in silence. Brian, however, desperately wanted to raise a subject that had been evading him since his arrival at the hospital. Stubbing out his cigarette, he turned on the bench to face the German officer.

“Look,” Brian began, getting Bergman’s attention. “I’d like you to be straight with me here, flyer to flyer. That bloody excuse for a doctor in there won’t tell me what’s wrong with me,” Brian frowned, nodding towards the hospital. “Has he told you anything? I hate being left out of the loop like this. It's obviously bad, so just spit it out.” He said with mounting frustration.

Markus Bergmann’s expression fell and the man frowned. “I suppose you should be told…” he mused. “However, I was not quite prepared to tell you so soon.”

“I’m going to die,” Brian stated flatly, as an unusual calm washed over his body.

Bergmann shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Actually, you are healthy; at least physically.” He began, choosing his words carefully. “It is more, well, the doctors were forced to operate on you when you were brought in,” he explained. “Your…” he gestured towards his trousers. “Hoden, ah, testicles. They were damaged, you were bleeding and…” He trailed off. Placing a hand on Brian’s shoulder, the man smiled sympathetically. “They had to remove them, I’m very sorry Herr Campbell.”

Brian sat quietly for a moment, unsure of how he should feel at such news. “Oh,” he finally responded quietly, “I see.”

“I expected you to take this news more, badly?” Bergmann said tentatively. “You are not angry, upset? You would have the right.”

Brian considered this for a moment before responding. “I’m really not sure what to think,” he admitted looking out over the garden. “I suppose in a way it’s my own fault for not fastening my harness properly and expecting to live forever. That and bad luck I suppose. Hadn’t really considered myself the family sort really. I would rather be alive than dead after all. I am a little annoyed that the doctor wouldn’t tell me though, Numb? of course. Though I don’t feel angry. I’m alive right?”

“You have every right to Heir Campbell.”

“My name is Brian,” he said flatly, looking at the German opposite him. “I think after dropping a bombshell like that one on me I would have thought we would be beyond formalities,” he chuckled nervously.

“Brian it is,” Bergmann nodded, “I am Marcus.”

“What’s to become of me Marcus?” Brian asked, tentatively changing the topic. He looked up at the German officer with a more nervous expression on his face. “What comes next for me?”.

Bergmann interlaced his fingers and sighed. “You will be transferred to a Prisoner of War camp soon. Well, as soon as you are fit to be transported. I am sorry; these are the rules of the game we play. You will be treated fairly, we are not monsters.”

Brian laughed. “No need to be sorry, I’m the dolt that had the bad luck to come down in your back garden. It’s the rules of the game.”

“You English have strange ways of coping with bad news,” Bergmann added before offering his hand to the English pilot. “I think perhaps we could share a drink after the war is over. We could learn much from each other.”

“Yes,” Brian agreed softly, grasping the man’s hand in return. “Yes, I suppose we could.”

Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!

From the Author:

Note, the references to Spitfires were changed to Hurricanes to better reflect 43 Squadron's actual aircraft.

Chapter Three - New Kid On the Block

The lorry rumbled slowly along an uneven dirt track somewhere deep inside the heart of Germany. It had been nearly two weeks since Brian Campbell’s aircraft had gone down over Northern France and the young airman couldn’t begin to imagine where exactly he now found himself. The more lost he felt, the more he realised that was most likely part of their plan.

They had left France by train and traveled deep into the heart of the German Reich before transferring him to an Opel Blitz lorry for the final leg of his journey. The Luftwaffe guards assigned to him were a professional group and had treated him surprisingly well during his journey further and further away from his homeland. Quite certain that not all German troops behaved this way with Prisoners, Brian suspected it was his status as an officer and a pilot amongst the air force soldiers that was a deciding factor in their generally fair treatment of him. Honour and warfare; strange bedfellows that were rapidly tiring of one another’s company in these uncertain modern times.

He had been cooped up in the swelteringly hot rear of the German cargo lorry for at least four hours. They had traveled through two towns before they had turned off onto the bumpy track he now found himself traveling along. WIth diversions and ever present military traffic, their journey across Europe had taken four days to complete.

The Doctor in France had signed him off as fit to travel only three days after Herr Bergmann’s visit which meant that while he was healthy enough to travel, his injuries were far from healed. For Brian, the train had been tolerable, but the lorry was bordering on agonising as they bumped along the roadway. Thankfully the Germans, not blind to his discomfort, had given him the opportunity to stretch and ease his aching body whenever they stopped.

Brian felt the truck shudder as the engine note changed denoted their driver dropping down the gears. He felt them slow and turn before rolling to a jolting halt with a squeal of brakes. He could hear the doors of the cab open and close as multiple German voices exchanged words just out of view. His escort guards rose and began to open the rear flap of the truck. Sunlight streamed into the dull interior, momentarily disorientating him as he was ordered out into the daylight.

Lowering himself carefully down to the ground Brian looked around, blinking in the bright sunlight as he began to take in his immediate surroundings. They were in a forest clearing surrounded by tall ancient pine trees that towered over them. The truck had driven along a rutted dirt track cut tightly between the trees.

Set within the tall dense foliage of the pine forest, the camp was a large wire-fenced compound. Row upon row of long wooden huts filled the interior, smoke lazily rising from small chimneys along their roof. Brian could see guards manning towers along the perimeter fence, with others patrolling the exterior of the fence. Outside the tall barbed wire-topped fence, more wooden buildings made up the administration and guard facilities, very little different to those of the prisoners. Above the entrance to the camp, an arched wooden sign in stark gothic letters proclaimed ‘Stalag Luft IX’ This, Brian realised dejectedly, was his new home for the foreseeable future.

The guards escorted him across the parking area to a long wooden building just outside the main camp gate which he discovered was an administrative building. Inside, German personnel worked away, barely paying him any attention as he was led across the room. He was escorted to the desk of a portly middle-aged German officer who at the time, was focused on his writing rather than Brian.

“Your name?” the man asked tersely, without looking up.

“Pilot Officer Brian R Campbell,” he offered simply.

“If I had asked for your rank, I would have said so,” the man remarked tersely, his head still focused on the page. “Pilot Officer.” the man muttered as he filled in the next box on the form he held.

“Your service number is what?” He asked, resting his pen.

“588403,” Brian repeated from memory, forcing himself to remain aware of the questions he was being asked.

“Your date of birth?” The German asked, looking up at him.

“You have my name, rank, and serial number,” Brian replied with a brief smile. “That’s all you get and you know it.”

The German frowned and looked up, “Insolence is not tolerated here, Pilot Officer Campbell. Give me your date of birth for our records.”

Brian, feeling a momentary flash of bravado grinned and shook his head, “nope.”

The man’s lip curled but he said nothing for a moment as he wrote something in the book before closing it and glancing back at Brian. “A Guard will escort you through to speak with the Komandant of the camp before you are taken through, please leave now.”

Brian resisted the urge to childishly stick his tongue out at the chubby bureaucrat. With a casual salute, he turned on his heels and followed his escorts deeper into the building.

His expectations having been somewhat eroded by the snide administration officer were rapidly repaired on entering the camp Komandant’s office. The man was in his late forties or early fifties with short grey hair covering his broad head. His large aquiline nose and tanned skin fitted his tall slim frame well. He held himself with a rigid posture that oozed command and authority as he sat writing behind his desk.

Coming to attention, Brian saluted the Komandant without hesitation; “Pilot Officer Brian Campbell, sir,” he offered, awaiting the man’s consideration.

Looking up from his desk, the Komandant rose and returned Brian’s salute with a subtle nod of appreciation. “Welcome to Stalag Luft Nine Pilot Officer Campbell. Please forgive my bluntness but we will skip to the matter of business,” the man replied curtly. Stepping out from behind his desk and approaching the window overlooking the camp itself, he turned to Brian and addressed him.

“I run my camp with four very simple and firm rules: Follow them, and your time with us will be as pleasant as is possible under the circumstances. If you break them I will do my very best to make this a deeply unpleasant experience for you,” he said firmly, his eyes fixed on the young airman.

“Escape attempts will be punished by stays of increasing length in Isolation, you may be shot also, so be warned.”

Brian nodded his understanding and smiled sheepishly at the Komandant’s last remark.

“Secondly,” The older officer continued. “You are not to fight with the guards or your fellow prisoners of war. We house English and other European airmen at this location and I will not tolerate violence of any kind within these confines.”

The Kommandant walked across his office before turning to face Brian once more. “The third rule is that you will follow the orders of a Guard to the letter, however, you may report mistreatment through the appropriate channels. I do not tolerate bullying on either side of the wire, Herr Campbell,” the Komandant added, raising his eyebrows. “Do you have any questions?”

“What about the fourth rule?” Brian asked curiously.

The Komandant nodded. “The fourth rule you do not need to know if you follow the first three. However, break any of these consistently, and you will become intimately familiar with it’s contents. Now,” the Officer said bluntly. “You will be escorted through to the camp. Once you are there, you will report to Wing Commander Berkley; he is the ranking prisoner of war and my liaison amongst the other prisoners. Any questions or complaints may be directed through him for my attention. The day-to-day running of the camp and prisoners is his responsibility. He will brief you when you arrive. He is in hut twenty-one,” the Komandant explained. “I hope we do not have to see one another again, Pilot Officer Campbell.”

Brain saluted the German politely and turned to follow the escorting guards back out the way he had come. The man seemed genuine in Brian’s eyes, but he had never been a particularly excellent judge of character. The man’s rules had been strict but fair and Brian had no real intent of breaking them. Quite honestly, he wasn’t the sort to deliberately get in trouble or flaunt authority. The truth was, now that he was captured, he had lost the desire to fight at all.

He had been expecting to be led directly to the large imposing gates of the camp itself, however the guard escorted him around the far side of the Administration Office to a similar wooden structure marked with a large red cross. Even with his atrocious grasp of the German language, he could appreciate that Klinikum meant that his was the camp Clinic.

Inside, Brain found the space cool and calm in comparison to the bureaucratic bustle of the office. The lobby of the clinic was set up as a small waiting area with a long wooden bench and a small wood-burning stove. The guard ordered him to sit and wait while he vanished into one of the adjoining rooms. It initially surprised Brian that the man had left him alone. Then again, he was out in the middle of an unknown forest surrounded by Germans; how far could an already wounded man get?

A few moments later the soldier returned with a doctor wearing a white coat over his Luftwaffe uniform. Unlike the Doctor in France, this man smiled when he looked across at Brian. “You are Pilot Officer Campbell, yes?”

“Yes sir,” Brian answered as he stood uneasily and came to attention.

The doctor clasped his hands together and nodded, “Ah, excellent, we have been expecting you. You can dispense with the formality here, we are a hospital not a parade ground.”

`He looked across at the guard and nodded, “Danke Hermann, Komm später wiedert, ok?”

The guard saluted and left the clinic leaving Brian alone with the Doctor. Turning towards the door he had appeared from, the doctor glanced back at Brian and raised his eyebrow, “are you coming?”

While initially surprised by the man’s informality, Brian complied and followed him into the examination room, stopping just inside the door, uncertain as to what he should do next.

The man took a seat at a desk and slid a pair of glasses up his nose before looking back at Brian with an amused expression. “Are you going to stand there all day, Herr Campbell? Come, close the door and take a seat on the table. I am here to check your health, not interrogate you. You can relax here, there are no tricks to make you reveal military secrets.”

Closing the door behind himself slowly, Brian eased over and took a seat on the edge of the examination table, the furthest point in the room from the German Doctor and waited patiently for the man to proceed.

The doctor briefly checked through a file on his desk before turning to face Brian. “My name is Doctor Muller, I am the camp physician here at Stalag Luft Nine. Your records here indicate you were injured in your parachute landing, how are you feeling?”

Brian shifted awkwardly. “I’m healing sir, given the circumstances I feel alright I suppose.”

“Quite dramatic surgery performed; they note here several small-scale pelvic fractures and a bilateral Orchiectomy after irreparable damage to the tissue and some internal bleeding, mein gott.” the doctor muttered as he read the notes before glancing up at Brian. “This is a great deal to go through, any pain?”

“Sore, stiff, bit achy I suppose,” Brian admitted. “The journey here was quite rough I’ll admit.”

“I can imagine,” The doctor agreed, standing up and placing his stethoscope in his ears, “lift your shirt please.”

Brian did as he was asked and followed the German doctor’s instructions as he examined him thoroughly. Unlike the brusk doctor in France, this man was far kinder and more professional. At each stage, he answered questions and explained what he was doing and why. It almost felt like seeing a normal doctor back at home.

“Were you a doctor before the war?” Brian asked while the man wrote down the results of his physical.

Muller looked over and nodded, “Yes, I work for twenty years at a clinic outside of Frankfurt, why?”

“You don’t have the cold detachment of military doctors. Our lot are like yours I think.” Brian admitted with a smirk. “Ours treat you like a piece of meat. You remind me of my family doctor at home growing up.”

“That was once my job,” Muller admitted, walking back over to Brian. “And one I hope to return to again after the war.

“I hope you can.”

Muller looked sentimental for a moment before he smiled and shook his head. “All for another time Herr Campbell. Now as embarrassing as this may be, I need to ask you to remove your trousers and lie back on the table for me. I must check your injury site and ensure there is no infection or other concern that might affect your healing.”

Brian hesitated for a moment before complying with the doctor’s request. He was ashamed of his injury, but in a way, he was still processing the reality of what had occurred. Thankfully the German doctor made the examination as quick and painless as he could. Before long Brian was redressing, his cheeks bright red after the humiliating experience.

“Things are healing nicely, Herr Campbell,” the man smiled reassuringly. “No signs of infection and I believe no problems has occurred from your journey here to us. I should be able to remove the stitches in a week or two and you will make a full recovery… other than the obvious.”

“What does this mean for me going forward doctor?” Brian asked uncertainty, “The doctor in France, he wouldn’t tell me anything. He wouldn’t even tell me what they had done to me.”

Muller seemed briefly irritated at Brian’s story before clearing his expression. “What has essentially happened, if my interpretation of your records is accurate, is that your parachute harness failed in such a way that your body slammed down into it. This led to stress fractures and internal bleeding around your pelvis. Your testicles were crushed and their remains had to be removed surgically when they went in to stop your bleeding.”

“So I… what does that mean?” Brian asked nervously.

“The human body once it enters puberty is directed by chemicals we call hormones. These are testosterone in males and oestrogen in females. These hormones cause us to develop secondary sexual characteristics and also control and regulate our sexual drive and our health as we live into adulthood, do you follow?”

Brian nodded.

“You are in a precarious position thanks to your accident. While you will recover physically in general terms, you will no longer produce testosterone. This means that any further development you might have experienced as you grow will now cease at this point. I am also afraid that you will never father children.” Muller explained as gently as he could.

“I see,” Brian murmured. “I don’t really know how to take that.”

Muller nodded, “It is a difficult situation, and you may find life a little different going forward. You will not grow taller or grow more hair on your face or body and you will have difficulty maintaining muscle mass. Most notably you will experience sexual dysfunction I am afraid.”

Brian chuckled and the doctor raised his eyebrow.

“I never even really got to experience sexual function, so that’s a bit of a bum deal.”

The doctor frowned sadly and reached over to pat Brian on the shoulder. “I am sorry young man.” he offered quietly. “I wish there was something I could do for you, but I am afraid, unable to. Please do know that during your stay here I will ensure you remain as healthy as can be under the circumstances. I am a doctor first and a soldier second; you are my patient as much as any German here. As such, if you ever need to talk about what has happened, please ask a Guard to arrange for you to see me.”

Brian smiled, “Thank you doctor, that means more than you can imagine.”

Muller stood and inclined his head as he led the way back towards the waiting room. “There is no war inside my clinic, Herr Campbell, there are no sides.”

Brian was still thinking about what Doctor Muller had told him when the guard escorting him stopped in front of the main camp gate. The gates formed a tunnel between two sets that crossed the wire divide into the camp. Ensuring that at all times, one set was closed while people were entering and exiting the camp.

“You will go through now.” The man ordered, before pushing Brian by his shoulder through the inner gate and into the camp itself.

Locking the gates behind him, the German retreated back to the outside world, leaving Brian unsure of what to do next.

Well, He supposed. He had a bloody long time to work it out.

Eventually, those within the camp began to notice the young pilot standing alone by the interior gate. He hadn’t moved since the guard had led him inside ten minutes earlier. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or the stark realisation that he was now officially a prisoner of war that kept him rooted to the spot. Even though he had been a captive since his time in the hospital in Valognes and during the long journey to the camp, it had all been merely a theoretical state of existence. He had been a prisoner, but he wasn’t yet in a prison. Now, here in the camp, it struck him like a bucket of ice water. The dark reality that he was now a prisoner of war finally sank in. Here, he would spend the remainder of the war until they won or lost, but he would have no further part in it.

“Just hit you ain't it Sir?” asked a large flame haired Scotsman as he sauntered over towards the young airman. “Aye, I recognize that look meself. If you’ll excuse the observation Sir, you’re finally realisin’ that you’re a prisoner and that it’s over. Took me a wee while to come to terms with it too,” the Scot admitted, shoving his hands into his pockets and grimacing.

“I suppose so,” Brian admitted uncertainly, smiling weakly at the man.

“Like being an animal at the zoo really. The name’s Graham Moorfield.” The big man grinned extending shovel sized hand. “Fifty-seven squadron, Wellington Navigator.”

“P, Pilot Officer Brian Campbell, Hurricanes with Forty-Three Squadron,” he offered, resisting the urge to wince as the big man vigorously shook his entire arm. “I don’t suppose you know where I’d find a Wing Commander Berkley do you? The head Jerry outside told me to report to him when I got in here,” Brian asked tentatively, hoping the Scot would release his hand while he still possessed one.

The Scotsman grinned again, looking for all the world as though he was enjoying a night in the pub. “Aye nae problem at all. Now mind you follow me sir.”

The highland bear led Brian through the camp, stopping on the way to introduce him to other prisoners as they passed. While he struggled to remember names and squadrons, ranks and positions, that all seemed friendly enough. Brian was very aware of the stares he drew as the new boy. Moorfield led him up to a hut on the far side of the camp and rapped on the door before standing back. A few moments later, a middle-aged man with dark hair and thin glasses opened the door and raised his eyebrows. “Yes Graham?”

Moorfield saluted, followed shortly after by Brian. “Sir, Pilot Officer Campbell here sir. He just got in; new today sir.”

“Very well Moorfield,” the man smiled before turning to Brian. “Come in then Campbell, come in,” he added beckoning Brian to follow him. Nodding his thanks to the large Scotsman, Brian followed the Wing Commander into his hut.

Walking inside, Brian gazed around the space slowly while waiting for the man to seat himself at the rough-hewn wooden desk that filled one-half of the room. The building was spartan but cosy, with a small wood-burning fire going to the right, and a single bunk to the far left. Do sit old chap,” Wing Commander Berkley offered with a hint of amused exasperation. “We don’t stand around on ceremony here.”

Brian walked forwards and lowered himself into one of the chairs in front of the Wing Commander’s desk. “Sir, the camp Komandant told me to report to you once I’d arrived.”

Berkley leaned back in his chair and regarded Brian for a moment over his spectacles. “Yes, I would imagine he did,” the man said dismissively. “All new prisoners are to report to me on their arrival. It’s a little ‘settling in’ activity we do; lets people work out the lay of the land faster so to speak.”

“So what’s the deal here?” Brian asked plainly, without looking away from the Wing Commander. “Are things as black and white as the Komandant’s four simple rules or are they a little more grey?”

Berkley looked at Brian for a moment before leaning forwards and propping his forearms on the desk. “As you know Campbell, there is currently a war on,” he said, stating the obvious in Brian’s view. “To follow the German’s rules would be a dereliction of our duties as the King’s fighting men.” He said more forcefully, slapping his palm down on the desk. “We have the duty to escape, and cause as much mayhem for Jerry as possible in the process; we simply must. As such, all efforts in this camp are put into subterfuge, covert action, and active escape attempts. You will be a part of this now you are under my command.”

“Of course Sir,” Brian replied noncommittally. “I will do my duty.”

“Very good,” Berkley nodded slowly. “I suppose I ought to fill you in on the more mediocre aspects of life here lad.” The man said standing and walking over to a wood-burning stove in the corner and checking a kettle. “Spot of tea?”

“Thank you sir,” Brian agreed readily. “I’ve not had a cup since the morning I went down. The Jerry coffee isn’t bad but it’s not tea, sir.”

“That it' is not,” Berkley agreed as he filled two mugs with steaming liquid. “Sorry, you’ll have to take it black, no civil niceties like milk and sugar at the moment.”

“That’s fine sir.” Brian agreed, taking the proffered mug. “So how do things run around here? Aside from all the secret squirrel antics?”

Berkley lent against a window frame and sipped his tea. “Like one would expect a prison camp to be run, probably the same way we do back home to be honest. We get up in the mornings, some groups on a rota perform maintenance and go on work parties. There’s football, gardening, some of the more worldly types teach classes and there is a chapel. We have a kitchen rota for meals and such. All in all, it’s not too bad, but it's not England.”

Brian nodded. “The Jerries seem to take good care of us.” He observed from behind his mug. “Anything dodgy happened yet?”

Berkley paused, before shaking his head. “The odd fight with a guard, the odd failed escape, typical animosities, but mostly Jerry leaves us alone and we leave them alone till we want out.”

“Is there any communication with the outside world?” Brian asked curiously, “Red Cross, or a wireless perhaps?”

Berkley shook his head sadly. “The Red Cross deliver packages via the Germans, but it's all vetted and sanitised, nothing slips by and they would never let us have a wireless.”

“Worth a thought.” Brian shrugged. “How long have you been here sir?”

Berkley sighed. “About three months I believe; Captured when my Gladiator went down in Norway during the retreat. No flack, No air support; we were so undermanned,” he sighed. “We lost so many good men. So did I…. Jerry picked me up off the side of some god-forsaken Norwegian mountain and packaged me off here with the other fliers they were collecting.”

“You’ve been a prisoner since then? Brian asked with surprise. “Why it’s mid-August now sir. And you have no news? Sir, Italy joined the war alongside Germany and France fell.”

Visibly paling, Berkeley sat in silence for a moment. “Bloody hell.” He whispered to himself. “Not a good show… Tell me.” He almost pleaded, the middle-aged man showing true signs of age in his weariness. “How are we doing back home?”

Brian raised his palms. “It’s hard to tell, sir. The Germans bomb us daily, our airfields, now our cities, we’ve bombed them back and we’re struggling in the air. There’s word Hitler might try to invade England soon sir.”

Berkley shook his head. “This damned bloody war.”

“I know sir,” Brian added after a moment’s awkward silence.

Wing Commander Berkley shook himself and stood. “Never mind eh?” He said with false optimism. “Not much we can do about it from in here…”

Berkeley placed his mug down on the desk and moved around towards the door. As he placed his hand on the handle he turned and regarded Brian again, his body language suddenly seeming slightly tense.

“Say, now, I’m not accusing you of anything here, but rather I suppose I… tell most of the chaps this when they get here.”

Brian furrowed his brow at the Wing Commander’s stumbling. “Sir?”

Berkeley shuffled awkwardly. “Look, It’s a prison, see? And It’s all chaps, tensions run high and frustrations of a sort… There are certain types that one might avoid in polite society that end up being a little more open about their lifestyles and perversions.”

Brian suddenly realised what Berkeley was getting on about. “I’m not queer sir, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No, no, gosh no.” The man spluttered, waving his hands. “No, rather just, you’re a smaller chap, some of them might show an interest, just a warning perhaps. Look, forget I said anything; let's get you billeted and we can begin to fight Jerry again tomorrow.”

Wing Commander Berkley grinned sheepishly and held the door open before guiding Brian back out into the afternoon sunshine.

As Berkeley escorted him to his new home, Brian wondered just what the man had meant by his warning. He wasn’t a homosexual nor had he ever really had any issue with them. The man seemed to suggest that Brian was the sort they might show interest in; what he meant by that was hard to wrap his head around.

As Berkeley escorted him through the camp, Brian was overawed by the variety of uniforms he saw before him; English, Polish, Dutch, Norwegian, and other nations aviators were represented amongst the camp’s population. He saw members of his own branch as well as aviators from both the Army and Royal Navy. While they appeared in relatively good health, their uniforms looked tired and dusty.

As they navigated the camp, the Wing Commander gave Brian a brief overview of its facilities and important locations. The place appeared more like a small town than a prison once he was within its walls. The Germans, it seemed, gave them a lot of latitude as long as they behaved themselves. Before long, Berkeley was stopped by a group of prisoners with a grievance to air, and as such, the Senior Officer sent Brian on his way with directions to his new abode.

After several wrong turns, Brian checked the number on the hut in front of him. Hut Twelve; this would be his home for the foreseeable future. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to have to get on with its occupants and fit in to an entirely new society.

Knocking, Brian pushed the door open and stepped inside the long wooden structure. The interior was dark in comparison to the bright summer sunshine, but as his eyes adjusted to the gloom he began to pick out the differences with the Wing Commander’s own. Rather than an office area, it was lined with rows of bunk beds, a small table and wood burning stove. Slowly walking further into the room, he took time to look to see which bunks appeared to be already occupied. From the state of them, the room seemed at least half occupied with four of the ten bunks appearing to have owners at present.

Finding an unoccupied bunk, Brian eased himself down onto the thin mattress and sat staring off into the distance. While he could hear the world outside the hut as the camp went about it’s daily business, it was mercifully quiet in comparison to his life for the past few weeks. Had it really been this long since he had truly been alone?

With a sigh, he swung his legs up onto the bunk. He laid back and stared up at the slats of the bunk above him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he wept silently, his body finally releasing the stress and tension of the ordeal he had experienced. Since his capture he had struggled to find time to process what had occurred since that fateful day; his crash, his injuries and the experiences of combat rushed through his mind in the silence of the hut. It was impossible for a human being to go through what he had and just shrug it off. The pain, the fear, the recovery and now his incarceration in a foreign land. A foreign land that under normal circumstances wanted him dead. He had no idea what the future held for him, but he felt powerless to effect it.

The physical pain he felt was healing, and he knew in time it would pass. His future was a significant question mark in his mind; the German Doctor had been kind to him, but even his answer had been evasive. The man simply didn’t know what would happen to him; for all Brian knew, it might kill him. It was with this knowledge that Brian drifted off into a fitful sleep.

The thump of the hut door and the footfall of heavy boots roused Brian from his fitful sleep. He wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, but it hadn’t felt like anywhere near enough. Raising himself up on his elbows he forced his exhausted eyes to focus on the sound that had awoken him. Three men had entered the hut and were stood by the door on the far side of the room, apparently as surprised by the new arrival as he was by them.

Sitting up, he quickly, he hauled himself painfully up from the bunk. “Ah, Hello,” He went to offer the men a handshake but changed his mind and turned it into an anaemic wave instead. “I’m Pilot Officer Campbell, ah, Brian; I was sent here by Wing Commander Berkeley. I mean, I just got here today, he told me I’m bunking here, if that’s ok?”

The men seemed to relax at the explanation and began to move about the room as they had originally intended. “Warrant Officer Second Class Arthur Hamley,” offered a wide-set Irishman thrusting a spade-sized hand at Brian, “And these chaps are Lieutenant Daniel Maddox, and Michael Down.”

“Hey there partner,” Down drawled in an exotic American accent as he tossed Brian a casual salute. “Sorry buddy, we just got off work detail; we’re a bit spicy,” he grinned, running his hand through his damp hair.”

“Oh that’s not a problem. I just took one of these empty bunks; that’s alright isn’t it?” he asked cautiously, feeling like a new boy at school. “Nobody was around and I sorely needed some shut-eye,” he shrugged apologetically.

“Aye, it’s no problem,” Hamley replied, stripping out of his work shirt. “Those empty ones are all free till we get more people in, so it’s all grand.”

“So what outfit are you with?” Maddox asked, turning to join the conversation. “I’m a Navy chap myself.”

“Forty-Three Squadron, Royal Air Force, in Hurricanes,” Brian offered. “Came down over France a few weeks ago.”

“Ah a fighter ace, guys,” chuckled the American. “Watch your women and your whiskey.”

Blushing at the comment, Brian didn’t reply immediately. “So I take it none of you are fighter pilots?” he asked, changing the subject.

Maddox shook his head, “Hamley over there was a Wellington Bomb Aimerand I flew Walrus reconnaissance planes. Our Yankie friend here is a civilian. Actually Mike, Why don’t you explain your cock and bull story yourself?” he added grinning.

Mike Down slumped down on the edge of his bunk and rubbed his hair a second time. “Well I’m not one to boast, but it was a pretty hairy one.”

“Aye we know you are but tell the story so,” laughed Hamley.

Throwing his shirt at the Irishman, the American made a rude gesture before continuing his tale. “It’s like this, right? I was a commercial pilot before the war and flew clippers for Pan American. When the war started, we started working with the government to fly over time-sensitive cargoes that convoys couldn’t handle.”

“Get to the point Down,” Maddox replied drearily, stripping down to his shorts and picking up a towel. “I want a shower before those cads in thirty-two use up all the water again.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Down waved dismissively. “So anyway I get knocked a little off course right? This burns up a lot of Juice and my bird is running pretty low with a full belly… I want to have water under my hull pretty soon. So I get myself back on track, and I head for the shore, I spot this port and it’s got a seaplane terminal…I think what the heck,” he shrugged. “So down I go… Turns out, I overshot a little bit.” He grinned sheepishly. “It was Norway, and a German Naval base that I landed in! Brash as you like I get out of my cockpit and light up on the jetty. Only to get planted face down and have guns pointed at me before I realise my mistake.” The man smiled ruefully, holding his hands up. “Not sure who was more surprised to see who.”

Brian laughed warmly. “I ended up getting lost over France so don’t feel so down about it.”

“Ah see?” Mike grinned looking at the other men. “I’m not the only one that can’t read a map.”

The three men finished stripping out of their outer clothing and made their way down a corridor to what Brian presumed to be the ablutions block of the huts. From what he had seen so far, he could have been billeted with far worse men. They seemed friendly enough and at least none of them were Army.

Ten minutes later, the men returned from their ablutions, chatting happily amongst themselves. Brian remained in his bunk while the men moved about the room dressing and conversing amongst themselves. He didn’t feel comfortable involving himself in what appeared to be a well-established friendship.

Daniel Maddox was a tall, athletic man with floppy dark hair that seemed to fly off at angles of its own choosing. He had a kind face with dark and considerate eyes. The American Down was almost his exact opposite; shorter and blonde, he had a scrappy build that made him look like a lightweight boxer. Unlike the other two, Arthur Hamley the Irish Warrant Officer was a bear of a man; at over six foot four, he was by far the largest of the group. The man was older, in his late forties by Brian’s estimation; his face was lined but showed a fatherly kindness.

“You going to come with us for chow?” Down called to Brian as he dressed, snapping Brian from his thoughts.

“I don’t even know how meals work here,” Brian admitted. “Wing Berkley was more focused on his escape plans than anything that useful.”

Daniel Maddox rolled his eyes. “Sounds like Bloody Berkeley alright. That one’s got a bloody head full of plans and no idea how to tie his shoelaces. You’re better off ignoring the old fart and keeping your head down Campbell, he means well but he’s a bit single-minded.”

“Aye,” Hamley added. “It’s real simple, we eat at seven, one and six each day. Food isn’t fantastic but it’s better than slop. Don’t go expecting any wine or cigars but it will fill a hole sure it will.”

“I’m not that kind of officer,” Brian admitted with a sly smile. “I’ll eat anything as long as it’s hot.”

“Hot you will get,” Maddox chuckled, “Anything else is a toss-up I’m afraid.”

Once dressed, the men made their way out of the hut and followed the stream of prisoners toward the mess hall. The hall itself was a longer and wider version of their own accommodation, a single story wooden building raised up a foot off the ground with a low angled roof. Inside, it seated the camp population at long wooden benches.

The camp, Brian was beginning to realise, was like starting at school all over again: He was with a new group of people learning a new set of rules all wrapped up within an entirely new social network. He would have to learn fast or sink back into isolation once more. The very fact that like school, it was an all-male environment felt awkwardly familiar to Brian. School for him had been a torturous and lonely experience at best. In part, it was the pressure of living up to his father’s expectations and the culture of the English public school system. Expectations forged unchecked in an environment of raw testosterone that seemed to define what made an Englishman.

Brian had been bright enough when it came to his school work but had struggled to find the same competitive drive when it came to the more athletic aspects of his education. He hadn’t disliked it, but hadn’t particularly been successful in the same way his larger peers had been. Boarding school had been the only world he had known for many years and it had often been uncomfortable and unpleasant for him. He had always assumed that it was the nature of the beast for all students; an exercise in character building. He had however, never entirely worked out what that character was meant to be. Between the public school system and the RAF’s officer training he’d just gotten along with things; as far as he knew, that was simply how life was.

The group made their way into the mess hall and joined the queue of men who passed in front of the kitchen hatch at the far end of the building. The air inside was humid and close and was filled with the sounds and smells of food. Brian felt his stomach growl; it had been most of the day since he had eaten anything at all. As the group wound its way towards the front, Brian watched the room. It certainly looked like school all over again; men divided themselves into cliques and groups as a defense mechanism against the system. The only difference was that here, rather than teachers, they had guards. In the end, the result was the same; overgrown schoolboys returning to what they knew best.

Brian’s thoughts were interrupted when a tall, well built man in a Navy pilot’s uniform slipped into the queue alongside them, much to the consternation of a few of the men behind them. The man was around Maddox’s height, but unlike the other aviator’s more foppish looks, Matheson’s dark hair was shorter and swept back from a strong square face. He wore a solid mustache on his upper lip and his cheeks were dusted with light stubble.

“Evening chaps, everything peachy?”

“Grand, Andrew,” Hamley replied, turning to the newcomer. “Jerry does like to keep us occupied.”

Hamley turned to Brian, placing a hand on his shoulder he nodded his head towards the grinning newcomer. “This lad is Andrew Matheson, one of our hut; he’s Navy like Maddox.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Matheson grinned, extending a hand as he regarded Brian’s uniform. “RAF eh?”

“That would be me,” admitted Brian sheepishly, shaking the man’s offered hand. “Brian Campbell.”

“Joined our motley bunch of sods here then eh?” the man smiled. I’m sure you’ll settle in fine. Not that we hope to hang around too long of course,” he grinned. “So Campbell is it? How are you settling in? Just get here today, yes?”

“Still pretty green,” he admitted. “It feels like I'm back in the seventh form again. I guess it's still hitting me; where exactly I am now.” Brian replied softly, unable to properly meet the eyes of the other man.

Matheson rubbed his mustache thoughtfully and nodded. “Well I guess it’s our lot for now,” he admitted. “We do what we can, because we must, I suppose.”

The line finally ended and the group received a bowl of simple stew and a hunk of bread from the kitchen before retreating to one of the unoccupied wooden benches. Brian sat in silence, slowly eating his stew as the others talked and laughed around him. In a sea of people, he still managed to feel quite alone. It wasn’t that he was new; he understood that and knew it would change with time. It was more that he knew that no matter how welcome he was made to feel by the group, that he would never really be one of them. Since his accident, he knew that the separation he had felt from his peers was a gulf that would only widen. At one time, he had hoped that with time, he would eventually look and feel like he belonged amongst them. Now, his future was as uncertain as his place within it.

“You’re the first new face in here since Norway you know,” Matheson offered, pointing his spoon at Brian. “I think the Jerries are up to something you know.”

Brian paused, his own spoon halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?” he asked, knitting his brow.

“Well, surely there have been more airmen down since Operation Domino and such,” Andrew posited aloud. “Mike here was the last to join us and he arrived shortly after the British evacuated. What you told Old Berkley has gone around the camp like wildfire. We’ve had nobody new since then and it seems a little strange, considering there’s still plenty of space. Why you? Why now?” He pushed, looking at Brian with a confused expression.

“I can’t answer that,” Brian admitted with a shrug. “We lose a lot of boys, perhaps other camps were full?”

“No,” Matheson shook his head. “Jerry’s up to something,” he muttered impaling a lump of potato in his bowl. “Almost as if they are keeping news out of camps by separating airmen from different campaigns. It would make sense, It’s what I’d do, but that doesn’t explain you, does it?”

“I don’t know what to say,” Brian admitted, feeling the weight of every eye at the table. “I don’t know why they sent me here,” Brian muttered sheepishly.

The next few days were a blur to Brian. As the first fresh face to arrive in months, he became an instant celebrity in the camp. The men came to him for news of loved ones and friends or, to simply hear about the war in general. It seemed everyone wanted to know something about the world outside. He was just disappointed that he couldn’t answer them all very well.

Camp life was difficult to adjust to after the freedom of the outside world before his captivity. True to the Komandant’s word, the guards were fair but strict and did not outwardly mistreat them. Brian was careful to walk the line between remaining on their good side and to do his duty to his comrades. Although he had begun to feel more comfortable with the men that he shared his billet with, he wasn’t sure they qualified as friends yet by any stretch.

He still felt pain from his injuries. The others in the hut had certainly seen his stiff movement and discomfort but didn’t outwardly ask him about it. He was grateful for their tact in that matter. He knew it wasn’t uncommon for men to arrive wounded and it seemed, at least, as though they didn’t want to make a big deal of it. While still humiliating, it was a great deal easier for Brian to adapt to his new environment without undue attention.

For his entire adolescence, Brian had been guided towards a hypothetical ideal of manhood. The person he should be according to society was quite simple; big, strong and hairy; exactly what his two brothers embodied. He had never quite developed the same way and it had never particularly bothered him besides a sense of guilt at his deficiencies. He had always been told that he was a late bloomer; that one day, his time would come and he would be just like his big brothers. The reality now with his wounds was that it was no longer a matter of when, but a matter of never.

When he looked past the embarrassment, the truth of the matter was that this new state of affairs seemed to calm him more than it upset him. He was at a loss to explain why. It was a feeling he attributed to a change in expectations; he was no longer waiting for puberty to catch up with him and make him like his brothers. He felt relief that regardless of the outcome, the wait was over.

The world here in the camp however, was not a place to be weak. Weakness was exactly what this now made him and he had to remain vigilant of that fact. For someone who had never particularly fitted the masculine archetype, this wasn’t an ideal situation. He would work hard to be one of the boys of hut twelve and ingratiate himself with the men. His hope was that with time, he would be as invisible as he had been in school.

The days began to turn into weeks at Stalag Luft IX as the last vestiges of summer gave way to the autumnal grasp of October. A strange normality began to settle into camp life for Brian as he became more accustomed to life as a prisoner of war. Life in the hut with the others was a great deal more like school than he could have imagined, although with far fewer of the bad parts. Unlike his classmates, the men of hut twelve treated him fairly and with respect.

The conditions were hard on the men and food was monotonous when it was not scarce. What little they were given was supplemented by a vegetable garden that the Germans allowed them to tend within the camp grounds. Regularly groups would leave the camp under escort on various work details. The Geneva Conventions might have required enlisted prisoners to complete work duties, but officers however were not required to. While these work details were technically entirely voluntary, they rewarded the men with additional rations and comforts; things the men could scarcely live without.

Prisoners within the camp settled into various groups based on their talents and personal interests. Sports like football and rugby were played on an open pitch area and there were a number of clubs and hobby activities that were permitted by the guards. Admittedly, none of these involved anything sharp, but it certainly kept the prisoners occupied. Even classes were held in the mess hall by academically inclined prisoners who passed on their knowledge of language, literature and sciences to the others.

As his physical pain subsided, Brian began working regularly in the camp vegetable garden. Whatever fresh fruit and vegetables they were able to produce went to supplement the prisoner’s meagre diets. It was rewarding work for him that helped to take his mind off his body and his troubles. At Matheson’s suggestion, he had taken to attending a German class that was taught by an older Dutch Captain in the mess. The chap had been a professor before the war and took great pleasure in returning to the classroom. The Camp guards actually encouraged this endeavour and would sometimes help the Captain with his lessons. In their mind, it made their jobs handling the prisoners far easier.

Just like his time in school, Brian found that the Guards ruled their lives through routine. In the morning, they would parade for the Camp Kommandant before getting breakfast and going about their day’s labour. They would parade again after dinner and have a few hours to themselves before lights out. Unlike school, the Germans didn’t care if they were awake past lights out, just that they were tucked up in their huts. It was these times, often by candlelight that Brian truly grew to know the men he shared hut twelve with.

“You know, when I get home I’m going to eat and drink myself into a damn coma,” Hamley mused aloud in the dimly lit interior of hut twelve. “I’ll travel the whole way from Dublin to Cork visiting every pub along the way.”

Maddox leant up on his elbow and regarded the Irishman in the dim light of the wood stove in the centre of the hut. “I don’t think the Irish economy will survive that big man.”

Hamley chuckled in the darkness and his bunk creaked as he stretched out, “that’s fine by me.”

“Some of the Dutch guys in fourteen have set themselves up some kinda makeshift still,” Down offered. Ain’t no Kentucky Bourbon but it’s something for sure. darn thing is some backwoods Appalachian engineering.”

Brian twisted around in his bunk and looked over at the American. “Tell me about America Mike, What it’s really like; Is it like the pictures?”

“What, like cowboys and Indians?” Down chuckled from his bunk. “No not at all. I mean where I’m from in Texas there’s plenty of cowboys but that’s just a way of life; ranching. Honestly it's like a world of its own. We have mountains and deserts, forests and cities so big you’d think they covered the world.”

“I’d love to visit one day,” Brian mused. “I always wanted to see California and the Rocky Mountains.”

“It’s truly beautiful,” Mike agreed. “I used to fly out of San Francisco before the war, that’s in California north of Los Angeles. Lord it was stunning to fly over the Golden Gate Bridge at sunset out into the wide open Pacific Ocean.”

“Sounds like a glamorous life; flying passenger airplanes all around the world.”

Down laughed. “Sure we get to visit some great places, but man, ain’t nothing glamorous up front in the cockpit. That is hours upon hours of flying and maintenance on the aircraft because half the time we don’t have a maintenance base to use. It’s loud, bumpy and cramped and physically demanding. Though you do end up with arms like these.” He grinned flexing his sizable biceps.

Brian’s smile faded, “perhaps I’ll stick to my Hurricane.”

“What about you Brian? What was life before all this?” Matheson asked from the shadows across the hut.

“My life was awfully dull I’m afraid; boarding school, university then the war. I’m the middle child of four, two older brothers, one younger sister and not a great deal to tell.” Brian admitted to the bunk above him.

“No sweetheart? Girlfriend?”

Brian hesitated. A lump caught in his throat at the thought that he would never actually get to experience that now. “No.”

Matheson seemed to sense the reluctance and backed off. “I have a sister myself, She’s Signals with the Wrens.”

“Your sister is a right cookie.” Maddox leered in the darkness. Brian chuckled in the darkness as he heard something metallic clang followed by a yelp.

The evenings in the hut were one of the few times Brian felt truly comfortable with his situation. The others there didn’t judge him for his smaller size or his appearance; they treated him like a comrade and a friend.

It was far more than he could say for the rest of the camp, however. Outside of his immediate group, the glamour of the new arrival had swiftly worn off. Once they had gotten what news they could from him he was only the sum of himself. To them, he was just a scrawny fine-featured lad who would never amount to much. He had seen some of the looks he had received from others, they made comments and jokes behind his back and some of them looked at him in other ways; ways he didn’t like at all. It concerned him that perhaps Berkeley had been onto something.

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Brian shuffled slowly through to the ablutions block as he stifled a yawn. It was early in the morning of his second month in the camp. The block was shared between six huts and connected to each by a long common corridor. In the chill of November, it was a welcome alternative to going outside in the middle of the night.

Stretching, he rolled his head from side to side to work a kink from his neck. The bunks were not completely uncomfortable but he never slept particularly well. Hanging his Red Cross towel on a nail, he began to strip out of his clothing. The chill was more effective than the bitter German coffee at waking him and he quickly slipped into the shower room and turned on the faucet. Once the water had risen above room temperature he stepped in and began to wash.

Brian leaned against the wall for a moment and allowed the water to rain down over his head. The early mornings were hard on him but he always preferred to shower first so that he could be alone. He had always been particularly shy when it came to nudity; he had hated sharing the communal showers at school where he had often been the smallest and weakest. Now, that discomfort was joined by not only the fear that the others might learn of what he lacked but also by what that loss had done to him in the months since his accident. Brian had begun to notice changes happening to his body after only a couple of weeks. Now, after two months in captivity, he could barely conceal them anymore.

Never a boy particularly blessed by muscles or body hair, he had now found that both had set sail for warmer climes. The wiry muscle that he had possessed had smoothed out leaving his skinny frame to now appear more frail than it once had. This was made markedly worse by the little fat still remaining on his body sticking stubbornly to his buttocks, hips, and chest. In all, the Brian Campbell that he now resembled seemed somehow younger and more juvenile, his soft skinny body feeling further and further from the masculine ideal that he was told he should represent.

What confounded him the greatest, was that the changes themselves didn’t seem to upset him as much as he believed they should. It was concerning of course; any change was, but the truth of the matter was that he felt more calm and serene than he had before in his entire life. What really made him nervous was what people would think of him and how they would treat him if they knew the full truth.

It reminded him of when the German pilot Bergmann had sat with him and revealed the truth of his injuries to him. It had only been a few months, but it felt like a lifetime ago to Brian. The man had felt bad for him; that he had suffered somehow a fate worse than death in his eyes. It was as though he was now somehow less and that was something to be pitied.

The sound of the shower block door creaking open roused Brian from his thoughts. He jumped at the sound, hurriedly turning to face the wall as he began scrubbing his body.

“Morning,” yawned a wild-haired Andrew as he stumbled stark naked into the bathroom. Slinging his towel over the waist-high wall, the pilot collected his wash kit and stepped into the shower.

“Sleep alright?” he called cheerily.

“Ah, yes thank you,” Brian replied hesitantly, trying to keep his back turned to the man.

“First time I’ve seen you in here,” Matheson observed as he turned on the faucet. “You’re a bloody early riser old boy.”

“I don’t like the hot water running out” Brian offered weakly without looking over at the man.

“Not my place to say this,” Matheson said looking over at the other officer as he slowly soaped his hair, “but you seem very shy around everyone; is this the same deal some schoolboy worry?”

Brian felt a jolt of fear, “No, no, it’s nothing.”

“I don’t think so.” Matheson disagreed, “No, the way you behave is exactly how I did back in my school days: You make yourself invisible and hope to go unnoticed. You don’t feel like one of the normal guys so you just try to exist.”

“Believe it or not,” the Navy pilot admitted. “I was one of the small lads back in school, I got treated pretty badly.”

Brian turned his head to look at the Navy pilot incredulously. Andrew Matheson was a broad man who stood nearly six feet four inches tall. He had a physique that would make any rugby player insanely jealous, even after their less-than-stellar diet. Nothing Brian could see lent any credence to the man’s story. Brian realised he was staring at the naked man in the showers and looked away quickly to hide his violent blush.

Matheson chuckled at Brian’s surprise. “Oh I know it’s pretty hard to believe if you look at me now but I hit a bit of a late growth spurt and it all went away. I shot up like a beanstalk as my old mum would say,” he laughed as he turned off the shower and reached for his towel.

“Don’t worry old chap, It will hit you soon enough. What are you? Nineteen, maybe Twenty? Give it a couple of years and you’ll be fighting off the ladies,” he chuckled warmly as he patted Brian on the shoulder.

Brian flinched at the touch and bit his lip. So far, nobody knew about the truth of his situation. A great part of him wanted to remain that way, to hide this from the world and hope it went away. Another more desperate part needed someone to know; someone that could share it and help him handle the reality within which he now resided. Working his jaw, he made a decision.

“No Andy, I won’t,” he admitted with a sigh, “ and I never will.”

“Ah that’s not true Bri,” Matheson replied as he towelled his hair, “You absolutely will. It just takes some chaps a bit longer, that’s all.”

Brian turned off the water but kept his body turned away from the man he might call a friend. “I can’t Andrew, no hair, no muscles, no growth spurt: I will never become the man you think I will because I physically can’t. If anything, my body is trying to go the other way.”

Matheson shook his head and wrapped the towel around his waist before he sat down on a slatted wooden bench and unfolded his wash roll. “Every man does Brian.”

“No,” Brian interjected with more force than he intended. He glanced at Matheson before lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “I haven’t told anyone this; it’s incredibly embarrassing,” he added trailing off. Brian shook his head, wrapped his towel around his waist, and pulled on his shirt before turning to face his friend. “Andrew, I don’t have any balls; they’re gone.”

Matheson was silent for a moment, a look of surprise and confusion painted on his face. Brian slowly walked over and sat at the far end of the bench from his friend and looked over at the man. “When I went down in France, there was an accident with my parachute harness. It, well… they had to operate and they couldn’t save them. I… I can’t be what you said I’ll be; no amount of time will make a man out of me.”

Brian looked away from his friend and hung his head. “You are right though; I will change and I already am. It just won’t be the way you think,” he said quietly, shaking with silent tears.

Matheson put his wash roll down and moved over until he could put his arm around the shoulder of his sobbing comrade. “It’s alright,” he offered quietly. “Nobody’s going to think any less of you Brian. Accidents happen; A lot of rubbish has happened in this war. It doesn’t make you any less of a man to have suffered an injury in combat. I’ve seen chaps loose legs or arms and be burned beyond recognition. Others lose their faces, their sight and so many other things; those are injuries that will change your life. I don't mean to diminish what happened to you but you’re still here and you have every chance of a full and happy life.” He chuckled darkly, “our present circumstances excepted of course.”

Brian sighed and shook his head. “That’s just it Andy,” he whispered. “I never really felt like I ever belonged for my entire life. I was waiting for puberty to kick in and make me like my brothers and classmates. I was waiting for something magical to happen where I would suddenly feel like I belonged in this world, that it was right and normal. Now, I sit here wondering what I even am. If it won’t ever make a man of me, what even am I?”

Andrew Matheson was quiet for a moment. The revelations of the past few moments had made him regard the young officer in an entirely new light. Brian was right; he wasn’t much of a man; barely more than a boy in truth. He could pat him on the shoulder and tell him it would be all be alright but that wouldn’t change the facts.

Brian was fine-featured, smaller, and more slight than anyone else in the camp. He had heard comments from some of the less evolved types but had always dismissed it as typical schoolyard rubbish. He couldn’t imagine what was going through the poor boy’s head. He couldn’t change his path, but he would be there for Brian.

“This war has done some terrible things to people, Bri. Families have been torn apart and lives lost. Give yourself time and you’ll find out who you are. You will be alright, I promise. You might not find who you are inside these walls, hell, we’re all just in a holding pattern. We survive from day to day just so we might dream of being home again. Promise me one thing: Promise me you won’t hold this sort of thing back from me and the guys in the hut, alright? I don’t give a monkeys about anyone else but you’re one of us and we look after our mates.”

Brian nodded weakly without looking up. “Thank you,” he replied weakly, “I’m sorry.”

“Ah, don’t be,” Matheson shrugged and smiled reassuringly. “I’d have felt awful telling me too.”

Brian had found it difficult to interact normally with Andrew after their talk that morning in the ablutions block. The man now knew his deepest, darkest secret and his most private feelings on the matter. Despite his poor ability to articulate those feelings, he had still revealed far more than he was comfortable with. While he followed Matheson’s advice and allowed himself to be more open with the others in the hut, he still kept the truth of his humiliation from them. These men treated him like an equal for the first time in his life and he had no desire to ruin that.

The changes he had noticed over the past few months didn’t slow in their progress, but his attitude to them did. He wasn’t sure if it was Matheson’s awareness or his new attitude but he began to accept them as a fact of his body. This reality became his new normal, and it was far easier to process that way.

Their incarceration was a holding pattern from the real world. Here in the camp, this was simply how he was and it seemed somehow disconnected from his life back at home. Unlike his time in school, he had friends who didn’t judge him. They saw him for who he was, and they had his back. He knew that for the first time in his life, no matter what had happened, they were going to get through this together.

Wing Commander Berkeley had organised several escape attempts in the run-up to December. They had a varying level of success with some men getting further than others. Unfortunately for them, none made it further than the nearest villages. It seemed as though the Germans almost expected it; their own little private war within the confines of the camp fence. They attempted to escape and the Germans punished them when they were caught. Brian supposed it at least kept everyone entertained.

Matheson had become their de facto leader within the hut with the other men all deferring to him on their involvement with camp politics. Berkeley was nominally in charge of the contingent of allied prisoners; a throwback to their military lives on the outside. The other men all had their individual skills and specialties that contributed to the group collective. While Berkeley was their leader, Brian was positive that Matheson had his own plans to depart their current residence. He would see his friend plotting and observing the Germans while they worked and he could see the cogs turning inside his mind.

Hut Twelve eventually began to plot more openly amongst themselves. Arthur Hamley the Navigator was an astronomer and spent many an evening attempting to fix their position within Germany by the stars, a process hampered somewhat by their lack of good maps. Eventually, he had them narrowed down to the southeastern corner of the country with reasonable certainty once Down had managed to steal maps. He had discovered the grizzly and somewhat intimidating Irishman Hamley was a friendly honest man with an interest in American Jazz music, a wife, and two young children back in England.

The American’s contribution had been exactly that; thievery. Mike had proved quite capable of relieving the German guards of personal effects without their awareness. He rarely returned to the hut without extra cigarettes or currency that the group stashed away for a later date. For all his flash bravado, the Yank, Mike Down, was a simple Texas boy and was quietly intelligent in his own way. He had a street savvy and practical adaptability that made up for his lack of formal education; the man was a born survivor and a talented addition to their group.

Maddox spoke reasonable German as did Matheson and the two practised regularly together. They eventually started to include Brian as his lessons with the Dutch Captain progressed to a point of competent conversation. The group knew that any escape attempt would rely entirely on their actions outside the wire, not simply those leaving it. Knowing how to speak the language, and speak it like a native might save their lives.

Matheson and Maddox were both stereotypical Royal Navy airmen: Public school, First Fifteen rugby players; true old boys. Matheson was the most educated of the group, holding a bachelor's degree in ancient history. He had been planning to continue with his education when war broke out and instead joined the Navy. His education was something the men seemed to enjoy mocking him about but the tall, dark-haired Navy pilot was forever jovial about the subject. Brian could see that the man’s passion lay in creativity, not destruction. This war would truly be the undoing of them all.

Andrew was the closest friend Brian had made in the camp during his time there and possibly one of the few he had ever had. It surprised him to realise that he did indeed consider the man to be a friend; it was not a mantle he had needed to use often in the past. Matheson treated him like a human being and not like the runt he knew he probably appeared to be in the eyes of most. It had taken him time, but with Matheson’s help, Brian had become more of a member of the hut than a guest. He finally felt capable of opening up to the others and joining in with their jokes and camaraderie. The men treated him as an equal and even defended him when they could. The wire and the Jerries aside, Brian Campbell felt more at home now than he ever had even in England.

Brian approached the guard standing beside the main gate of the camp. The man seemed relaxed, his rifle slung easily over his shoulder and his hands in the pockets of his greatcoat. From his brief interactions over the past few months, he knew he spoke some English.

“Entschuldigung?”

The man turned to him and raised an eyebrow, “What you want?”

“I would like to… uh, can I see the doctor? Artz Muller, Bitte?”

The guard looked him up and down, “You do not seem sick.”

“I uh, it’s… an ongoing thing, Doctor Muller asked me to come and see him.”

The man seemed to consider this before shrugging and gesturing for Brian to follow him.

“Against the fence please.” The man indicated, “I search you.”

Brian complied and placed his hands against the wire of the fence while the man casually patted the pockets of his uniform down. He knew the searches were to prevent them from sneaking things in and out of the camp, but It was all Brian could do to not flinch to the man’s touch. Once he was done, the guard escorted him through the double main gates and out into the administration area of the camp.

Brian wasn’t looking forward to seeing the German Doctor again but he realised that he had to understand more about what was happening to him. He had only seen Muller twice since his arrival back at the end of July and he was afraid of what the man would see when he examined him. Both visits had been at the start of his incarceration and before he had changed significantly. The truth was, he was terrified to find out what it all meant.

Doctor Muller walked into the examination room and smiled at Brian. “How are we doing today Herr Campbell?”

“I’m ok, no pain Doctor.”

“Excellent,” Muller grinned as he sat down at his desk. “What can I do for you?”

Brian gripped the edge of the examination table tightly and licked his dry lips. “I ah…I’ve noticed some slight changes in my body since we last spoke.”

Muller furrowed his brow, “We did mention that you would struggle to maintain muscle mass with your situation, is this what you are describing?”

Brian shook his head and blushed. “Well, a little, but It’s more than that. My… nipples have been hurting too.”

Muller stood and crossed the room towards Brian and raised his eyebrows. “Well then, enough of the embarrassment. I am here to help ok? Take off your shirt and let me have a look.”

Brian unbuttoned his shirt and removed it before reluctantly shrugging out of his undershirt. He kept his gaze fixed on the far wall, he followed the Doctor’s instructions while he examined his torso. Brian knew what he looked like, and while he had almost adjusted to his new self, he was still extremely embarrassed to be seen by someone else.

“This is unusual,” Muller murmured as he palpated the puffy skin around Brian’s left nipple. “What does this feel like?”

“Ow,” Brian jumped slightly, flinching away from Muller’s touch. “That really hurt.”

Muller’s eyebrows raised. “Most unusual, but also not…. Very strange.”

“What do you mean?”

Muller glanced at Brian and looked mildly perplexed. “If I did not know better, I would think you were a young girl entering puberty. What you are feeling, the irritation is development of your… well, breasts.”

“Breasts?”

Muller nodded. “I realise this is embarrassing, but I would like you to take off your trousers too. I will be as quick as possible then you can dress and we shall talk about this further, ok herr Campbell?”

Brian was in a daze as he stripped out of his remaining clothes. He had breasts, breasts that were growing. The very concept seemed alien to him but it certainly matched what he had denied to himself for some time. The human mind is capable of ignoring anything it wants if it ‘s sufficiently motivated.

Muller was true to his word and made the examination as painless as possible. Brian was still deeply humiliated by the experience as the man measured and prodded him in great detail. Eventually satisfied, he was allowed to redress as the Doctor retreated to his desk to write furiously in a notebook.

Once he was done, Muller beckoned Brian over to the chair beside his desk and bade him sit.

“Well, you have made my day far more interesting, Herr Campbell.” Muller smiled disarmingly. “I will start with the most important first; you are not in ill health. As far as I can tell you are perfectly healthy.”

“But?”

Muller looked mildly uncertain for a moment. “Herr Campbell. I realise saying words like ‘breasts’ and ‘puberty’ can be alarming, but the human body is a complex system and we still do not fully understand it.”

Muller grimaced and looked uncomfortable, “Many books and subject matter experts in the field of sexology in Germany are no longer… welcome in our society. This makes deeper investigation much harder, and as a prisoner of war, I am limited in what resources I can utilise to treat you.”

“What is happening to me?”

Muller seemed to consider the question for a moment before he answered. “What I think… and please, bear in mind that I am hypothesising here Herr Campbell, is that the lack of testosterone in your body after your accident has exposed a comorbid condition; that is, something occurring at the same time but not related.”

“I was lucky enough to attend a lecture by the Sexologist Magnus Hirschfeld in 1931 before… all that book business. His studies showed that the male sex hormone was quite strong. That it could and did overpower the female equivalent. What I believe has occurred in your case, considering your condition when you arrived is that its absence has allowed a higher-than-normal level of oestrogen in your body to flourish.”

“So, I'm a girl?”

Muller shook his head. “I do not believe so, but perhaps you have a higher than-normal level of oestrogen, I cannot say why. What I can say is that your body has begun to behave more akin to that of a pubescent girl; your breast tissue is developing, body fat is predominantly around the hip, buttocks and chest and your skin is far softer. It is quite fascinating really.”

“I don’t really care to be fascinating Doctor Muller,” Brian frowned. “I’d rather be normal.”

Muller sighed and removed his glasses. He looked at Brian with a mixture of compassion and concern in his tired eyes. “You may find your normal has to shift somewhat young man. I will do what I can for you, I promise you that much.”

Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!

 

 

 

“We will conclude the lesson here for this evening, thank you, men. Please ensure that you practice your Akkusativ and nominativ before we see each other again, ok?” Captain Anders concluded. The man closed his book and looked out across the German class as he meticulously wiped his spectacles. Placing them neatly into his jacket pocket, he absent-mindedly patted the pocket twice.

Brian smiled at the man’s little tick. Anders had been a Captain in the Dutch Royal Air Force at the outbreak of war. Originally an academic, he had been thrust into the fray due to his civilian flying experience. It had put him in the line of fire in the Netherlands’ desperate bid to halt the German advance. Here in Stalag Luft IX, he taught both German and History classes to the men as an educational distraction from their circumstances.

It was early December and the camp was in the first grasp of winter. Outdoor recreational activities had slowed as men sought warmer conditions indoors. Brian and around a dozen others attended Captain Anders classes in the evening after the mess had been cleared from dinner. Language seemed far easier to master on a full stomach.

“You know, you’re getting rather good at this stuff,” the man beside him offered “Makes me feel rather a dullard.”

Brian smiled and shook his head. “It’s just a matter of practice, Archie. I had never spoken a word before we got here. Now, it feels far more necessary.”

The two stepped out of the mess and into the chill of the night air. “I just don’t seem to have your knack with it.” The red-headed Bomber pilot admitted sadly. “I could manage to order a beer, if the krauts would let me, but that’s about it.”

Brian smiled. “Mein Deutsch ist nicht perfekt, aber ist ok.”

“That’s what I mean… bloody showoff.”

Brian grinned and waved goodbye to the man as he ducked between the rows of huts to make his way back to the place he now considered home. It had taken a great deal of time to find comfort in the routine of the camp. As the months passed, it was impossible not to adapt to the new normal that life had presented them with. His world at present revolved around the men in hut twelve, their daily routine, and what little freedom they managed to enjoy within the confines of imprisonment.

For Brian, studying German had been a practical skill as much as it had been a distraction. Matheson had suggested it and he had been right; it had made a difference. If they managed to escape it would be a vital asset to them, but even more simply put, it gave him a sense of pride to succeed at something even in their present circumstances. Wrapping the thick woolen greatcoat around his body more tightly, he pressed on through the darkness.

“Stille Nacht! Heil'ge Nacht!
Alles schläft; einsam wacht
Nur das traute hoch heilige Paar.
Holder Knab' im lockigen Haar,
Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh!
Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh!”

As he walked along the fenceline towards his hut, Brian heard the muttered singing in the distance. Someone was singing Christmas carols in German, and not particularly well by the sound of things. Ahead of him in the darkness, a dark figure was swaying slightly as he walked, his deep voice barely keeping in tune as he struggled to remain upright as he trudged along the fence line. Drawing closer, Brian recognized the silhouette of the man’s helmet and the shape of the submachine gun on his back; the man was a guard.

Keeping to one side of the space, Brian kept his head down and walked steadily onward as he approached the guard. He had yet to have any real problems with the Germans that patrolled the camp, but he also worked hard not to antagonize them. Especially when they were drunk, as this man appeared to be from the sickly sweet scent of Gluwein that followed in his wake.

(Text in Italic is German, translated to English for your ease)

Brian’s foot crunched in the frosty snow, causing the German to halt his singing and turn to face him unsteadily. The man grinned stupidly, his cheeks rosy red from the alcohol as much as the cold. “Hello Fraulein, how are you this fine evening?” slurred happily.

Brian was frozen for a moment. The guard had to be speaking to him, as there was nobody else present. “Me?”

“Yes, you my dear,” the man leered staggering in his direction.

Brian backed up a step and came in contact with the hut wall behind him. “I’m, uh, fine thank you, yourself?”

The guard sighed heavily, almost theatrically. “I hate my job! I join the Luftwaffe to fight and here I am! I guard prisoners in the arse end of German for all eternity! I’m cold, I’m tired and I’m not paid enough! But at least I have drink!” he slurred, waving a canteen at Brian. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in here?”

“I… was just going back to my hut.”

The guard stared at Brian for a moment and scratched his chin thoughtfully. “What are you doing in here?”

“I’m a prisoner.”

“I didn’t know we had any women in here.”

Brian didn’t know how to respond to the man’s mistake but refused to potentially anger an armed drunk by correcting his error.

“Can’t let a pretty lady like you walk around here all alone; there’s dangerous prisoners that might not be so virtuous as old Hans,” the man grinned stupidly “Allow me to escort you back to your hut Fraulein.”

“Uh…”

“It is agreed!” the guard, Hans clasped his hands together with glee. Wobbling unsteadily over to Brian he took the British pilot by the arm and began leading him along the pathway.

A few moments later, they were outside hut twelve, and Brian attempted to tactfully detangle himself from the inebriated German.

“Thank you Herr?”

“Gefreiter Hans Bauer, Fraulein,” The man slurred, nearly tumbling into the snow as he bowed theatrically. “Woah Scheiße, excuse me.”

“Thank you for the escort,” Brian replied slowly, still uncertain as to what exactly was happening. “Good night Herr Bauer.”

“Good night Fraulein!” Bauer grinned as he wobbled away along the row of huts.

Brian watched the German go with a look of bemusement on his face. He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but he was positive that it should concern him. Beside the fact that one of the guards that was meant to be in charge of them was drunk off his arse, the man had been utterly convinced that he was a woman. This was despite the fact that he was wrapped up in his RAF uniform and an oversized German Greatcoat.

Had he really changed that much? None of the others seemed to have mentioned it, but then again, he was around them every day. Were the changes more stark to someone he had never met before? He wasn’t positive, but something told him that Bauer wouldn’t be the last to make the same mistake.

 

 

Christmas in captivity was a surreal experience for Brian and the other tennants of Stalag Luft IX. The men of the camp did their best to make the place feel as festive as they could with their limited resources. To their credit, the Germans actually gave them some decorations and a small tree, although the latter being sourced from the forest just outside the camp did dampen the significance of the gesture somewhat. Weihnacht for the Germans was a largely similar but differently executed holiday to their festivities back home in England. The meaning however translated across international borders.

Christmas had always been a joyful afair in the Campbell house. Every year when the children returned from school they would hang decorations with their mother and sing carols. Brian could remember the smell of minced pies and the scent of pine needles.

There were no minced pies but the scent of pine was strong in the still night air as Brian sat quietly on the step of their hut long after lights out. Around him, the snow fell silently as he thought of Christmases past. With the holiday the Germans had left only a skeleton perimeter guard for the night. It meant that he could enjoy a brief rmoment of nocturnal solitude without being written up for it.

The guards celebrating the holiday on Christmas Eve could be heard singing carols in their accommodations just outside the wire. The music lazily drifting through the still air brought a small token of joy to his heart. Pulling the thin blanket tighter around himself, he watched his breath mist as it left his lungs. The night was still and peaceful; if he closed his eyes he could almost be at home in England again.

The hut door creeked open. “Isn’t it a little cold to be out here at this time of night eh Bri?”

Jumping at the sudden voice, Brian glanced up at Andrew Matheson and grinned sheepishly. “I was just enjoying the peace of the moment.”

“Couldn’t you do that somewhere a little warmer?” The Big officer asked, settling down on the step beside Brian. It’s like a bloody icebox out here.”

Brian smiled and glanced out toward the perimeter fence and the forest beyond. “I’m just enjoying the singing.”

“Oh, the weinachtslieder?”

Brian nodded, “I know a lot of the tunes and I understand most of the lyrics thanks to Captain Anders; it’s beautiful all the same. If I close my eyes, it lets me forget this bloody war for a moment.”

Matheson didn’t reply. Instead, he settled in beside Brian on the wooden step and joined him in listening to the distant voices sharing carols on the festive night.

“You seem to be getting on with the others better?” Matheson opined a little while later after a song had finished.

Brian nodded, “They’re good people and I like them. I’m not sure I deserve them though.”

“They like you too, you know? You’re far too hard on yourself.”

Brian shrugged and shivered against the woolen blanket. “Perhaps, but I’ve plenty to bash myself about. I think I’m mostly afraid that they will see what’s wrong with me.”

“You do know that they’ve noticed, right?” Matheson asked quietly. “They don’t say anything because it doesn’t matter to them.”

“What have they seen?” Brian asked turning to his friend, his voice rising slightly in panic, “Please Andrew, what have they said?”

Matheson raised his hands to placate the panicking youth. “Woah, calm down ok? Nothing too bad actually. Look, we live in close quarters; they were going to notice something eventually and they don’t seem to be that worried. They just mentioned it at one time or another is all.”

“Like what?”

Matheson shrugged, “Hamley noticed first it I suppose. The others, they seemed to have cottoned on after the fact.”

“What did he say?”

Matheson hesitated for a moment, uncertain as to how to soften the blow. “He…well, don’t take this the wrong way old chap, but he did mention that you reminded him more and more of his fifteen-year-old.”

“So I look like a kid? That’s it?” Brian asked uncertainly.

“Daughter.”

“Oh,” Brian slumped forward and hugged his knees to his chest inside the blanket.

Matheson cautiously put his arm around the young pilot in a comforting gesture. “Hey, don’t feel bad, this isn’t your doing.”
“I feel responsible though,” Brian sighed. “I know I’m not, but, it doesn’t stop me feeling like a freak of nature.”

He watched Brian for a moment, taking the young aviator in. In the nearly four months that they had been in the camp together he had certainly noticed a change in the boy. Every since he’d first revealed his injuries to him, he had been more attuned to his friend’s changing condition. It hadn’t been a significant shift at first, but it had been enough to quickly push the already slight and fine-featured lad over an invisible line into androgyny. Looking at Brian now, he could see that the young pilot had left androgyny far behind and was looking more and more girlish by the day.

“I can’t begin to understand what you’re going through Bri, but you know we’ll stick by you. You’re one of us and we protect our own.”

Brian pushed his hair out of his eyes in what appeared to be a rather girlish gesture to Matheson. “I’m not worried about you chaps. It’s the rest of the camp that worries me. German or Prisoner, I’ve seen some of the looks they’ve been giving me. I really don’t like it Andrew, I know what it means.”

Andrew winced visibly at the implication. He too knew exactly what his friend was suggesting and the very idea filled him with anger. “Nobody will touch you if I can’t help it,” he growled quietly. “I won’t tell them why, but I’ll make sure that I have some people looking out for you that I trust, ok?”

Brian smiled weakly in response, “Thank you, I’m sorry that I’m such a burden.”

Matheson shook his head and stood, pulling the young pilot to his feet. “Nonsense, we’re a team, and we look out for our wingmen.”

“Sometimes you need to leave them behind for the good of the squadron,” Brian pointed out morosely.

“Not on my watch, ok?” Matheson replied firmly. “Now get back inside and get to bed or Father Christmas won’t bring us any wire cutters eh?”

 

 

Brian arose refreshed and more at peace the following morning. The Germans had put a hold on work parties for the day, instead allowing the prisoners a day of rest. It was no truce of the Great War, but there was an easing of tension between the two sides for the first time in a long while.

After their usual plain but warm breakfast, Brian spent the morning in the hut with the others playing cards and talking. The atmosphere was friendly and relaxed. It was one of the first times in his life he had felt truly comfortable in the world. His conversation with Matheson the night before had eased his fears somewhat, and while he still felt strange about his changing body, for once he was less afraid for the others to know that it was happening. The future might as yet be uncertain, but for the first time, he was confident that one might exist.

“Back home we’d have the biggest spreads, you wouldn’t believe,” Down sighed happily from his bunk. “Turkey, goose, ham, taters and gravy.”

“We’d always have a turkey in my house,” Hamley agreed. “My wife and youngest would spend the whole mornin cookin’ and we’d eat ourselves into a coma.”

“Fat chance of that happening at the moment unless we want to cook the American,” Maddox mused with a chuckle.

“What about your lot Bri?” Andrew called, reshuffling the deck. “How did you celebrate the day back home?”

Brian shrugged from his spot, cross legged on his bunk, “Like anyone I suppose, Church, family gatherings and dinner. It was always my favorite time of year; the snow, the carols and the atmosphere.”

Matheson grinned. “You know what I miss? Minced pies.”

“Ugh, the Germans don’t know what they’re missin’.” Hamley agreed. “Minced pies with cream, mulled wine and a crackling fire.”

“Christmas cookies,” Down agreed, “And Eggnog.”

“Ugh stop, I’m starving.” Brian laughed. “You’ll make whatever they serve us for dinner a let down if you carry on like this.”

“You know I hear the Kommandant actually ponied up some supplies for the cookhouse, we might actually have a half-decent nosh.” Maddox pointed out.

“That sounds rather lovely.” Brian agreed wistfully. “I’m so hungry these days I could eat a whole goose myself.”

Hamley chuckled warmly. “Given how skinny ye are, you might need it. I don’t know where you’d put it though.”

Brian found himself pleasantly surprised that evening when they made their way to the mess hall. While not a banquet by any means, the Germans had provided enough provisions to prepare a reasonable facsimile of an English Christmas dinner. As far as he could tell, the Komandant had a simple approach to his job; keep them placid and there’s far less likelihood of trouble. He couldn’t fault the man’s logic, he would have done the same thing in his shoes.

Food was enjoyed, carols were sung and for a brief time, men were happy. Brian was able to set aside his fears and truly be one of the many. His own fears and insecurities were swept aside in the festive mood and as the snow fell on Christmas night, the camp forgot for a short while that they were at war. For one night, it was simply Christmas.

 

 

 

Not every work detail conducted outside of the camp fence was hard labor. Often tasks were graded depending on one’s status with the Germans. If you were on the Kommandant’s shit list, you could admittedly find yourself chopping wood or hauling materials. However, Prisoners with clean records and good standing were often tasked with more mundane day to day maintenance tasks around the camp and guards quarters that carried more privilage.

Brian and four others had been recruited to assist with painting the offices and dining quarters of the Guard’s facilities by the main gate to the camp. It had meant three days outside the camp and time spent around the administrative staff.

Matheson had been keen for him to pay close attention to the Germans during his labor. From within the fence, only so much could be gleaned of their captors operation. However, with Brian able to spend more than a few days outside and in direct contact with them, he was able to better grasp the comings and goings of the Germans that kept their gaol.

“Make sure you take care of the corridor before you finish up here today I don’t want to see clutter in the way.” the guard supervising them called out in German.

Brian nodded and started cleaning his brush. He and the others had been mostly selected for this task because they spoke reasonable German. It allowed them to work as assistants to the local painter far better. Herr Mayer was an elderly fellow that lived in a nearby town. He hadn’t volunteered the information, but Brian had noticed a Regensburg newspaper in his lorry that gave him a fair approximation of their general location. One that was later confirmed by Hamley’s calculations.

“You know people get paid good money for this sort of thing back home.” One of the others muttered. “Here, we’re bloody slave labour for Jerry, it’s just not right.”

“It’s that or we can say goodbye to that grain they’re promising us for this, I quite fancied some bread.” Brian pointed out.

“Why not get your boyfriends in twelve to get you some then fruit?” the man sneered.

Brian bristled but remained quiet.

“What is going on?” The guard snapped, noticing the tension in the room.

Brian shook his head and hefted the fresh paint pot. “Es ist nichts.” he sighed leaving the room.

Berkeley had once told him that there were gay men in the camp. Time had proven this to be the case, but they had always kept to themselves. Most of the camp population tolerated them out of necessity, but some took particular umbridge. Brian’s more feminine appearance seemed to place him in the crosshairs of both groups. No matter what, he was stuck in the middle without many friends to his name. The only viable solution was to keep his head down and get on with his work. Opening the fresh pot, he got down to his work on the corridor.

There was a rustle and a clank as someone stepped on the painting cloth and knocked over an empty pot. “Watch out, it’s still wet,” Brian called.

“You are with the prisoners fraulein?” A female voice asked, startling Brian.

The woman was about his height and blonde. Wearing a Luftwaffe officer’s uniform, she looked barely a year or two his senior. She was carrying a stack of files under her arm and was carefully attempting to navigate the painters' rags that covered the ground.

“Uh, oh, yes… Frau Oberleutnant,” he added straightening up, noticing the markings on her collar. “I’m sorry, let me get that.” Brian blushed pulling the speckled cloth aside so she could pass. “I just started in here.”

The woman regarded him curiously for a moment before smiling her thanks and heading through into the main office.

“I didn’t know we had any female prisoners at the camp,” he heard the woman ask the guard outside.

“We don’t, Frau Oberleutnant.” The guard replied politely. Brian grimaced as he realized the woman’s mistake.

“Are you sure? But back there…”

“Oh, them? That is, ah; he’s one of the prisoners.”

Brian didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. The sound was drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears at his embarassment. Here he was in his worn out uniform shirt and trousers and a woman had confused him for another member of the fairer sex. He knew things had gotten worse with his appearance, but he was now more acutely aware of why some of those strange looks were happening. Tucking his hair into his collar, he got back to work and kept his head down.

Later that evening when their work was complete, the guard assembled them in the office before escorting them back to the main camp enclosure. With their own plans afoot, Brian was keen to snatch anything potentially useful. Unlike exterior work parties with access to tools and potential weapons, the guards working with their group seemed far more relaxed about protocol and hadn’t searched them the previous two evenings. Taking a chance while the man’s back was turned, Brian snatched a folder from a nearby desk and stuffed down his trousers. Ensuring the precious cargo was hidden, he glanced around, glad to see his theft had been undetected by even the other prisoners.

The guard led them back out into the darkness and across the yard before escorting them through the double gated entrance to the camp and back into their own world.

Keeping to himself, Brian weaved between the rows of huts and made his way directly back to the safety of hut twelve. Slipping inside, he allowed himself to breathe for the first time since his escapade began. Maddox and Hamley were inside when he arrived, the pair looking up with surprise at his panicked appearance.

“What’s wrong with you eh?” The big Irishman chuckled, “You know the Jerries already caught you right?”

Brian reached under his shirt and pulled out the folder.

“Where did you get that from?” Maddox asked with interest. “Andy’s rubbing off on you I see.”

Brian shrugged as he dropped down onto his bunk. “I’ve no idea honestly. I had the chance in the office to grab something and just… did. I have no idea if it’s of any use at all. Worst case, we have more fuel for the burner.”

“Pass 'em here,” Maddox asked, sticking out his hand for the file.

Brian passed it over and moved over so the Navy pilot could join him on his bunk.

“Hm, what do we have here then,” Maddox muttered as he began to sheaf through the paperwork inside the manilla folder. Brian’s heart lept as he saw a diagram of what appeared to be the camp itself. “Anything useful?” Brian asked hopefully.

Maddox paused and sniffed, “are you using different soap?”

Brian frowned, “no, the same as always. I suppose I’m a little ripe from nerves though.”

The navy pilot eyed him curiously but shrugged and began reading the papers.

“Perha…. Wait a second, these are… Oh Andy’s going to love this.” Maddox wrapped an arm around Brian and gave him a one handed hug, “You bloody beautiful bastard, you only nabbed their plumbing and electrical diagrams.”

“Is that sort of thing useful? I didn't know we going to be installing a bathtub.” The big Irishman chuckled.

“I’d think so,” Maddox grinned. “This outlines a lot of what goes where, and how it all connects together. It might not seem important on the surface but it shows weak points where we never actually expected.”

“So we might be able to mess with things and force them to send in repair people?” Brian offered as he started to grasp the concept.

“Thats the ticket alright, not sure how we’ll use it but that is certainly one way. Good find, we can show Andy later.” After hiding their prize, the three exited the hut and made their way toward the camp mess hall. After collecting their meager dinner the group settled down at their usual table.

It had begun to feel entirely too normal for Brian in the time that they had been at the camp. He couldn’t imagine how it must have felt for those who had been incarcerated for longer than he had. Despite the uncertainty of his own future, this place, this camp had become a home of sorts.

In some ways, it was considerably worse than his boarding school had ever been. Certainly, the standards of accommodation lacked something, but the atmosphere felt quite similar. Cliques and groups stuck to their own territory and everyone existed in a strange detente for the most part. Occasionally scuffles would break out between groups, but it was rare and the guards had a tendency to come down firmly on such exertion.

“Bloody miles away!”

Hamley’s laugh snapped Brian back to the present moment. He realized he had been idly stirring the stew on his plate for the last few minutes. “Sorry?” he asked, coloring slightly.

“Andy was asking how the painting was going for the krauts,” Maddox prompted.

Brian shrugged, “Fine I guess. We’re probably a day or two from done, it’s nice to get outside the wire for a bit.”

“I hear you had to paint the bathrooms, spot of luck that,” he added tapping the side of his nose.

It took Brian embarrassingly too long to get the man’s inference before he nodded in reply. “Yes, somewhat a last-minute thing. Wasn’t really sure what I was painting till we got back afterward, you know?”

“Certainly lucky in this case, a rather excellent job you did.” Matheson agreed.

Brian got bumped into the table by a passing body. “Hey!” he spluttered as half of his stew sloshed onto the wooden tabletop.

A group of men were chatting loudly as they moved past the table. Brian recognized one of the men from the work detail earlier who seemed to have been the one to shove him. “Sorry Fraulein,” the man simpered before his compatriots burst into laughter.

“Apologize to the la…d,” Hamley growled standing up.

The man turned, surrounded by his friends, and shrugged. “What are you going to do old timer? Jerry will send you to the hole for fighting. Is it worth defending the honor of your little girlfriend?”

Hamley snarled and was bout to take a step toward the men when Matheson grasped his bicep and hauled him back down to the table.

“Not today Arthur; not today,” he growled quietly.

“I won’t have ‘em insult one of us like that,” the Irishman spat.

“I wouldn’t either, but it will not do us any good if we get ourselves thrown in the hole for it. They won’t try anything beyond schoolyard silliness in here and they wouldn’t date try a thing anywhere private, they’re cowards; big boys in a small yard.”

“He’s got a point old chap,” Maddox offered. “No offense Brian, but we would be on the losing end of that fight and they bloody well know it.”

Brian shook his head and attempted to scoop a few chunks of precious food back onto his plate. “It’s fine, I’m used to it and I know they only want an excuse.”

“The hell did you do to anger them?” Down asked raising an eyebrow.

“Exist,” Brian sighed.

“Don’t they know we’re on the same damn team?” Down muttered sourly.

Matheson shook his head sadly and glanced over prisoners in the mess hall. “You know, the longer we’re in here, the more I think they forget.”

 

 

Brian rolled over in his cot and stared up at the bottom of the bunk above him. It was the middle of the night, but he had no idea what time it was. All around him, he could hear the faint sounds of the others as they slept, peacefully ignorant of his insomnia. Outside, other than the occasional sweep of a searchlight that illuminated their hut’s windows it was dark and still. In the corner of the room, the last embers in the wood stove glowed faintly, casting the last of its heat out into the cold air.

Brian listened to the faint sounds of breathing from the other bunks and pulled his thin blanket tighter around his body against the chill. He was conscious that his world was shifting and he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it. What was occurring was not normal under any circumstance, that much he could appreciate.

With each passing month, he was becoming increasingly feminine, even he could admit that now. Men did not spontaneously turn into women and yet, his body was playing a cruel trick on him. What had begun as gentle and slow changes had clearly reached a point of critical mass. At first, he had been ashamed that he would never become the man the world wanted him to be. After some time and reflection, he accepted his neutrality; his perpetual boyhood. Now that too had begun to shift and move away from his grasp. What had begun as softness and fragility had now grown into something that others saw very differently. In the months since his accident and incarceration, he had changed dramatically; it was becoming harder to hide the fact within the closed world of the camp.

With their reduced diet and the results of his injuries, he was far thinner and more slight than he could remember ever being in his life. Parts of him however seemed to defy that; his thighs, buttocks, and hips stubbornly retained what little fat was left in his body. His trousers still fitted his hips but required a belt to stay up on his far narrower waist.

Looking down the blanket that was wrapped around him up to his neck, he regarded the lumps caused by his chest. He could no longer deny that he had a pair of breasts beneath the thin blanket. They were not large, but they were categorically breasts. When they had first started to become noticeable he had dismissed the irritation and sensitivity as a result of the fabric of his shirt; anything but to acknowledge the truth. Their subsequent development had put paid to that weak hope. Now, he had a small but obvious bust that he had learned to hide with oversized clothing and a hunched posture.

The other prisoners could see what was happening to him and now the guards and staff had begun to see the changes. How long could he last before something bad happened? The others in the hut already knew, Matheson had told him. To their credit, the men were polite about it and never brought it up with him. It gave him a small comfort that he had at least once place where he could relax and lower his guard. He wasn’t ignorant to the fact that they had slipped once or twice regardless.

Friends; that was a strange thought. Brian had gone through his life without much in the way of friendship. His siblings had of course been present during his life but his elder brothers had been somewhat embarrassed by their runt of a sibling. They had both attended the same school and Richard had been two years ahead with Christopher the same year. His sister Anne was a year younger, but she had been off at her own school and spent time with her own friends during the holidays. Beyond his family, Brian had never actually had any friends. People hadn’t been overtly hostile toward him, but he had certainly felt rather detached from the social circles of his peers.

Here in the camp, however, the members of hut twelve treated him like an equal. Andrew, Daniel, Mike and Arthur were people he considered true friends. They included him, stood up for him, and seemed genuinely interested in his wellbeing. They might be in a prison, and he might be suffering from an unknown affliction that was ravaging his body, but for the first time in his life he actually felt glad to be alive.

If he separated himself from the idea of what he ‘should’ look and feel like, he realized that he was overall, relatively happy if one discounted his incarceration. The discomfort and unease of his adolescence was gone and the demands on him to be like his brothers and peers no longer existed. He felt for once that he was truly at peace with himself. For once, he was in touch with his own feelings.

Brian had no idea what he would do when they returned home. If their plan to escape was successful or if the war ended at some point he would be home in England and would have to confront his situation. He supposed doctors would become involved, but he had no idea what he would be by that point. This was all contingent on their survival of course; there was every chance they might die in an escape attempt.

For the first time in his life, Brian considered what he would do once the war was over. Naturally, at some point, it would conclude, all things did. As prisoners of war, they would be returned and he would find a way to build a life for himself in whatever world existed beyond this blood war. He was positive that the RAF would not let him fly again given his evolving predicament. While the military had not been his first choice of career, it had certainly given him a love for aviation and the skills to pursue it.

Brian smiled to himself in the darkness as he pictured a future flying for himself in some far-flung part of the world. The smile faded when he realized that the future he envisaged included a more female version of himself than he was prepared to accept. Perturbed by the image, Brian purged it from his mind and squeezed his eyes closed. He let out a long breath that misted in the cold air above him and pulled the blanket over his head, beckoning sleep's return.

 

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“You seem to be far more developed than when I last saw you.” Doctor Muller mused as Brian bashfully redressed. “I am quite surprised by the difference a few months has made.”

“Is it bad?”

Muller shook his head, “No, not bad. You are, according to my measurements, entirely healthy.”

Brian dropped down into the seat by Muller’s desk and inclined his head. “Healthy, but not normal.”

“Can I be frank with you Brian? One hundred percent truthful?”

The young aviator nodded reluctantly, “Go ahead Doctor, I trust you.”

Muller frowned and collected his thoughts before continuing. “If you had come into my practice in Frankfurt before the war, and lacked one critical element, I would tell you that you were developing into a healthy and dare I say, delightful young woman.”

“I think I can guess what element you mean,” Brian cringed as he blushed crimson. “Is it really that bad?”

“There is nothing bad about it Brian. Is it unusual? Most certainly. Whatever this whole mess has unearthed is proceeding at its own pace and will conclude in its own time.” The German reached out and clasped Brian by the shoulder. “I think, dear boy, you will need to come to terms with the fact that you will struggle to present as a male in time to come if, that is, you are not already.”

Seeing the look on Brian’s face, he continued. “I expected as much. It does make me fear for your safety amongst the other prisoners. They are officers and gentlemen, but we all know that war changes people.”

“I have good friends, they… they look out for me.”

Muller nodded and smiled, “That makes me feel a lot better. I will try to speak to the Kommandant in the coming days to express my concerns over your situation. I do not believe being in that space with… I cannot say ‘other’, men is right anymore.”

“I’m not sure how to process that Doctor,” Brian admitted quietly.

The two sat in silence for a moment until Muller spoke up. “May I ask a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“My experience in this field is limited, but I have… had read some of Doctor Hirshfeld’s material. In your childhood, were there ever any feelings of… what is the word? Incompatibility? That you did not fit in perhaps with your peers?”

Brian nodded reluctantly, “I never really fitted in I suppose. I always expected I would feel more… normal when I caught up with my brothers.”

“Physically?”

Brian nodded. I think that’s why this hit me so hard at first; realizing I would never catch up.

“You never stopped to ask if you wanted to.”

Brian considered the doctor’s words carefully. The very thought had been rattling around his head for months as he came to terms with his situation.

“Allow me,” Muller interjected, “Do you feel abject loss, that your worth as a man is now less after your accident?”

Brian shook his head, “No.”

“How do you feel about the changes you are experiencing; does appearing female bother you?”

Brian looked away, unable to meet Muller’s eyes. “It doesn’t bother me at all. I… it feels better.” he croaked.

 

 

With Christmas past, time began to take on a strange fluidity for Brian. Within the confines of the camp, days were beginning to blur together as they spent time isolated from the world outside.
News and information didn’t reach them and events of a normal peacetime life were not present to break up the seasons. The war itself remained the greatest mystery with only the certain knowledge that they might know one way or the other when it ended.

It was somewhere between the end of January and the beginning of February as far as Brian could tell. The snow and frost had melted and its disappearance was a welcome gift to the prisoners as temperatures began their slow crawl towards springtime.

He had just finished another language class in the mess hall and was presently working away in the camp gardens. The small plot was located at the southern end of the compound along the fence line that bordered the forest. Brian joined the other prisoners tasked with preparing the ground for their first crop of the year.

The sun was weak but promised warmer days to come. The ground beneath his fingers was thawing and it gave them the chance to plant once again. Concentrating on his job, Brian worked quietly and efficiently, separating the weeds from the damp earth. He enjoyed the garden work; he felt proud of what they managed to cultivate within their small patch of earth. It helped everyone to eat better and allowed him to feel as though he was truly contributing to the well-being of the whole. Truth be told, in a world of turmoil and uncertainty, it gave him a sense of control and order when he needed it most.

“Come on Campbell,” jeered one of the other prisoners. “Hurry up, we need to get this done or we’re going to be here till the bloody war’s over.”

Brian realized he’d been staring into space and returned his attention to his work, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear as he did so.

“God, I’m almost so desperate for cookie that I’d have a tussle with that.” One of the other prisoners commented to the man who had spoken. Brian couldn’t see the man, but he hadn’t even attempted to lower his voice. “Dunno why they have her out here, we should just stick her in the kitchen where the women belong.”

“Kitchen, Bedroom, anywhere useful,” the original speaker chuckled.

Brian grimaced and resisted the urge to react to the words and the cruel laughter that followed. He had learned the hard way that any response or reaction on his part just resulted in a confrontation that he would never win. Even before he had lost what little strength he had, he had never been a fighter; a physical confrontation with men much larger was a poor choice and he knew it well.

Straightening up, Brian dumped the weeds he had collected into a basket and dusted the soil from his hands. Without looking back toward the others he simply walked away. Gritting his teeth as he left the vegetable garden, he tried to keep his mind off the barbs and the thinly veiled intent of the man’s words.

He had been wrong when he had thought it was almost like school; it was exactly like school. The bullies ruled the coop and nothing could be done about them. He had friends, and they offered him some modicum of protection but the problem was that many of the worst men knew how to play the system. Any sense of it being them versus the Germans had long since departed as many gave way to their baser instinct to act like caged animals.

Slamming the door to the hut behind himself, Brian slumped down against the wall and wrapped his arms around his knees in an attempt to hold back his tears of frustration. The man’s words hurt because he knew they were true. He felt powerless to avoid the attention of those who saw him as a desirable prize or an object of scorn. No matter what he did, he was prey in a predator’s world. Nothing seemed to make sense in his mind anymore; his feelings were difficult enough to interpret and the changes he had experienced over the last few months of captivity had only made them worse.

There were some homosexuals in the camp contingent and some didn’t attempt to hide their nature from the others. It was certainly not encouraged but rather, it was tolerated under their particularly isolated circumstances. He saw how some of those men looked at him. What was more unnerving was that he saw how some of the normal chaps glanced in his direction when they thought he wasn’t looking. The rest, he was convinced, probably considered him homosexual because of his appearance alone.

While he had not as much as kissed a girl before he joined up, he was relatively sure that he wasn’t attracted to men. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure he was interested in anyone at all. He knew that he felt different from the others, even those he considered to be his friends. He wasn’t sure what those feelings meant or how he could convince others differently.

“Ah, there you are darlin’,” a voice growled from the doorway. “Here I thought you were running off to your mates. I’m rather glad you made my job a good deal easier.”

Brian flinched at the voice and turned towards it. “What the hell do you want?” he spat acidly, his frustration overriding his better judgment as he recognized the man from the garden.

“Now don’t talk to me like that! You need to learn your bloody place queer.”

Feeling some adrenaline-fueled shard of bravery, Brian scrambled to his feet and took a step toward the larger man. “I’m not a queer,” he snarled. “Just because… I’m not. Just stop it, ok?” he trailed off, at a loss for the words to defend himself. Brian let his shoulders slump as he understood just how little any comeback meant at that moment.

The larger man smiled and laughed at him, Brian wasn’t even sure if he even knew his name. There was certainly no reason that he could have possibly drawn his ire beyond existing. Before he could react, the man shoved Brian squarely in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards until he lost his balance and landed on the floor with a bump.

“You’re not even a bloody queer,” the man growled down at him. “At least a queer would be man enough to even try and fight back. A man would have tried to throw a punch at me. I don’t think you’re worthy of even being a man.”

Brian’s blood ran cold as he recognized the look of cold hunger in his attacker's eyes. At that moment, he recognized why the man was here and exactly the danger he was in. He tried to scramble backwards to widen the gap between himself and the intruder but ran up against the solid barrier of the hut wall.

“I think you’re a woman,” the man laughed, making effeminate hand gestures and pouting mockingly. “You think I don’t see you wagging that rump around the camp eh? You’re the closest thing we’ve got in here to a bit of skirt and I’m going to use you like one until you accept it’s your new reality.”

Brian blinked back the beginning of tears; he almost believed the man’s cruel words. It was as if part of him felt he deserved whatever was about to come.

“I’m going to teach you to be a proper woman you queer shit,” growled the man as he approached Brian slowly, each footstep falling like thunder on the wooden floorboards. Brian’s heart felt as though it would burst from his chest as adrenaline flooded his system. The man stopped directly above him and looked down with a mask of hate and lust etched on his drawn features.

The man leaned down and idly backhanded him. “Look at you, pretty little thing just teasing us all. You think you don’t have to deal with the consequences? I see you flaunting that body, waving your ass around and teasing us girly. I’m going to make you regret your sashaying around you little bitch.”

The man grabbed Brian by the throat and forced him to his feet. Pinned against the wall, Brian felt tiny and insignificant. He struggled for breath and escape but the man’s hand was clasped firmly around his neck. The man sniffed at Brian’s hair and ran his free hand down the side of his body. Brian squeezed his eyes shut and gasped, his entire body revolting at the man’s touch. The man shoved his hand up Brian’s shirt and squeezed at his flesh roughly, his eyes glowing as he grasped a breast. “What is this?” The man snarled, his stinking breath in Brian’s ear. “Oh this is what I wanted,” he muttered as he ground his crotch against Brian’s hip.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Matheson barked, his body filling the doorway. “Unless you hadn’t realized, we’re all on the same bloody side here.”

The man above Brian turned and grinned at Matheson. “That’s true enough, but this queer keeps eying me up; I figured it was time I taught him his place.”

“You won’t touch he…him,” Andrew replied. His words were even and quiet but they carried a finality that demanded that they not be questioned.

“Oh you want your little fruit all to yourself eh?” the man laughed darkly. “I’m sure you get plenty in here with your mates every night. Step aside for me to have a go eh?”

“You won’t touch him,” Matheson repeated, “I will not tell you again.”

The man smirked and squeezed tighter around Brian’s throat, “Are you going to make me, friend?” The man enquired slowly, the challenge obvious in his voice.

Before the man could close his mouth to grin at Matheson, he was slammed backwards into the cabin wall as the pilot plowed into him with a snarl of rage. Released from the grip, Brian dropped to the floor and rolled away from the threat. Flattening himself against the bunk, he tried to stay clear of the grappling men.

Matheson swung the man around and threw him into one of the bunks with a tremendous crash, rocking the structure backwards with the force of the impact. Recovering his wits, the man swung a fist at Matheson: It was a violent but uncontrolled attack that allowed the airman to sweep it away before landing his own squarely into the man’s gut. As he doubled over with a grunt, Matheson grabbed a fist full of the man’s hair before driving his knee sharply into the man’s bowed head with a sickening crack. As Matheson released him, the man fell limp to the floor.

His chest heaving, Matheson turned to look at Brian. “He didn’t hurt you did he?” he panted. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner; one of the chaps in the work detail overheard what that bastard was planning with his mates and I came as soon as I could,” he apologised, his face filled with concern.

Brian nodded weakly, trying to dampen the tremors he felt racking his body. He wiped away a tear and forced a weak smile. “Thank you,” he offered quietly as he felt the full weight of shame descend upon him. “This wasn’t your fight you know?” he added looking up at Matheson. “It was all my fault and I should have fought back, I rather think I deserved it really.”

Andrew Matheson moved over to Brian and squatted down in front of his friend. “No, It wasn’t,” he said finally. “You didn’t ask for that and he didn’t have the right to do or say those things to you. You’re my friend and friends look out for each other, right?” he smiled reassuringly, wrapping the smaller pilot in a tight hug. “You never deserved any of this Bri.”

“Isn’t this lovely,” a voice called mockingly from the open doorway. Brian’s eyes snapped towards the sound and he spotted his attacker’s friends blocking their only escape route. “You two having a private moment eh? Maybe I should...” The man trailed off as his eyes fell upon the sight of his friend’s prostrate form. “What the hell did you do to Webber? He growled as he rushed over to check on his friend.

Reaching down, he felt for a pulse and recoiled with a look of surprise and disgust on his face. “He’s bloody dead, ” the man cried in surprise. “What the hell did you do that for?”

It was his own fault,” Matheson growled, straightening up. “That will teach him to try to attack others on the same bloody side.”

“You bastard!” the man yelled, launching himself at Andrew.

Blocking the man’s clumsy attack, Matheson kicked him in the stomach before deflecting the blows dealt by his two accomplices. He swung around to hit one of the others when he was distracted by the sudden shade created as a Guard filled the doorway, his submachine gun raised.

“Alle Halt! Hӓnde Hoch!” The guard yelled as he waved the barrel menacingly at the group of men, frozen mid-brawl. “Hӓnde Hoch!” he yelled jerking the barrel between the men.

Overflowing with adrenaline one of the men turned and launched himself foolishly at the nervous German. As if signifying the final punctuation mark on his death warrant, the gun roared in the confined space of the hut, and the man crumpled to the floor, his hands grasping weakly at his bloodied chest.

“You bloody Jerry bastard!” screamed the ringleader as he turned on the German, catching him across the cheek with a lucky punch. The gun went off again, bullets pinning the third attacker to the hut wall and sending Brian scrambling to the floor. The ringleader fought the guard, the two struggling before he finally turned the gun against him. The man coughed blood before dropping to his knees and collapsed to the hut floor.

Matheson struck while the surviving attacker was turned and drove his knee into the man’s back before snapping his neck with a sickening crack and allowing his body to drop to the floor to join the other corpses.

Rushing over to Brian, Matheson quickly checked him over. “Are you ok? You’re not hurt?”

It had all happened so quickly he had barely had time to feel shock. Pushing its tendrils away, Brian shook his head. “No, I’m ok… oh god, what happened.”

Matheson grimaced, “Something brewing for some time; maybe something else too. Come on Bri.” he said, offering his hand to Brian.

“Let’s get out of here before this goes to total hell.” Without missing a moment, Matheson began digging quickly through the dead German’s pouches. Removing four spare magazines for the man’s submachinegun, he reloaded the weapon before slipping the remaining ones into his jacket pocket.

“Well now, that was a little exciting,” he muttered quietly as he glanced out of the hut doorway quickly before snapping his head back inside.

“Bri, can you grab his sidearm and cover me? I think we might have to modify our timetable somewhat. This little tussle has escalated matters somewhat.”

Brian moved away from the wall and over to the dead soldier. Crouching down, he unfastened the man’s belt holster with trembling fingers and removed the Luger pistol. “How do we even begin to explain any of this?” he asked dumbfounded. “I… I messed everything up.”

“Not quite,” Matheson replied smoothly without taking his eyes off the alleyway between the huts, “Come on now.” He hissed beckoning Brian to follow him as he darted out of the door and across the alley and into the one across from them.

“No, you didn’t mess anything up; you just modified the timetable somewhat,” Matheson smiled as Brian reached the hiding place beside him. “You might have improved our chances too, so chin up eh? Jerry is going to help us escape.”

“Did you forget about the bloody company of Luftwaffe guards outside the wire?” Brian hissed urgently at his friend, trying to work out what madness was running through his thick skull.

Before Matheson could answer, two guards rounded the corner at a run with their weapons raised. The men made their way cautiously towards the scene of the carnage, neither of them paying the huts to their rear any notice as they approached the open door. “Wo bist du Rudolf?” one called, as he poked his head through the doorway. The man stopped dead as he was confronted by the bloodbath within. “Mein Gott,” the man exclaimed, “Alarm Heinrich, Alarm schlagen!” he yelled turning to his compatriot. The man didn’t have a chance to raise as much as his weapon as Matheson swung the hut door open and sprayed the pair with his submachine gun.

“Come on! help me get their weapons,” he ordered, making his way quickly out into the alley and removing the first German’s equipment. “The more we kill and more of us we arm, the better the chance we have for this to work. This place is so isolated that we’ll be long gone before they have a chance to get any reinforcements up here,” Matheson explained. “If we can cause enough of a ruckus, we might make it out of here in one piece in all the crazy. Unlike bloody Berkley’s convoluted schemes, this is the kind of plan that has some hope of us making it.”

“That’s all well and good,” Brian replied skeptically, slinging the spare weapon over his shoulder. “What is your plan for tiptoeing past Hitler and the rest of his pals outside the camp?”

Matheson chuckled as they ducked between the huts following them closer to the center of the camp. “I’ll work it out when we get there, or rather, out of here.”

As the pair rounded the next hut, they barely managed to avoid a collision with Hamley, Down and Maddox moving quickly towards the sounds of gunfire.

“We heard shooting? What’s going on?” Maddox panted, his eyes widening at the sight of the pair laden with weapons. “Are you two after getting yourselves killed?”

“Fight went badly wrong and a Jerry bought it. It presented an opportunity. Here,” Matheson offered, holding out the weapons as he explained quickly to the group. “Help yourselves chaps. I think our tenancy here is just about up.”

With practiced ease, the men checked over the weapons and ammunition. “What’s the plan then boss?” Down asked cocking the weapon in his hands. “We gun our way out of here and off to Paris for cocktails?”

“Stick within the confines of the huts,” Matheson instructed. “We’re out of sight of the towers and their heavy guns. Drop as many Jerries as possible and arm as many of our chaps as we can. If we can cause a general riot with more confusion the better it will give us a fighting chance of legging it before the dust settles. I’ll see about sorting out those towers myself if you can buy me some time.”

“You’re a mad one,” chuckled Hamley, “but this sounds like good craic, so let's have out of this place eh? I think I’m tired of fuckin’ cabbage.”

“Go in pairs,” Matheson added sharply, his happy-go-lucky facade slipping under the focused military exterior. “Hamley and Maddox, Down and Campbell, I’ll go alone for now, I’ve got something I need to sort out… And for god’s sake,” he added looking over his shoulder. “Try not to get bloody killed will you? I’ll find you when I’m done.”

The group split up and began to make their way through the maze of huts. Brian could hear the camp sirens wailing as gunfire rattled out around the camp. It was clear now that other prisoners had taken the initiative and risen up against their guards. The entire facility was in a state of general revolt. The sharp bark of the tower machine guns was a worrying bass line that accompanied the sounds of battle.

As they rounded a corner, Brian spotted a group of heavily armed guards slowly making their way between the huts as they hunted the rioting prisoners. Before the Germans could get any closer or spot the pair, a group of allied prisoners jumped the squad and began beating them with garden implements before gathering their weapons for themselves. The definitions of guard and detainee were now almost totally forgotten as the former lines of battle had been redrawn within the wire perimeter of the camp.

“God damn this is the wild damn west,” Down remarked with a whistle, “that silly limey’s gonna get us all fuckin’ killed.”

“He was saving my life,” Brian replied defensively. “He started all of this to save me,” he added more softly. It didn’t matter what Andrew had said to him in the hut. He felt responsible for this entire mess and he could only hope they made it out of it in one piece.

Down shook his head slowly and worked his jaw. “I hope to heck he knows what he’s doing all the same.” As he scanned the alleyway ahead, Brian could see the worry in the man’s eyes. His friend didn’t need to verbalize the fear and apprehension he was feeling, he could feel it in the pit of his own stomach.

A loud crunch made Brian turn suddenly as he heard the sound of running boots behind them. Without thinking he raised the German Luger pistol and squeezed the trigger at the shape of a German helmet as it rounded the corner. The bullet struck the man squarely in the throat before he had a chance to raise his own gun. With a gargle and a look of surprise, the soldier dropped to his knees with his hands gripping his ruined throat. The man seemed to wobble for a moment before collapsing immobile to the ground.

“Damn kid, that was some darn good shootin’,” Down grinned with admiration. “I barely heard that fella coming.”

Brian didn’t answer, he was still looking between the German’s body and the smoking barrel of his pistol, shocked at what he had just done. He had trained with his issued revolver as they all had but it’s use had always been a theoretical concept for him. As pilots, they never expected to ever fire their sidearms at anyone in particular. It’s purpose was for self-defence in an emergency and none of them really expected to get shot down. Their main enemy was the paper targets of the shooting range where it was merely a mechanical skill with no ramifications.

He had shot down enemy aircraft and men had died that much was true, but the boxy outline of an enemy aircraft was far less personal and much easier to dehumanize than killing a man face to face. The act seemed far more gruesome and unforgivable; it was hard not to see the man lying before him as a fellow human being rather than an enemy.

Down spotted the look on Brian’s face and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Hey, look at me, Brian, for gods sake! we can’t stay here,” he barked as he recognized the state the British pilot was slipping into. “Come on,” he yelled and pulled him down another alley behind him. “You can worry about that Kraut later; we still need to get the hell out of here in one piece.”

The Deep krump of an explosion reverberated through the camp, shortly followed by a second louder blast that deadened all other sounds for a brief moment. In it’s aftermath, the vicious chatter of the machine guns in the towers was silenced. Down whooped as they ran onward.

“Fuckin A’ man! I think he’s actually gone and done it!” he cheered punching the air. “Come on, let’s beat this damn joint!”

They reached the end of the row closest to the source of the explosions and peered out onto a scene of mayhem across the breadth of the camp. The dead ground between the huts and the gun towers that had been the gardens and football pitch was littered with the bodies of prisoner and guard alike. There were people running and diving for cover, most of them were prisoners. Both of the towers had been nearly shredded by explosions that left them twisted and burning; only the crackle of burning ammunition was left where the machine guns had formerly resided.

As they surveyed the carnage, Matheson jogged over to them looking slightly singed. “Got the bastards,” he smirked, clutching his submachine gun in one hand. “I think we might just make it out of this one. You seen the others?”

“Not yet.” The American admitted as they took cover behind a low wall, “What’s it looking like out there?”

Matheson reloaded his weapon before responding. “Rather surprisingly, it's going in our favor: We control inside the wire and several groups made it through the main gates. The fighting has moved out into the garrison now, so do me a favor Down; go round up the others and meet us by the gate.” The American snapped a lazy salute before taking off at a jog back the way they had come.

“What the hell did I start?” Brian muttered taking in the destruction around them.

Matheson shook his head. “This wasn’t your fault Bri, it was coming for some time. Don’t blame yourself for anything, especially…” Matheson paused and squeezed Brian’s shoulder. “Especially not for what happened in the hut.” Brian was about to speak in protest but the Navy man shook his head and smiled reassuringly. “Honestly, I see us getting a good shot at making it home if we play our cards right here, so I should thank you for that.”

Home: That would be interesting.

It wasn’t long before the remaining machine gun towers surrounding the camp had fallen silent and infrequent bursts of gunfire and explosions died down as the surviving prisoners began to break through the wire and make their bid for freedom in the dense forest surrounding the camp.

Brian and Andrew were soon rejoined by the other men from their hut as others took advantage of the confusion and anarchy.

“What’s the plan then Andrew?” Hamley enquired calmly, as he rested his weapon against a hut wall and lit a liberated German cigarette before offering the pack to Matheson. “Don’t get me wrong, this little bout of payback was great craic, but how does ye magic plan go on from here?”

Matheson accepted the cigarette with a nod and smiled cheerfully. “We still use my plan, but we use a lot less of it thanks to Bri here. We’ll be driving home old chaps; we take German uniforms and identification papers along with one of their vehicles outside and we bloody well drive to Switzerland.”

“That simple?” Down asked sceptically. “They aren’t going to stop us or wonder why we don’t speak any German?”

“Not at all,” Matheson added smiling. “I speak fluent German, I know Maddox is pretty decent and Brian here is bloody close to fluent too after spending all that time back in school. I told you that would be useful didn’t I?”

Brian shook his head in disbelief. “You’ve had a scheme this whole time haven’t you?”

Matheson simply grinned as he turned back to the others.

“So what next boss?” Maddox chipped in, racking the bolt on his weapon.

“I’m the boss now am I?” Matheson chuckled. “I don’t think I deserve that.”

“Well someone’s got to be I suppose,” Maddox shrugged. “You seem to have the answers so far, I’ve no issue defaulting to your command old boy.”

“Yeah well we can deal with that later.” Matheson waved dismissively “We’re all equals in this. If you guys want to come with me I think I have a good shot at getting us out of Germany alive. We may have to do some bad things, but we will survive. With fair seas and following winds, we’ll make it back to blighty in one piece. Anyone that wants to go it alone or stay, now’s your chance.”

“You know my answer,” Hamley grunted, “My Missus would skin my hide if I didn’t get back to her and the girls as soon as possible.” He chuckled, stubbing out his cigarette butt.

“Just as long as you limey’s buy me a pint of that English beer you keep telling me is so darn wonderful,” grinned Down.

Maddox shrugged, “the Jerries don’t exactly host a good game of Rugger boss.”

The group looked at Brian, who stood still fingering the pistol in his hands. Brian looked up and smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t like the food here anyway.”

Matheson looked at them all in turn and nodded, “Good, that’s settled then.” There was a tone of relaxed authority in his voice that outlined the true character of the man. “We need to get over to the admin building outside the wire and take whatever uniforms and documents we can get our hands on: If we do this half-arsed like most of the other chaps, we’ll be back inside or shot before the week is up. If we take a little time to prepare and cover our tracks we can make this work for us instead.”

“So what do you need us to do?” Down asked purposefully.

 

 

Maddox shoved open the door to the Administration block and swept the room with his weapon. “Clear,” he called moving forward cautiously into the room. The others followed him inside and began to fan out and explore. Maddox moved past a row of desks before coming to an abrupt halt.

“Over here,” he called out flatly, his eyes not leaving the spot on the floor. As the others congregated by him they caught sight of what had stopped the man in his tracks. A group of Germans lay dead on the flood where they had fallen. Each with a bullet in the back.

“Damn,” Hamley cursed, “those fuckers executed them.”

“Dead kraut is a dead kraut,” Down shrugged. “It’s a few less for us to deal with.”

Hamley turned on the American and jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “Now listen here you,” he spat with menace. “Yes, we might be fighting the Krauts but when people are prisoners, they are prisoners. Both sides look after them: Them’s the rules. They stood by ‘em with us, we do the same. These were not armed soldiers; They were unarmed enemy combatants in uniform. This is murder, straight up and down and that’s not on where I come from. You mind your damn tongue, Yank.”

Matheson put his hand on the Irishman’s arm and shook his head. “Not here,” he said quietly. “We’re on the same side and it won’t change anything, Arthur. Down; watch your tongue like the man says and try to be a little bit more respectful.”

“Maddox,” he called, “these Germans must have lived around here somewhere. Go and find their billets; they will have more than one uniform, unlike us.”

The Navy pilot nodded before disappearing through a side doorway.

“Sort through these bodies,” Matheson ordered, turning to Brian. “Find any papers on them and any effects and Identification material, we’re going to need it all.”

Brian nodded his understanding and set about his gruesome task.

The bodies had been left where they fell as the marauding prisoners had rampaged through the camp. Papers and objects were scattered across the floor creating a scene of great brutality even within wartime. The prisoners had all been treated fairly by the German guards. There was an understanding: They were not friends, but there was a responsibility of honor that had been entirely upheld. It was one thing to break out and take up arms against the equally armed guards. But the camp staff were not all armed, these office staff certainly hadn’t been. What appeared to make matters worse was the bindings on the wrists of the victims; they had been captured before their execution.

Several of the bodies yielded identification disks and papers that Brian piled on a desk by his side. The final body belonged to a young woman. Her rank pins marked her out as a an Oberleutnant, the german equivalent of a Lieutenant. Brian stared at the woman for a moment; he recognised her. Her face looked surprisingly calm in death. Despite the horrid wounds that blossomed from her chest her expression was calm. It looked as though she had understood the futility of fear in her final moments and made peace with her end.

As Brian lamented the woman’s untimely end it came to him; she was the woman that had spoken to him when they had been detailed to assist the painter. He had barely spoken to her then but she had seemed so vital and alive. Her present state seemed to have snatched her youthful innocence.

“I didn’t know we had any female prisoners here,”

The woman’s words echoed in his mind as he knelt beside her body. Was it that easy to confuse him for a woman at this point? Brian carefully slipped the identity disk from her neck and read the name aloud; “Oberleutnant Maria Horler.” He said a silent prayer for her untimely passing and closed her eyelids. Brian couldn’t help but believe that it would be one prayer too few in this terrible war.

Maddox reappeared at that moment with a grin of triumph on his face. “Boss, I found their quarters. Just as you said, spare uniforms, luggage and everything we need.”

Matheson nodded, “Did you find the papers Brian?” he continued, turning to the younger pilot. Brian nodded, still clutching the disk in his hand.

“Right then, what do we have?”

Brian sorted through the stack of identity papers before him before placing them on a desk in a row. “One Major, a Hauptmann, two Oberfeldwebel, and… an Oberleutnant.”

Matheson looked strangely at Brian for a moment before nodding. Then picked up a set of documents and handed them to Maddox. “Ok, Hauptmann Becker for you, and take these two for Hamley and Down; find their quarters and get yourselves sorted.”

Maddox nodded curtly and left to find the others. Matheson watched him leave the room before he turned back towards Brian and raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure we had only four men a moment ago?”

Brian blushed slightly and nodded. “Correct, we have four men here, however have five sets of identities and five sets of uniforms to split amongst the five of us.”

“We could probably find another set somewhere else in the camp surely,” Matheson asked pointedly as he walked over towards the young airman and leaned on the desk across from him. “You’re thinking about what I think you are, aren’t you?”

Brian swallowed and nodded. “I think it’s something we have to entertain; I don’t see us having much of a choice if I’m honest. I think right now it might be my best chance and, well, it would lend credence to our authenticity, wouldn’t it? If they are looking for escaped prisoners, it would be a group of all men, no?”

Matheson was quiet for a moment before he pursed his lips and nodded. “I suppose you have a point but isn’t that a rather drastic step? Are you even comfortable with it? Please tell me you haven’t taken those bastards' words seriously.”

“Six of one and half a dozen of the other I suppose,” he replied meekly. “No,” he said more firmly. “I’m not suggesting this because of… that. If I’m honest with myself I suppose this has been something weighing on my mind for some time.”

Brian pushed his hair out of his eyes and sighed. He weighed the thoughts in his mind for a moment before speaking again. “What am I, Andrew? Don’t get me wrong, I know what I was. The reality is that things have changed and I can’t explain it, but I can’t deny it either. The strangest part is that if I strip away all of the guilt, I really don’t mind at all. I’m going to do this because I want to know if these stilly thoughts rattling around in my brain are real or not. You can understand that can’t you? I need to do this as much for me as for all of us. I see the strategic benefit to it of course, but I also need to understand If I’ve gone totally silly and lost my marbles.” he chuckled darkly.

“When it comes to the others, I’d prefer it it was exclusively for the group; for the sake of the mission,” he prompted, his eyes pleading with his friend.

Matheson looked at him for a moment before he straightened up and nodded. “Not a problem,” he reassured his friend, “I won’t pretend I can understand it but I do need your head in the game. If this clears things up; well, why not?” Matheson shrugged. “Anyway, the ‘official’ reason is actually a damn good one. It might just keep us out of trouble and help this daft plan succeed.”

Matheson gestured at the doorway towards the officers’ billets where Maddox and the others were currently putting on their disguises. His expression softened and he smiled more kindly.“Off you go Fraulein Campbell, I think you’ve got some work to do.”

Brian nodded and left without another word before he could change his mind. The doorway led to a long-covered corridor that connected the main administration building to several smaller barracks, each building was subdivided into individual rooms. His heart was hammering at the thought of what he was about to do. He knew that he could stop at any point; hell, if it didn’t work, he could abandon it all and nobody would be any the wiser. What scared him more was the niggling fear that it would work just fine.

Since the accident he had spenta great deal of time lost in his own thoughts and fears. The physical effects of his problem coupled with the deeper feelings that he had never tried to confront were troubling. He felt conflicted; on one hand, he felt he had no choice but to see where this journey led him. On the other, society told him that to explore this pathway was shameful and ungodly for a man. What if he wasn’t really a man anymore, did that still apply?

The whole situation seemed so convenient; it was an opportunity to explore what had been plaguing his thoughts since that fateful day in France. He could only hope the others could accept the reason behind the ruse. If Matheson was right, then this would help them; perhaps that was all the justification the others would need.

Finding the door to Oberleutnant Horler’s quarters, Brian tentatively reached out towards the door handle as though it were glowing red hot. His fingers closed around it, and the world didn’t seem to react. Turning it, he slipped inside quickly before anyone in the deserted building could accuse him of impropriety. While relatively spartan, the room had delicate feminine touches that marked it out as belonging to a woman; a hairbrush on the desk, a small mirror, and several small flowers in a vase on the windowsill.

Sitting carefully on the bed Brian looked around slowly, wondering where exactly to begin. Lifting the identity disk by its chain, he looked at it for a moment as though the thin metal disk might burn his skin. With a sigh of resignation, he slipped it over his head and around his neck. “Maria Horler, Maria, Fraulein Horler, Maria...” he repeated quietly to himself, trying the name on for size. “Maria Ca…”

Brian wasn’t sure why this had felt like such a good idea at the time. It had only come to him when he had collected the identity documents moments ago but it was calling to him so strongly now that he was barely able to resist it. It was an opportunity, he now realised, an opportunity that he would have taken in whatever form or time it arrived in; It was only his shame and his conscience that held him back from the precipice.

The difficult truth was that even before the war, Brian Campbell had felt incomplete; a shell, existing within the world of the living. What had happened, had exposed a crack in that shell; a way into the core of the matter. The only question remaining was whether or not this was the right answer, or just something to fill that void.

Carelessly stripping out of his worn uniform, he allowed the pieces to lie where they fell. Stepping before the mirror, he regarded himself critically. The Brian Campbell that looked back was a far stretch from the young man he had once seen. The person before him appeared extremely feminine but he hesitated to say that they appeared female to his eye.

Regarding his reflection, he could most certainly not deny that he had breasts; their shape and curvature were prominently visible on his thin chest. Below them, his waist was narrow above broader hips and smooth thighs. Seeing his reflection in a mirror was almost shocking. The person staring back at him didn’t look anything like he remembered; how had he changed this much? Tearing himself away from the mirror, he turned to the task at hand.

In the small wardrobe, he found a full Luftwaffe officer’s uniform which he carefully laid it on the bed before adding a blouse and shoes beside it. Aware of the timeframe they were working to, he began to search the drawers for the appropriate undergarments.

Brian didn’t really know where to begin; he had never worn women's clothes before and was rather lost to begin with. Thinking back to his childhood, he began to recognise items his mother had owned and worn. He held up a pair of knickers in his hands uncertainly. He knew it was only underwear, simple fabric and stitching, but there was a distinct social line sewn into the soft satin fabric of the garment. With a sigh, Brian shook his head and began to dress. After all, he rationalised, it was only clothes.

Once he had them on, he turned to the suspender belt and stockings, rolling them up his legs the way his mother had done when he was small. Vivian Campbell had always been an elegant woman; Brian could remember the pretty dresses she wore and how she would style her hair. He smiled at the memory of watching her get ready as a small child.

It took him several failed attempts to fasten the brassiere before he managed to secure the garment around his chest. The brassiere’s cups that Brian had planned to pad out were, to his surprise and embarasment, not quite as empty as he had expected. Searching the drawers for something appropriate, he ended up using a spare pair of stockings to assist his less-than-faux bust before turning to face the outer clothing on the bed.

The blouse turned out to be relatively simple once he had realized the location of the buttons mirrored that of his own shirts. The crisp cotton garment was darted at his bust and waist and fitted far better than he might have expected it to. After slipping the skirt up his legs and buttoning it higher at his skinny waist, he smoothed down the clothes and took a breath. Turning, he faced the mirror. He expected to see a clown, a man in woman’s clothes but the reflection that faced him was nothing of the sort.

The image that returned his gaze was shocking, true, but it was shocking in a way he had dreaded. The gangly young pilot had been replaced by a somewhat skinny girl with messy short blonde hair and a less than plain face. Brian stepped towards the mirror and raised a hand to his cheek, his lips parted slightly in surprise. Somehow, the image that looked back at him through the glass was him. As much as it scared him, it felt almost reassuring to Brian.

The young woman seemed so familiar to him; he recognised her from somewhere, but his mind would not place her in his memory. All that Brian knew was that at that moment they were one and the same person: She was him and he was her, somehow. His stomach felt as though it had bottomed out. Feelings and confusion churned within him, but he chose to bury the doubt for the time being and accept things as they appeared to be. This had, after all, been his idea.

Brian sat down carefully at the small dressing table in the room and began to sort through the woman’s makeup bag looking for items he could use. He didn’t know very much of anything when it came to makeup but supposed he would manage if he stuck to the basics. Closing his eyes, he recalled memories of his mother and sister applying various pigments and powders to their faces and the images of women he had known growing up. Simple would be best he knew; rather to look female and plain than to appear clownish and overdone. After all, he was representing a woman in the military, even if it wasn’t his own.

In the bag, he found a tube of mascara and a brush in a small case. He remembered his sister’s frequent experimentation with cosmetics as a young girl and tried to emulate her as he carefully brushed the mascara onto his lashes the way she had, all the while attempting to avoid stabbing himself. It took him a few attempts but before too long he had achieved a passable result that didn’t remind him of a badger in a foul mood.

Next, he took a pair of tweezers to his eyebrows and attempted to carefully tidy them just enough to give them the hint of a feminine arch. Thankfully they were not entirely too wild to begin with, and he was relatively pleased with the result. He applied a few gentle swipes of blush as his mother had worn, just enough to give his cheeks some life. With that task complete, he unscrewed a tube of lipstick and attempted to paint his lips. The first few attempts were pitiful and childlike in their results, leaving him looking more like a clown than an adult woman. Cursing himself, he wiped off the remains and left his lips bare instead.

Looking in the mirror at the completed picture, his appearance was startling. His hair was still relatively messy, but beneath it, his face was quite a surprise. It was certainly more than simply female as he had hoped. Fingering his short hair idly, he frowned. He would have loved it to be longer, but for now, it fell haphazardly to the collar of his blouse. It was limp and a little lifeless from the neglect in the camp but it had potential. Tutting quietly to himself, he brushed it as best he could and parted it over his left eye. With the help of a little hair crème, he tidied up a few errant hairs and tucked it neatly behind his ear on the right. It wasn’t a professional job by any stretch of the imagination, but given the circumstances, it was more than suitable.

Brian stood back and regarded his reflection in the mirror on the far wall. The young woman that looked back at him was almost pretty. Her fine features and delicate brows gave her a look of childlike innocence that was at odds with her pretty but short hair. The most shocking part for Brian, was the resemblance to the women in his family. Now he could see the whole image, the girl in the mirror shared a great deal with his mother and sister. He felt a sudden pang of sadness at the distance and time he had spent away from them both; it would be nice to see them again. He glanced at the girl in the mirror once more, the one that couldn’t be further from her brother and father, and sighed heavily. The image he was seeing in the mirror was not one he had time to deal with at the moment, but he had a feeling that a cat somewhere had been let out of a bag.

Pulling a small suitcase from the foot of the wardrobe, Brian packed it with any spare clothing and necessities from the room. Slipping on a pair of low-heeled shoes that were only slightly tight, he donned the Luftwaffe blue uniform jacket and side cap before checking his final appearance in the mirror.

The young woman who looked back at him appeared too innocent to be wearing such a stark and dour uniform. He sat down on the bed for a moment and absorbed the quietness around him. It was an alien feeling after so long spent in proximity to people. He placed his hand over his heart as if to quieten the drumming in his chest. Steeling himself, he rose and opened the door to the room. With a last glance towards the mirror, he stepped out into the corridor and began the short walk back to the administration building. The short heels felt a little strange, but he managed to find his footing soon enough in the unfamiliar footwear.

Brian’s hope that the entire plan could be written off as patently laughable was completely off the table and he knew it. This presented him with a new concern; he was going to be meeting the others. Up until he walked through the doorway and into the office, this fantasy, this experiment could be put back in its box; Pandora be damned. The second they saw him, however, their relationship would be changed forever and he could only hope that it would survive the change. He considered going back and changing then telling Matheson that it hadn’t worked and that it had been awfully silly after all; it was extremely tempting.

The truth was far more complex; he found that he didn’t want to. A small voice inside his heart told him that if he didn’t try, this moment would haunt him for the rest of his life, however short that might be. Brian placed his hand on the door and pushed softly.

 

Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!

 

 

Brian opened the door slowly and scanned the room as he looked for the others. Matheson was stood with his back to him on the far side of the room reading a document, otherwise the room was mercifully empty.

“I’m done, I suppose,” Brian called. His heart pounded, uncertain of what his friend would think once he turned around.

Andrew had used his time productively and was dressed from head to toe in the uniform of a Luftwaffe Major. The uniform fitted him smartly and made a stark contrast to the image of the scruffy, torn Navy uniform that Brian was so used to seeing him in. Even his unruly black hair had been slicked back with wax giving him a debonair and cool appearance. He had even shaved his face clean.

Upon hearing Brian’s voice, Andrew turned. His mouth opened as though he had intended to say something but the words seemed to fail him the moment his eyes landed on his friend. While he had expected Brian to look passably female, the woman who stood nervously before him was so very real. He knew that his friend Brian was in there somewhere, but he saw no trace left of the skinny boy who had arrived at the camp so long ago.

“I’m not sure what I expected, you know,” Matheson remarked quietly. “I had a fair idea that you could pull it off somewhat, that it might help us avoid detection. I never… Jesus Bri.” He said, gesturing embarrassedly towards his friend as if to express his feelings on the subject.

Brian blushed and looked down at his feet. “I look awfully silly don’t I?” he mumbled shyly, finding it difficult to hide the obvious tone of disappointment in his voice.

Matheson blinked before shaking his head vigorously, “My gosh, no! You look; well, it’s hard to say politely,” he grinned sheepishly taking off his cap and holding it by his side. “I think you look smashing actually. I just didn’t expect you to look so, real, I suppose.” Andrew frowned before grinning sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I think that came out wrong.”

Brian lifted his head and smiled with relief. “Thank you,” he mumbled quietly, a crimson tinge growing on his cheeks. “Please don’t be sorry; I understand, I think. Well, I’m not so sure if even I understand this at all; I didn’t expect to look this way and I don't really know how to feel about it.”

Matheson nodded, “Well it certainly solves our identification problem, and looking the way you do will certainly give us another ace up our proverbial sleeve. Nobody’s going to work out that we’re a group of escaping allied airmen,” he laughed nervously.

Brian flinched involuntarily at the last words but kept his mouth closed. “Where are the others?” he asked quietly in an attempt to fill the awkward silence that had descended between them.

Matheson pulled out a silver cigarette case of liberated German cigarettes and leaned casually against a desk. “They’re off gathering a few items we need. The other prisoners have mostly scarpered, so no worry of being shot for wearing these Jerry uniforms.”

What do we do next?” he asked, walking over to join Matheson, his hands clasped nervously in front of his body.

Taking a drag on his cigarette and exhaling before responding, Matheson pulled a map from the pile of papers on the table and pointed to the location of the camp. “We take the staff car and Kubelwagen we've rustled up and we make our way north out of the forest here,” he drew a line upwards. “Once we hit the main road we head towards the city of Regensburg and make our way west from there. The biggest priority is getting away from the camp before any response force arrives. I’ll tell you the fine details once we’re all back together,” he added tapping his nose conspiratorially.

Maddox and Down returned a few moments later, both similarly attired and groomed to resemble their new German identities Maddox, like his compatriot Andrew was the model of the Nazi officer. “What do you think eh Boss,” Maddox grinned. “We’re ready to go when you are. Is Campbell back yet?”

Matheson chose that moment to step aside, allowing them a full view of their younger comrade. Flushing with embarrassment, Brian could only look at his feet as the two airmen gawped at him.

“Well I'll be damned,” Maddox muttered. “I don’t suppose I saw that coming.”

“It was my idea to use the identity papers and clothes from the dead Jerry woman.” Matheson offered holding his hands up in submission. “I figure if sh, he's, good enough to fool you bunch, the Jerries won't have a clue. He’s not a big chap and a bit boyish so as long as nobody pays much attention, my plan will work.”

“You think dressing him up as a Fraulein is going to help us to escape occupied Europe?” Down asked skeptically. “I mean sure, he looks the part, but that's a bit of an odd one isn't it?” he added looking across at Brian. “Man, you look way too convincing like that. Was this really Matheson's idea, or are you a bit queer or something?”

Brian opened his mouth to protest when Matheson cut him off. “Stop right there,” he interjected angrily. “Brian is taking the biggest risk here. If he's captured, you know what would happen to him. None of us will make it back to a camp after this scheme regardless. We are out of uniform and masquerading as bloody Germans; they will shoot the lot of us on the spot as spies. Brian? they’ll do far worse to him if we’re discovered.”

Andrew allowed the sobering conclusion to hang for a moment before continuing. “I suggested this, and Brian reluctantly agreed. If you hadn't noticed, we have only five sets of Identification documents to choose from, and he has the best chance of pulling off this little ruse. If anything, he's got a bigger pair than you Down.” Matheson added tersely.

“Too right,” Down admitted grudgingly, “But which pair are you talking about?” He added grinning at his own joke.

“Those do look rather real from this distance,” Maddox agreed glancing politely at Brian's decolletage with a raised eyebrow. “What did you do to get it to look like that?” He asked stepping forward for a closer look.

Brian backed up quickly, bumping into the desk. He began to shrug until he realized what the motion did to his chest and instead folded his arms across his breasts and blushed furiously. “Uh, some clever make-up. With my size I was always picked to play the leading lady in school plays, you know how it is,” he waved sheepishly.

“I'm certainly convinced,” Daniel Maddox agreed, “I'll be damned if I can tell and I know who you are. Bloody good job I suppose.”

Hamley entered through the main door. “The cars are ready and refueled sir, we should be read…Fuckin’ Hell.”

Matheson’s cool exterior cracked at the Irishman’s exclamation and he laughed deeply. “Now that’s a proper reaction old boy.”

“I don’t think this is particularly funny,” Brian complained hotly, crossing his arms under his breasts.

Matheson disguised a smirk at the young pilot’s reaction. “Arthur, Brian here has agreed to a bit more of a dramatic disguise to help us slip past the Jerries. I think you’ll agree he’s the only one of us that might pull it off.”

Hamley scratched his head and shrugged. “Aye, no debate the lad looks like a lass at the moment, and that's right strange enough, But how can he convince them he is one? Behave like a lady and whatnot,” he added with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It's one thing to look like a lass, but if he wanders around like a scrum half, he's going to draw attention to us. The wrong sort.”

Andrew Matheson thought for a moment, “Point taken, but, as Brian said, he was a bit of a thespian in his school days. From the sound of it, this isn't his first cameo in skirts, I'm sure he can manage to fool a few Krauts.”

Hamley raised an eyebrow and looked at Brian more closely. “It’s a good idea sure enough, but are you ok with it lad?”

Brian shifted awkwardly under the group’s gaze. “I suppose we have little choice, and arguably it does seem to work. For the greater good and all that?”

“So are we good to go?” Matheson interjected, drawing the group's attention back to himself.

“We have uniforms, weapons, transport, and money, “I suggest we make best speed for the land of Clocks and Chocolate eh chaps?”

Stepping out once again into the open air, Brian was acutely aware of the eyes of the group on him as they walked. He knew it would take time for them to adapt to his new appearance, hell, he was not even sure if he would ever get used to it himself. The clothes provided constant new sensations that seemed to remind him at every opportunity how he was dressed. The skirt restricted his stride and the shoes tilted his center of gravity forward.

The camp seemed to be deserted, the vast majority of prisoners having already fled into the forests around them.

“It feels, strange here now,” Brian muttered quietly to Andrew as they walked over to the waiting vehicles.

Matheson nodded as he lifted the cases into the boot of the staff car. “Surreal after the last few months isn’t it?”

“Do you really think this will work?”

“Which part? you, or the escape?”

“You know what I mean,” Brian frowned.

Matheson looked at the others for a moment and then back at Brian. “I think we have the right people to make this work.”

Brian considered the meaning of his friend’s words for a moment before nodding. At that moment, he didn’t really care what happened to the others in the camp. These men, however, were his friends. He knew that they would do what it took to survive.

He was about to board the staff car when he glanced across the yard and spotted the clinic building, its door swinging gently in the breeze. He glanced over at Andrew and then back at the clinic, “I’ll…be back.”

Matheson followed his gaze and simply nodded. “Don’t take too long, we need to get out of here.”
“I will, I promise.”

Brian drew the luger from its holster and stepped cautiously into the open door of the clinic. The building appeared to have been ransacked like the rest of the camp, with papers and furniture lying haphazardly across the floor. He removed the side cap from his head and tucked it into the epaulet of his jacket, hoping to make his silhouette less German should he meet another prisoner. He considered calling out but didn’t know whether English or German would meet with a response of gunfire.

Stepping into the rear corridor that led to the treatment rooms, he stepped around a discarded chair and nearly slipped in a smear of blood across the wooden floor. The blood was fresh, and it appeared to trail in a smear back towards one of the rearmost rooms. His heart in his mouth, Brian edged forward, the gun raised in his hands. He knew he had to press onward, but the fear that gripped him was monumental.

The door was open, and he peered cautiously into the room as best he could without exposing himself unnecessarily. It was empty, but the blood seemed to vanish out of sight into the far corner that he couldn’t see from his current position. A sound within the room caught his attention and he gripped the pistol tighter. “Who is there?” he called cautiously. “wer'st da?”

“Brian?” a weak voice responded, almost uncertainly from the bowels of the room.

Brian rounded the doorframe and spotted the crumpled body of Doctor Muller propped up beside a cabinet, its door wide open, a smear of blood running down the white-painted front.

“Doctor, my god, are you… you’re… where are you hit?” Brian rushed across the room and knelt beside the older man.

Muller frowned and looked at him strangely, “Who are… wait, no… Brian?”

It took him a second to remember why the older Doctor seemed so confounded by him. Brian blushed and inclined his head. “I uh, it’s a long story.”

Muller regarded him for a second, his skin was pale and he looked so very tired. There was blood in the corner of his mouth and his chest was a mass of red behind the dressings he was weakly holding to himself. “You are… I did not expect.” he grimaced in pain before smiling weakly. “It does suit you though, but I think you know that.”

Brian shook his head sadly. “It’s for the group, to help us blend in better.” he offered weakly.

Muller chuckled dryly before pain seemed to wrack his body. “Yes, a German uniform might have been, but your choice speaks volumes Fraulein.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to say that yet.”

Muller looked at him long and hard and smiled. “It is, I think, the only one you could have worn. We might be enemies, but I do hope you make it out of here Fraulein Campbell.”

“That sounds strange,” Brian admitted uncertainly.

“Get used to it.”

Brian lifted one of the dressings carefully, “Where are you hurt? How bad is it?”

“The chest and abdomen I am afraid,” Muller grimaced. “I am, not to go unpunished it would seem.”

“The prisoners did this? Our men?”

Muller nodded weakly, “They came to steal, once they broke out of the camp. They did not care that I treated their injuries or mended their bones. They were… there was a lust for revenge. I do not blame them.”

Brian felt a tear roll down his cheek as he took the doctor’s hand. “I’m so very sorry.”

Muller looked at him for a moment, his eyes penetrating deep into Brian’s soul. “You might think of this as a disguise of the moment, a convenient ruse to get you home Fraulein Campbell, but I think you will struggle to take it off at the end of your journey.”

Brian chose to ignore the implication. “You think we’ll make it?”

Muller grimaced and seemed to pale even further. “You are with who? Those men from your hut? The two navy pilots and the American?”

“And Arthur Hamley, the Irishman.”

Muller nodded and smiled fondly. “This will be Lieutenant Commander Matheson’s idea I suspect. They are good men; strong and intelligent. They think before they act and they do not partake in fool's errands. I have all the faith that you will make it.”

“I have to help you,” Brian almost whined, squeezing the doctor’s hand.

“My dear, my time here is done.” Muller croaked. “I am not long for this earth. I did what I could when I was able to. I hope I brought some modicum of humanity to you all. My duty here was not in vain. Just promise me you will not allow yourself to be driven by society’s expectations of you; be who you are meant to be and live your life. You are a smart young woman, you will go far.”

“I’m so sorry,” Brian whispered.

“Do not be sorry for me child.” Muller smiled. “I go to god with a clear soul. I dedicated my life to helping others, no matter who they were. It has, I think earned me some favor with Saint Peter.”

“Thank you; for helping me,” Brian whispered.

He didn’t know why, but driven by a sudden urge, he leaned forwards and kissed the old man gently on the cheek. Sitting back, tears rolling down his face, he watched the last of the light slip from the old Doctor’s eyes. Muller’s fingers relaxed in his and suddenly, the man was gone.

Brian held the man’s hand for a few moments longer. The German had been kind to him; a good person in a terrible place that had only wanted to help others. What his countrymen had done to the kindly doctor made him feel horrible guilt.

“Brian?”

Flinching, Brian grabbed the luger and spun around, surprised to find Andrew standing in the doorway. Lowering the gun, he just seemed to deflate.

Matheson looked past Brian and spotted Doctor Muller. “Ah,” he sighed. “He was a good one.”

The navy pilot walked over and squatted down beside Brian and looked at the doctor. Reaching out, he gently closed the man’s eyelids.

“He was helping me with… everything,” Brian explained. “He was a good man, he didn’t deserve this.”

“War is not kind.” Andrew sighed, squeezing Brian’s shoulder. “On both sides of the fence, we do terrible things.”

“But why him?”

Andrew frowned, “I can’t explain that.”

Brian wiped his eyes and seemed confused momentarily by the black smudges that came away. Matheson looked at him and chuckled. “You look like a panda.”

“I guess I’ve got a lot to get used to.” Brian sighed.

“Let’s get out of here, you can fix your face on the road,” Andrew suggested quietly. “I wish we could do more for Doctor Muller, but there isn’t time.”

Brian glanced back at the man who had helped him understand the twisted reality he found himself in and said a silent prayer. “I know.”

 

 

Brian watched the scenery pass from the window of the staff car as they drove away from the camp. The dense forest had given way to rolling hillsides and small farms as they drove north along the narrow single-track road. While not ostentatious, the staff car that Brian rode in with the two naval officers was a far more pleasurable way of traveling the narrow lanes than the truck he had arrived aboard.

He had witnessed more death in one day than he had in the entirety of the war to date. He knew he had seen dozens of men die in the dogfights above the English countryside; whole bomber crews were consumed by their aircraft as they plummeted earthward. Seeing it happen with his own eyes, seeing the blood, and hearing the screams of dying men made it far worse.

He thought about the man that attacked him, the man that started all of this. He had never even known the man’s name, but he had watched him die. The man had wanted to rape him, there was no other way to phrase it. He had planned to force himself on Brian and take what he wanted. That one death had led to so much loss.

Doctor Muller’s death hurt him the most; the man had been nothing but kind to him. From what he heard from the other prisoners, the man had been good to them all. Why anyone would hurt someone dedicated to saving life confounded him.

A tear rolled down his cheek as he watched the scenery pass by them. Muller had given him clarity in a world that was determined to swallow him alive. He helped him understand his bizarre and confusing situation. So much of it was beyond Brian, but Muller had at least helped him to come to terms with the changes. He thought back to the man’s dying words, “Promise me you will not allow yourself to be driven by society’s expectations of you; be who you are meant to be and live your life. You are a smart young woman, you will go far.”

Young woman? Was that his future? Was this who he was from now on? He looked down at his legs encased in the stockings and skirt and frowned to himself. This shouldn’t be so easy.

 

 

The group left the ruins of the camp in the early afternoon and traveled for several hours. They had made their way out of the forests and onto a paved road that led towards the city of Regensburg to the north. Maps in the camp had shown they were on the far southeast of the country, by the Czechoslovakian border. Their journey to Switzerland wouldn’t be completed overnight, but it was far away from any fighting. They only hoped that people would be more relaxed about security in this region of Germany than they might be closer to the front lines. The more distance they could put between themselves and the camp would further strengthen their chances of passing undetected. The Germans wouldn’t expect them to have made such rapid progress so openly.

Since Brian’s reintroduction to the group, they had treated him with trepidation and curiosity. While their explanation had been accepted at face value, it was obvious that his ability to accomplish the task as he had, certainly made them less than comfortable. On the whole, the men had been unable to stop themselves from treating him as the woman that he appeared to be. Often, this very awareness that they were treating him that way even in the privacy of their own company seemed to confuse and unnerve them even more.

Brian sighed to himself as he watched the hedgerows fly past from the window of the staff car. This day had done more to unravel his complicated feelings than it had to secure them as he had so hoped. His accident had dragged his own self-doubt to the forefront of his mind over his months in the camp. Now, here he was presenting himself to the world as the very thing that he had been afraid of becoming; he felt certain of nothing anymore. One part of him enjoyed their treatment and the reflection he had seen in the mirror. Another part of him told him this was wrong and sinful regardless of how right it might feel.

Although not overly religious himself, he was positive that he shouldn't feel good about how he was presenting. The calmness that had swept his body in the weeks following the accident, and the subsequent changes that made him the target of the less-than-civil treatment in the camp now presented themselves in a new advantageous light. Try as he might, he could only balance the scales of his mind, unable to truly tip them in favor of either viewpoint. With a sigh, Brian tried to force the notion from his mind for a short while and simply existed. He knew that before he reached England and sanctuary, he would have to first win the battle of his heart and soul.

 

 

The less-than-stellar roads had slowed their travel more than they would have liked. What should have taken an hour or two had taken nearly four. By the time they passed through Regensburg, it was the early hours of the evening. The city had shocked them all, for it had been alive with the bustle of civilian life. It had been a shock to see life continuing as normal in the middle of a war, a war that had already reduced England to a shadow of its former self.

People went about their business and sat outside bars and cafes without a single care in the world. Out here on the eastern side of Germany, the war had not reached them nor had it affected their lives in any way, yet. Home was a world of rationing and blackouts, home was fear and preparations for an imminent invasion. Regensburg was like passing through a dream world of peacetime that might have been.

It was seven o'clock in the evening and darkness had fallen several hours earlier. Matheson reasoned that they had passed far enough from any initial search radius to allow them to stop for the evening without fear of discovery. Masquerading as they were, the option of camping out of sight presented far too many risks: It would be difficult to explain why German military personnel were hiding in the forests of the Fatherland far from their own front lines. Choosing instead to hide in plain sight, the group pulled into the yard of a small tavern on a quiet road heading towards the town of Bad Abbach.

The lights of the tavern illuminated the courtyard where the vehicles parked. Finally free of their transports, the group took a moment to stretch as they stood in silence. Here in the darkness of the Bavarian countryside, they suddenly felt a powerful sense of freedom.

“So how do we do this?” Down asked uncertainly. “I don’t speak any kraut remember?”

“I’ll go,” Brian offered. “My German is decent enough and my accent is apparently pretty good. I think I can manage to arrange some rooms without much trouble.”

“You sure?” Matheson asked. “That’s not exactly easing yourself in, is it?”

Brian understood Matheson’s meaning and shook his head. “I think it’s exactly what I need; I need to jump in the deep end or I won’t know if I can make this work. If it goes a bit wrong we can just drive off before anyone really notices. If one of you does it, it would be too suspicious, if I do it, they won’t quite know what to think if they see through me.”

“She’s right,” Maddox agreed. “Any of us, and it’s a fake Jerry officer right after a prison break, they’ll be on to us in no time.”

“Ok, go for it. Please just be careful, do you understand?. If anything goes wrong just calmly make an exit and we’ll beat a retreat,” Matheson added.

Brian nodded and let out a breath he had been holding. This would be his first true test; moving through the world as a woman. It would be a lie to suggest that he wasn’t terrified, but the others needed him at that moment. The reasoning was sound; this part of their subterfuge would prove valuable.

Walking to the tavern door, Brian steeled himself to slip fully into the role he had chosen. For better or for worse, their escape from occupied Europe would depend partly if not entirely on his ability to throw their hunters off their scent. Nowhere was that more important than here in his first interaction with the German people as their countryman, or was that countrywoman?

Closing the door behind her, Maria Horler removed her cap and swept her eyes over the room before her. Mercifully the tavern was largely empty, save for half a dozen patrons dotted around the various booths and stools, She felt a pang of fear when she spotted a few glancing in her direction but held her nerve and dismissed it.

A radio by the bar was softly playing swing music, piped fresh from the dance halls of Berlin. The bored-looking bar girl was leaning on her elbows on the counter reading a book. Maria approached and coughed lightly, causing the woman to straighten up and smile.

(Italic text in German)
“Good evening, Do you have any rooms available?” she asked fixing a pleasant smile on her lips to hide the nervous butterflies that soared in her stomach.

“Uh, yes, I think so, one moment please.” The girl offered flipping through a large leather-bound book beside her on the bar top.

“Yes we do,” she confirmed looking up at her with a grin. “Is it just for you?”

“Nein.” Maria shook her head, “There is my Major, a Hauptmann, and two of our men also.”

“Yes, I think we have a few rooms free.” The girl added checking her book, “There is not as much tourism with the war on. Ah, yes, here we are, but your two soldiers will have to share.” She offered with an apologetic smile.

“I know what you mean,” Maria sighed wistfully as she glanced around the traditional Bavarian design of the tavern, She wondered how nice it might have been to be here for another reason and a different time. Turning back to the woman she nodded sharply, “We will take the rooms for the night, and breakfast, thank you.”

“My pleasure Fraulein,” replied the girl as she scribbled in the book before looking up at Maria. The girl looked at her for a moment before smiling and speaking in a more conspiratorial tone, “I expect you end up doing this all the time, don’t you?”

Brian balked as she tried to understand what the young German woman had meant. Had she seen through her masquerade? Was she having fun at her expense? Seeing the girl’s confused expression the German smirked to herself before explaining. “I mean, run errands for the men,” she added rolling her eyes. “They still find a way to make you do everything for them, even in the military, ja?”

Maria felt relief wash over her as she realized what the woman had intended. “I..ah, no, of course not? I suppose they never change do they?” She flubbed.

“It never will,” The girl agreed, rolling her eyes. “Go find your people and I’ll have the keys ready for you.”

Maria thanked the woman and made her way back to the door. Stepping outside the tavern, she let out a breath she had not known she was holding. Her body trembled and she gulped to swallow the cool night air. After a moment’s panic, she felt the world returning to something akin to normal.

“Are you ok?” Andrew asked quietly, she hadn’t even noticed his approach.

Maria nodded and swallowed. “Yes, we’re ok, I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

Maria looked at the man and shrugged softly. “Getting all of a flap out here, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Matheson chuckled. “Don’t be daft, your first time pretending to be a German, undercover as an escaped prisoner of war, and your first time in a skirt? I’m surprised you’re not on the flood in tears.”

She knew he had a point, as difficult as it was to admit. Sometimes it was hardest to see the wood for the trees when you were in the middle of the forest. As tough as the situation could have been, she had made it undetected.

That her first test had been with another woman no less, was extremely encouraging. No, she mentally reminded herself, with a woman. The strange façade she presented was merely a result of circumstance and disguise. As she returned to her comrades, she tried to convince herself that she truly meant it.

 

 

Lying in bed later that evening Brian found himself unable to sleep. Above him, he could hear the steady beat of rain drumming down on the roof of the tavern. Its rhythmic tempo soothed his turbulent mind, but it wasn’t enough to allow him the peace of sleep. Outside the window lightning flashed, followed by the slow roll of thunder in the distance. It didn’t frighten him, it was almost reassuringly normal. He was certainly glad that they had not chosen to camp out in the forest in weather like this.

The bed was delightfully comfortable, which was an alien feeling after months in the hard camp cot. Beneath the sheets, he could feel the silky softness of the nightgown he was wearing. He had convinced himself that it was a measure of protection; something to prevent discovery should someone burst into his room in the night. The truth was, not only was it the only night clothes had had, but it was considerably more comfortable than his old scratchy uniform.

At first, stepping into a dead woman's life had felt terribly morbid. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he had Oberleutnant Maria Horler to thank and to celebrate. Had it not been for the woman's cruel and untimely death he might not have had the chance to experience this version of this life at all. He would find a way to pay the woman back for the opportunity, even if he was still unsure of the complete meaning of that promise at this time.

Finally giving up on the idea of sleep, Brian slipped out of bed and retrieved the suitcase he had brought with him from the camp. Placing it on top of the bed, he curled up beside it and began to examine the contents in greater detail.`While he had packed it mostly in haste to leave, other items had already been within the case. It seemed as though the woman had never really settled into the camp’s accommodation fully.

Aside from the clothes and undergarments, there were a few personal items within the case. The make-up case he had packed and assorted toiletry items. There was a hairbrush and some small items of jewelry she hadn’t worn with her uniform. As Brian picked up each item he noticed a bulging pocket on the side of the case lining. Reach in, he felt the shape of a book. Removing it, he discovered it was a small leather-bound photograph album with an ornately detailed cover cover. Sitting back, he began to leaf through the pictures in the album. What he saw began to tug on his heartstrings from the first moment he realised what this tome represented. As he turned each page, Brian watched an infant Maria grow alongside her family and friends and develop into the young woman he had found bloodied and cold on the floor of the camp office.

The first half of the book was filled with photographs; a memento from home and a reminder of her family left behind. The second half remained empty, the sleeves vacant of photographs. This book was like the woman’s life; destined never to be filled. There would be no photographs of a young woman falling in love or on her wedding day. No images of children, or her growing old in a home of her own making. No images of her with grandchildren, or her golden years.

Brian felt tears rolling down his cheeks as he stared at the photographs in the small book. Such a small item was obviously a most treasured possession. It was a powerful reminder of the brutality of this bloody war. The emotions welling up inside him were overpowering, and he closed the book before he found himself in an uncontrollable fit of tears.

Brian thought back to his promise to thank Maria for her gift of life and changed his mind: He would not merely thank her for his chance to escape Europe alive. He vowed instead to live the life that Maria could not; to find happiness, joy, and contentment in whatever form it was presented. Her life had been cut short and his was in a tremendous state of flux. He vowed to take life’s opportunities as they came and live the memories that she never could. He would be true to himself and to his life; if that was destined to be as a female, then so be it.

 

Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!

 

 

Chapter Nine - On the Road Again

Brian luxuriated in the warm embrace of his bed as his mind swam back from the dark ocean of deep sleep. After so long in the camp, a normal bed that had been designed for comfort felt like absolute heaven. In the moment of waking, a brief shard of panic struck him as he struggled to remember where he was. Between school, the RAF, and the camp, a great deal of Brian’s life had been spent living in close proximity to other people; waking up alone in the room felt strangely unsettling.

Running his hands through his hair, he allowed his eyes to cautiously scan the room around him. He was safe, for now, but they were so very far from true safety. Stretching, he felt the straps of the nightgown tug against his shoulders reminding him of exactly what he was doing. This entire experience was a far cry from anything he had imagined that he practically felt like he was another person entirely.

Brian shook his head and ran his hands down the nightgown he was still wearing. This should shame him, he realized. The very fact that his body fit these clothes, clothes designed for a woman’s curves should have filled him with horror. That it did not, concerned him more. Brian shook his head and slipped his feet from the bed before making his way into the bathroom to tend to his business and dress for the day. He could worry about his existential crisis when he was safely back home in England.

Once clean, he dressed in clean underwear and reprised the Luftwaffe uniform from the previous day. The entire process took a fraction of the time it had the day before, after all, it was all the more familiar to him now. As he sat at the dressing table applying the finishing touches to his hair he felt a stab of the earlier guilt return to overwhelm him. No man should have the fine soft features that he had, that much he knew. From the gentle line of his high, prominent cheekbone to the slightly upturned tip of his nose, he knew that it would likely take more effort in his current state to appear as a normal man.

Brushing his hand against his smooth cheek only seemed to emphasize the point. A deep part of his psyche begged him to try; that it was his duty to attempt it. Pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind, Brian picked up a brush and began to apply the basic make-up he could manage, taking a risk and adding a light blush and a pale lipstick, he succeeded after only three attempts. Looking back at the mirror, he turned his face from side to side and appraised his handiwork. No; she was glad she didn't look like a man.

Closing her suitcase, Maria checked her uniform for the final time before closing the door behind herself and making her way down into the tavern where the rich smells of food were wafting up towards her ravenous stomach.

Arriving in the dining room, she could see that she was the last to arrive. Her four companions were already tucking into their breakfast with the gusto of men who had been starved for months. The table was covered with plates of bread and meats along with mugs of steaming coffee. The thought of such human food made her undernourished stomach growl.

Her arrival was finally noted by Maddox who scrambled to his feet upon seeing her. A look of conflict crossed his features as he seemed to realize what he had done and to whom, before he caught himself and smiled, “Erm, ah, Guten Morgen, Oberleutnant, er Horler,” he muttered blushing and reseating himself. “You have slept well?”

“Yes, thank you.” She took a seat at the table and poured herself a cup of coffee, pointedly ignoring the stares of the others. “Did you all sleep well?”

“Like a log,” Matheson agreed. “Though the walls are thin and Maddox snores.”

“I bloody do not,” Maddox scowled.

Maria watched the men eating with gusto. “You've all missed food, haven't you? she chuckled softly, observing the guilty expressions and half-filled mouths frozen mid-bite.

“You could say that,” agreed Matheson sliding a platter of bread towards her. “Plenty to go around. Frau Steiner was kind enough to look after the soldiers of ze mightly Reich.”

Maria smiled at Andrew's comment and accepted the plate before helping herself to cheese and preserves. Her breakfast prepared, she accepted a mug of coffee with fresh milk; a rare treat after so long. Matheson grinned as he saw the look of pleasure flutter across her eyes as she sipped the first fresh coffee she had tasted in months.

 

 

Brian could still taste the coffee on his lips as they set out from the Tavern. Feeling nourished for the first time in a great while, the group was in excellent spirits as they drove. They were driving westward following the sparkling waters of the River Danube, its twisting path carving through the Bavarian landscape. The trees outside the window were still bare here on the river plain, but there was a turn in the air that spoke of warmer times to come.

The coming of spring seemed to be the perfect metaphor to accompany their departure from the camp. No longer were they frozen in time, hibernating while the war went on around them, they too were starting to bloom and rejoin the wider ecosystem of Europe. Brian couldn’t disguise a brief smile as he realized that the word ‘blooming’ was a little close to the bone in some regards.

After an hour's travel, Matheson signaled for them to turn off the main road. Consulting his map, he directed them to follow a dirt track down toward the river. After driving for a hundred meters along the track, they came out into a small clearing that bordered the fast-flowing waters.

Stepping down from the car, Brian took one of the German cigarettes from the case in his bag and lit it. Inhaling deeply, he pondered the irony of their situation; luxuries that they might enjoy now on the run from captivity in their enemy’s homeland would soon dry up once back in the relative safety of England. Still, he mused, perhaps they would get a flat tire along the way, or several.

Now that the group had made good time and distance from the remains of Stalag Luft IX, they had both the safety and privacy to stop and dedicate the time to organizing themselves properly. As Matheson pointed out; going off half-cocked would get them all caught.

“Chances are the devastation left behind will mean that our ruse won’t be discovered for some time if at all. The general upheaval should delay any investigation or account for any personnel. We need to make good the lead we have now before any further borders are tightened along the way, although that’s not a huge concern heading south.”

He spread a map across the hood of the staff car. “We crossed the Danube here at Regensburg and we passed Weltenburg half an hour ago. That leaves us on the road to Ingolstadt here,” he annotated with his finger. “From here, we head west, cross the Lech River, and on into Donauworth, then it’s south towards the Black Forest and Bad Säckingen. This will be where we cross the border into Switzerland.”

“So we’re just going to drive over the border, no bother at all?” Maddox asked with suspicion.

“That’s the plan,” Matheson nodded curtly. “We have documents that should stand up to a cursory inspection. After all, the Swiss are neutral: All we need to do is clear the German side and claim sanctuary with the Swiss on the other.”

“Do you think they’ll just let us go over?” Hamley didn’t seem convinced. “Won’t we need travel papers?”

“We can look at it when we get closer,” Matheson conceded, “If we have to we can head into the forest and cross on foot.”

The group made approving sounds as Matheson finished laying down the plan. “What about if we get rumbled? What's the contingency?” Down asked.

Andrew nodded thoughtfully and leaned back against the wing of the vehicle. “If we are rumbled, we will bomb burst out from that point and rendezvous at a new location specified every ten miles along the route. We all have a map, we will simply memorise a location rather than write them down, it will save the others if one is captured, no offense.”

Maddox nodded in response, as did the rest of the group, knowing what was at stake.

“Now before any of that matters a jot, we have got to consider our roles in all of this. If we can’t stay in character they’re going to smell a rat” Brian added, making sure to give Hamley a sideways glance for his comments in his direction the previous day. “Use of English must be strictly between us only, and any other communication must be in German if possible. I know we don't all speak the language fluently, but we must try to blend in where we can.”

“She's got a point... I.. ah, whatever,” Maddox shrugged. “We start jabbering away in English then someone's going to wonder. Also, chain of command: By rank, Andrew is the highest-ranking officer here. We all salute up the food chain and as distasteful as it may be, we’re going to have to use the bloody Nazi one, not ours, or they will begin to wonder.”

“But that means Brian outranks me!” moaned Down, grinning playfully.

“Be careful or I might just need a Batman, Sergeant,” Brian smirked, raising an eyebrow and giving the American a sideways glance.

Mike Down shook his head and grinned, “I swear, my old lady uses that same look. Are you sure you're not really a broad?”

“Leave it out Down,” Matheson interjected from the map he was reading on the bonnet of the car.

“Hey I'm just kidding,” the American laughed. “He's still one of us, even if he is in a frock.”

Before Brian could respond, Matheson straightened up and fixed the group with a firm gaze. “This goes for all of you, not just our pet yank; Brian, for all intents and purposes is a woman from this point on. If you don't stop this switching back and forth with pronouns or names because you're uncomfortable, you're going to land us all in bloody trouble when someone can hear us. Think of her as a woman and you will treat and refer to her that way. Trust me, it will be better for all our sakes if we do.”

“I dunno man,” Down frowned, “It's pretty hard, knowing who h... she is.”

“Who she, is,” Matheson corrected, is Oberleutnant Maria Horler, she, is our comrade, and our friend. Most importantly, she is our chance at passing undetected. Gents, I shouldn’t need to remind you that we are in the darkest of enemy territory wearing German uniforms. If they catch us, they shoot us as spies.”

“Not a problem for me boss,” Maddox shrugged. “Considering how she looks and behaves, I don't think I'll have much problem with that. Honestly, it makes it easier for me as I don’t have to keep remembering that she’s Brian under there.”

“Aye, me too,” Hamley agreed. “Far too pretty for me to confuse with a laddie,” he added chuckling at Brian's furious blush.

“Down?” Matheson asked, watching the American's expression carefully.

“I guess,” Mike agreed slowly. “It's just a bit of a strange one for my brain to get around.”

“Then we're all agreed,” Matheson concluded with a clap of his hands as he turned to head towards the treeline. “We'll rest here for half an hour to eat and stretch our legs and then we're back on the road. I'll be back when I've seen a chap about a horse.”

Brian slipped away from the group and wandered off on his own. He understood what Matheson was trying to do, but it still made him uncomfortable. Sliding off his uniform jacket, he settled down in the dry grass beneath an ancient Oak that bordered the clearing. Closing his eyes, he tilted his face up into the weak winter sunshine and simply enjoyed the sensations of the forest.

A short while later, he felt his shoulder being shaken gently and slowly opened his eyes. He blinked several times before his eyes would focus on the human shape above him. Daniel Maddox was crouching above him on his haunches looking down with a look of confusion fixed on his face.

Brian stretched his arms up above his head and yawned. “I'm sorry,” he admitted sheepishly, I must have dozed off; is it time to get going?”

“I uh,” Maddox replied furrowing his brow, “I...”

“What?” Brian asked self-consciously as he followed Maddox's eye line down, only to be greeted by the valley of his cleavage. Brian flushed pink as he pulled the lapel of his blouse together and tried to think of something he could say that would convince Maddox he was seeing things.

“I, ah,” he mumbled intelligently. “I'm sorry,” he admitted with a sigh as his shoulders fell.

Maddox raised his eyebrows but remained quiet as he lowered himself onto the grass next to Brian. He glanced back toward the others before finally speaking. “I think I'd rather sit down for a long talk. That, and it is hard to really focus on the issue had hand when one is staring down a woman's blouse, not to mention a tad impolite.”

“I'm so sorry Daniel,” Brian offered quietly. “I didn't want to lie to you all, but I wasn't sure how to explain my peculiar situation.

Maddox shook his head and fixed Brian with a knowing look. “I know what you told the others and you seem to have convinced Andrew.” He shook his head and smirked, “No, it’s far more likely that he’s complicit, knowing him knowing him. I am however not blind my dear.”

The man sat in silence for a moment, as if wondering how to phrase his next words. “what is it?” Brian asked nervously.

“Look... you were never the most blokey of chaps to start with,” Maddox began delicately. “We didn't think much of it, not everyone is. Now, I’m not sure about the others, but I did notice things changing a little over time while we were in the camp. Not sure what was going on there, but I’ll leave that to you to explain. It does rather sell old Andy’s tale of ‘convincing you to try’ lark down the river. Even with everything else; you’re far too good at it. All of this seems too natural, too real, and honestly, I’m not sure a chap would look so good doing it either. To be frank, it has us all rather confused.”

Brian opened his mouth to protest but was silenced as Maddox raised his eyebrows, “Yes, yes, I heard your cock and bull story about the school plays but remember; I'm a public school lad myself. We had our fair share of chaps playing the gal, but there was never the level of detail you suggested there was. I'm not sure if the other chaps noticed, but your story about being good with make-up is horse manure; those things are about as much an illusion as my mother's pair.” Peter observed raising his eyebrows and nodding towards Brian's chest.

“I confuse you?” he asked uncertainly, ignoring the breast topic for the time being, as he stared intently at his fingers unable to hold his friend's gaze.

Daniel Maddox sighed and scratched his head. “It's quite a new experience if I’m being honest. There’s not a lot that honestly gets to me, but this is certainly a first. What seems to be the most difficult to wrap my head around is that you appear to all the world like an attractive and normal young woman. Why is that difficult? Because it’s not a huge stretch beyond how you were before; that is what messes with my head.”

“We don't know how to treat you; If you really were the woman you appear to be, it wouldn't be hard at all. If you were still just our pal Brian, not a problem either.” he shrugged. “We just don't know where we stand. You’re existing in this strange middle ground where we’re told one thing and can see another. Frankly old boy, I get the impression we're missing a joke here.”

Brian swallowed and stared at his feet as he collected his thoughts before speaking. “It's not that simple Daniel, but you're right, of course you are. It’s complicated even for me,” Brian admitted, gazing out across the clearing.

“When I was shot down in France, I was injured rather badly. When I was captured, the German doctors were forced to operate to save my life,” he grimaced. “My… well, parts of me down there.” Brian indicated with a blush. “Parts were damaged beyond repair and they had to remove them,” he explained slowly, ensuring that Maddox understood the meaning. “Ever since then, my body has been changing in odd ways; no hair, fleshy chest,” he added brushing his palm against a breast. “It’s been many small details that add up to a whole I don’t seem to understand myself.”

Brian forced out a breath and shook his head. “I was never one of the gang at school and I spent most of my childhood feeling disconnected from everyone around me. You four are the closest thing I've ever had to friends, did you know that? You let me be myself without the pressure of expectations while we were in that bloody camp. I was able to experience friendship with no judgment.”

Smiling ruefully, he glanced back at the others before continuing. “I was so humiliated by what was happening to me that I did my best to hide it from all of you, lest you rejected me too. We were told what to do and when we couldn’t leave and suddenly here I was going through such a humiliating experience. It made me start to question things that I had, until that point, taken for granted.”

“When we left the camp, this opportunity presented itself at random. I didn’t seek it out and I don't know why, but I wanted to see if I was going mad. The surgery and the changes to my body made me start to think I was going crazy. I began to realize that I wasn’t mad, and this wasn’t so terrible. This charade… isn’t one, in many ways. I think it might help me understand more about myself than I was prepared to consider.”

The young pilot was silent for a moment and not a word was spoken between the two of them as Daniel waited for them to collect their thoughts. The woman turned to him, a look of calm resolve on her face. “You can treat me like the woman you see before you,” she added, finally reaching a decision, “because that is who I am at the moment, and I don't think that is going to change for some time.”

Maddox sat quietly looking out over the meadow before them, Maria could see the cogs turning in his mind as he stared off into the distance. She was relieved that he knew everything now but she felt fear at what that would mean for their relationship as comrades.

The naval pilot looked over at her and simply stared at her for a moment. Eventually, he seemed to reach some internal resolution and a smile crossed his lips.

“I didn’t know,” he said softly. “That you had to go through all that silently rather bothers me. Between what those doctors did and what you felt; the fear and the confusion. Damn it, I didn’t see any of it. I don’t know if I could have understood, but it rather hurts me that I wasn’t able to help.”

“I didn’t exactly let you in,”

Maddox shook his head, “No, honestly, we just thought you were a quiet sort. You were shy and a bit younger; we didn’t really give it much consideration. We were rather focused on our own problems to the exclusion of anyone else. By the time we noticed you changing, it had been so gradual that we weren’t exactly sure how to broach it.”

Maria shifted uncomfortably and turned to face Daniel on her hip. “I won’t begin to understand the medical mumbo jumbo, but from what Doctor Muller said, it has to do with not having any more testosterone in my body,” she stated meekly. “I suspect it’s rather buggered me up in the head.”

“I expect it has,” Maddox agreed. “Can’t imagine going through that, and alone to boot.” He paused and glanced back over at the cars before returning his gaze to her. “Andrew knows doesn’t he?”

Maria nodded, “All of it.”

“That’s just like that sod,” Maddox chuckled. “He tries to save bloody everyone.”

“So where does this leave us?”

Maddox shrugged. “It clears up my confusion I suppose,” he admitted. “What do I call you then? I would feel bloody silly calling a lady Brian.”

Maria looked at her feet, she wasn’t sure herself as this had all rather snowballed out of control in their flight from captivity. At that moment she remembered the photograph album in the suitcase and her promise to the woman whose place she now took. “Maria,” she answered softly. “My name is Maria.”

Daniel looked at her for a moment as though he wanted to ask a question but left it unasked. Patting her shoulder gently, he stood and walked away back towards the others.

 

Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!

 

 

The vehicles made their way along the tree-lined roadways south of Vohburg. They were approaching Manching, a village to the south of the city of Ingolstadt. According to their maps, the village was home to a large Luftwaffe aerodrome. While potentially risky, it was unavoidable on their route. From what Matheson had gathered when speaking to a local shopkeeper, the base was home to a good number of training squadrons.

Maria felt far more comfortable in the car with the two Naval Officers since her conversation with Daniel Maddox. Now that they both knew of her condition and her inner turmoil, it gave her reassurance that she wasn’t alone in this mess. Their entire world had been changing since they left the confines of the camp and it was comforting to have one less issue to worry about.

Her confession to Daniel and her subsequent acceptance of the name as her own had brought her a surprisingly deep sense of inner calm that she struggled to explain. She wanted to convince herself that this was only temporary, that she would carry the name to England where she could put it to rest and return to being simply Brian. She hoped, rather than knew that this version of her was a costume that could be discarded when it was needed. Deep within her heart, however, the very idea of leaving this behind somehow felt terrifying. It wasn’t a thought she was prepared to entertain just yet.

She did not have a great deal of reference for existing in the world as Maria Campbell. Beyond the bartender and a few patrons at the tavern, she had only interacted with the others since embracing this version of herself. So far, interacting with the others as Maria truly seemed more natural as they adjusted to her. While some of the others seemed uncertain, Andrew and Daniel both seemed to have little difficulty in treating her as a woman; why was it that she loved that feeling so?

Even during her time in the hut with the others, she hadn’t fitted in with them as well as she did now. It seemed insane that after twenty-four hours on the run from the Germans, she felt somehow more at peace with her place in the world. Was the solution really that simple? Was this simply how she was meant to exist? The simplest explanation was that of a lightbulb in a dark room; its rays illuminating the dark and revealing the lavish decorations of the world just out of view. Being Maria wasn’t carrying a woman’s past for her or holding a memory. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she was instead honoring a life lost by living her own.

The airbase at Manching hove into view as they drove onward. Maddox eyed the last row of fighters longingly as they passed the perimeter fence. “Why don’t we just waltz into a spot like that and tea leaf us some wings to get to Switzerland?” Maddox asked breaking the comfortable silence of the drive. “They can’t exactly be on high alert down here with them so far from the front.”

Matheson seemed to consider the proposal for a moment as they drove. “It’s not an awful idea, but it’s got more than enough risk,” he conceded. “We’d need to find a field that had something big enough for us all and has the range. I don’t think any of us have any experience on jerry kites.”

“They can’t be that different from our own,” Maria offered seeing sense in the plan. “We could fly into Switzerland, land at an airport, and surrender ourselves. We’d be safe in a day rather than a week or more.”

“What if Jerry sends up fighters after us to bring us back or shoot us down?” Matheson countered. “And no matter their alert state, no jerry installation is just going to let us wander in because we’re in the same military as them. We’d need orders and papers to back it up; a reason to be there. I’m sorry, but there are far too many moving parts. They might not be on high alert, but I doubt they’d just wave us through.”

“Then we could wait for night and sneak in,” Maddox offered, steering the staff car around a pothole in the road. “We half-inch something nice and be airborne before they can send anyone after us. We could vanish into the night, Jerry doesn’t have Radar like we do.”

“I suppose you have charts for Southern Germany too, and the experience of navigating around the mountains. I should also point out you and I fly single-engine spotter aircraft, old boy.”

“True,” Maddox accepted. “I still think it’s worth a shot, mind.”

“None of us are soldiers either; we’re pilots.” Matheson continued. “Sneaking into enemy airbases is not exactly our forte.”

“I just don’t like spending longer here than I have to,” Maddox sighed wistfully. “I don’t fancy gettin' shot as a spy either.”

Maria thought for a moment. A bad idea was forming in her head as they drove. She watched the hangars and buildings as they passed, and finally spotted what she had hoped to see. “I think we should steal the plane, and I think I know how.” she blurted before she could stop herself.

Matheson looked over at her in the rear of the car with a questioning expression. “Pull the car over Dan.” he never once looked away from her as though he was trying to work out what she had in her head. “I think I want to hear this.”

The group pulled to the side of the road along a low stone wall in the shade of an oak. Hamley and Down made their way back to the staff car uncertain as to why they’d stopped at random so soon after leaving town.

“Come on then, what’s this grand idea?” Matheson asked with genuine curiosity. “You’ve got something up your sleeve, haven’t you?.”

Maria looked at the others and nodded. She ran some numbers in her head and began to think over how her embryonic idea would function in reality.

“So, You know I fly Hurricanes right?” She asked not really expecting an answer. “I wasn’t originally slated for a fighter squadron until things got a little dicey during the withdrawal of the BEF. I was a lot of the way through my training for a bomber squadron and we had been training in Avro Ansons, I have some multi-engine experience.”

“So do I though, and big ones at that.” Down added.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking,” Maria agreed, “but your German is bloody awful.”

The American laughed and nodded, conceding the point.

“I saw at least one of their Junkers transports back at the base,” she continued. “We bluff our way in, nab one in broad daylight when they least expect it. Down and I can get us out of there with enough time to work out how to fly the beast. By my reckoning, it's about a hundred and fifty miles or so to Switzerland and the terrain gets pretty dicey the closer we get. By road, we’ll be driving for a day or more at least a hundred or so extra miles. Crossing the border without a travel warrant will be problematic for us. As much as you think we can talk our way past the guards there, they won’t let us cross: It’s an international border, they’re going to be on far higher alert. That puts us on foot trying to cross away from a town where we run the risk of patrols on both sides of the line. If we fly we dodge all of that, we just have to avoid getting shot down.”

“So let me get this straight,” the Irishman interjected. “We’re going to wander onto a Jerry aerodrome and nick one of their planes and just fly over the border?”

“Well, It was Maddox’s idea originally, but I think we can actually do it,” Maria nodded enthusiastically.

“So, how do we get in? We don’t have orders,” Maddox pointed out. “I don’t like it but the boss had a point there.”

Maria thought for a moment. “We might need to stop here tonight and do this in the morning. I think we need to do a little reconnaissance first. The breakout gives us our own excuse; we just need to make this sound urgent to them, more urgent than paperwork might make it down here; we need a plane to aid in the search, suspected British prisoners making for Switzerland, almost admit to it. The only thing is we would know some information like commanders' names, squadrons et cetera. I think if we do a little talking to folk around town we might get what we need to bluff this successfully. Hell, if we play our cards right, we don’t even need to worry about Switzerland, we could head for England.”

“Then what?” Down asked growing curious, “I thought you wanted me to help fly it?”

Maria nodded, “You don’t speak any German, and I think I can handle it initially. The less of us go in the better. We get the ship and we get out, and I land us in a field down by the river and we pick you lot up and scarper.”

Matheson looked thoughtful for a moment. He worked his jaw as though mulling the idea around in his head.

“Every moment we’re in Germany is time we can be captured and shot,” Matheson said slowly. “This plan has significant risk; a risk that you two can’t fly the damn thing. There is a risk that we can’t even get to a plane and the risk that we get shot out of the bloody sky. However,” he sighed. “It does pose our best and fastest chance of getting to safety. If we do this, it needs to be a unanimous decision, I won’t decide it for you all.”

He turned and looked at each member of the group in turn. Hamley nodded his assent, Maddox simply shrugged and both Down and Maria nodded, fully aware of the weight the plan placed on them.

“Then it’s agreed, we’ll do it.” Matheson concluded with a slight smile, “This is bloody crackers, but what the heck? We’ve gotten this far.”

With their plans solidified, the group made their way into the town of Manching, a mile down the road from the Airbase. Brief inquiries turned up a guest house that was no stranger to hosting visiting personnel and their plans for the evening were solidified. They would stay that night in Manching, departing in the morning by car or by plane depending on the night’s outcome. For most, it would be quiet, a night of relaxation and comfort. However, for Maria, it was destined to be the exact opposite.

 

 

Leaning into the bathroom mirror, Maria applied her makeup for the fourth time in a row. She was attempting a more bold look with the eyeliner pencil she had and keeping her hands stable was turning out to be a very significant frustration. A great deal of their plan revolved around their ability to learn vital pieces of information to be able to bluff their way into the base. Knowing names and squadrons would help them fabricate a reasonably urgent fiction that might suffice under the circumstances of war. Maria knew that Information was hard to come by, but alcohol, however, was not. The plan she had concocted was, on paper, quite simple. Its execution was however far scarier given her relative inexperience with womanhood.

With Andrew to keep an eye on her from a safe distance, they would visit a local establishment that was popular with the officers from the base. There, she would attempt to engage a number of them in conversation in an attempt to learn what she could to aid in their deception. It was very simple, and if she had been born the way she appeared, she had no doubt it would have been a doddle. Men loved to brag, she was already more than aware. Show them a pretty face, alcohol, and a little attention and you could loosen the tightest lips. What scared her all the more, was that it would be her pretty face she would show them.

The very idea that she was currently attempting to make herself more attractive for the express purpose of enticing men terrified her beyond words. Only days before, her ability to accidentally attract men had gotten her attacked, and… she didn’t want to think about the rest. She knew she didn’t have to actually do anything with them, not that she could in her current circumstances. The very idea, however, scared her quite deeply. Before the camp, she hadn’t really put much thought into the idea of romance. She knew her peers were quite obsessed with it and regularly frequented the local pubs around their home base in search of company. The truth was, she wasn’t entirely sure where her own compass lay if she even possessed one at all.

She knew girls didn’t seem to interest her; that was an idea she was almost comfortable with. She had always been under the impression that men didn’t interest her either, certainly not as a man herself. Neutrality was comfortable for someone who could barely establish who and what they were themselves. Deliberately going out to flirt and play for the attention of those very same men scared her. It was not because she found them repulsive, rather, she dreaded finding out that they didn’t.

The entire idea of making herself more alluring to the male gaze brought back memories of the attack in the camp. The very attack that had led to their present circumstances; was on the run in the heart of the Third Reich. That man had found her to be attractive, he had desired to possess her in the most carnal of ways. She could still feel the heat of his breath on her skin, the feel of his hands on her body. She shuddered, staring at the makeup brush in her hand as though it were a blade she held to her own throat. She was going out of her way to make herself more attractive to a man, to invite his lustful thoughts. No matter how she reasoned, it felt wrong, it felt, unsafe.

As much as she did not want to admit it, she also recognized that she didn’t have a choice in the matter. Her position was unique among their group and her task was necessary for the good of the group. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to center herself before continuing to her apply her makeup, although now it felt more like corpse paint.

Finally satisfied with her reflection, she began to dress for her mission. A mission was easier for her to accept: If she reminded herself that she was a soldier, this was still just as terrifying, but it was a type of fear she could control. A mission took sacrifice and it took bravery, it involved planning and care to mitigate risk. She knew she would have Andrew on her wing, and he could keep watch over her. She knew that she wouldn’t ever be alone with any of the men, not if she could help it; she could do this.

Of the civilian clothing she had hurriedly packed from her namesake’s closet, there had been one smart dress amongst the number. It was a navy blue belted number with a pleated skirt, a sharp white contrast collar and a spray of white buttons down its bias-cut bodice. It was paired with a white belt, gloves, and a pair of high-heeled pumps.

While she had never really touched girls' clothes before this terrible adventure, she had always been close to her mother. Vivian Campbell was a stylish woman who reveled in wearing the latest and greatest London fashions. Maria had always considered her to be beautiful and used her impeccable sense of style now to guide her hand. She finished her look with a simple bracelet and a double strand of pearls at her throat that her mother would have chosen.

Finally satisfied, she turned to the mirror to regard her handiwork. The young woman who looked back at her was certainly living up to that label; she was even somewhat pretty in her own modest opinion. She was still getting used to seeing herself in the mirror this way, and it was difficult to rationalise the girl she saw with her psychological image of herself as a gangly slight boy. She wasn’t certain, but she could almost see a little of her mother in her reflection, maybe it was her eyes?

Finally satisfied, she turned and collected her handbag and made her way out into the corridor to find Matheson so they could make their way into town. She knocked softly on the door to his room and waited. A small part of her hoped he commented on her appearance.

Andrew had always been her greatest supporter and friend. Even before this whole escape business, he had shown her kindness since her arrival at the camp. Physically, the man reminded her in so many ways of the boys that bullied her in school but his temperament was the polar opposite. The big man was far more considerate and compassionate than those boys had ever been. He excluded a gentle confidence and a sense of honor; she was glad she knew him.

The metallic click of the lock brought her attention back to the present moment as the door swung open. Andrew was dressed sharply in a civilian suit. His hair was neat and his face was neatly shaved. He smelled of soap and hair oil and something else she couldn’t place. As he recognized her, his eyes widened.

“Bloody hell, I mean,” he coughed, adjusting his tie. “So, you’re ready to go then?”

Maria blushed and nodded. “Yes, I am. I ah, do you think I’ll do?”

Andrew swallowed and nodded, “I think you look quite smashing. Honestly, you look wonderful actually.”

Maria lowered her face and felt her blush deepen. Receiving this reaction from her friend was making her feel extremely uncomfortable despite a tiny part of her delighting at his words. Andrew recovered quickly and stepped out of the room. Closing the door behind himself, he turned and offered her his arm. After a moment’s hesitation, and an awkward glance at each other she took it with one gloved hand the way she had seen girls back home do when out with a gentleman.

Maria could feel her heart thump as they left the guest house. Beneath his suit, his arm was firm and extremely warm to her gloved hand. She fought the urge to drop it as they stepped out onto the street, her mind screaming that people would disapprove of her.

“Do you think this is such a wise idea?” Andrew asked quietly as they began to walk south along the street. “We could just stop in for a drink or two and see what we can overhear. I feel a little uncomfortable leaving you in there with those Nazi bastards.”

Maria set her jaw and nodded more firmly than she felt. “I think I have to try this myself, Andrew. While the entire idea makes me terribly uncomfortable, I don’t see a better way of getting them to talk so freely. You know it as well as I do; they will sell their own mother to impress a girl. Whether I like it or not, we can both agree I look enough like one right now for it to have a chance at success.”

Matheson chuckled to himself, drawing a confused look from the young woman beside him. Noticing her confusion, he smiled. “You don’t quite seem to realize quite how you look, do you?” he shook his head at the rhetorical question and continued. “Bri, or Maria; whichever is most appropriate at the moment. I don’t see a boy walking beside me, holding onto my arm in his dainty white gloves. I don’t see a boy in that pretty dress. I don’t see a single thing besides the beautiful young woman here with me tonight. More to the point, one for whom I worry greatly as I’m about to leave her alone in a room full of horny Jerry officers.”

Maria felt a strange tug in her chest at Matheson’s words. What he said seemed to bore into her very soul as she looked up into his eyes uncertainly. The feeling was very new to her, and while it wasn’t a bad feeling per se, she was struggling to place its meaning. “You’re staying in the bar with me, aren’t you?”

“Fear not, fair maiden, I will never be far away. I’m afraid I can’t escort you once we arrive as it might spoil your chances of looking available,” he chuckled, causing the sound to vibrate down his body into Maria’s hand. They walked in silence for a moment before he spoke again.

“I must say, you’ve taken to this whole business rather, well. Are you… do you think that there’s perhaps, ah.” he shrugged, unable to find the words. “It doesn’t matter. I am concerned, however; are you doing ok with all of this odd business?”

Maria pondered the idea as they walked down the quiet street. “Yes and no,” she replied thoughtfully. “I can’t say that I feel differently than I might have otherwise. Besides the clothes and cosmetics, I don’t really think I’m acting that differently. Quite honestly that’s what surprises me the most; the ease at which I’ve slipped into this role.”

She inclined her head and made a face, “Does my head spin from all of it? The meaning? Implications? The risk of us being here as we are? Absolutely it does. I vowed, however, to just get on with things until we’re home safe. I cannot really deal with all of this while we’re being chased across Germany.”

Andrew nodded and didn’t answer immediately. The street was quiet as the sun was falling behind the trees, the lights illuminating their path in ways it never did at home in England during the blackout. “Do you mind if I make an honest observation for a moment?”

Maria glanced at him for a moment before nodding. Andrew stopped and turned her to face him. He stared into her eyes for a moment before finally speaking. “This isn’t you behaving differently; this is you behaving the exact same way you have since I first met you in that blasted hell hole of a camp. The strange, quiet, nervous young pilot that I first met has not changed in their behavior or temperament since we left. Whatever has happened to you physically it hasn’t affected your mind as far as I can tell; you are very much that same person. There is no doubt that it’s odd, but I think that somehow, inexplicably, this just suits you far better.”

Maria frowned. “So you think I should stay this way? That there is some grand cosmic plan for me to spend the rest of my days in skirts?”

Andrew shook his head, “I cannot say for sure. That question can only be answered by you. I will say that I fully expect you to struggle with returning to Brian once we’re done here if you even try at all. Whoever you are by that point, it won’t be the pilot that left on that last sortie.”

“Then I only have one thing to ask,” Maria said, starting to walk onward before she looked back at Matheson. “If this is the flight path I find myself on, are you going stay on my wing?”

Matheson chuckled and rolled his eyes. “I’ve had the nav brief long before you did, silly bint.”

 

 

Maria nodded politely to an officer in uniform as he held the door upon her arrival. Stepping inside the bar, she was met by a wall of happy conversation and music as the patrons enjoyed their evening. Here, the war was a million miles away. Glancing around it was plain to see that the locale was favored heavily by the officer contingent of the local air base. Many of the men were still wearing their uniforms likely fresh from dinner in the mess.

She was momentarily frozen inside the door as she faced the room full of people. Some glanced her way, but most were lost in their own conversations, entirely unaware of her existence. Maria felt naked here, as though her appearance was shocking and so obviously incongruous that any moment someone would point and shout at the interloper. As the seconds passed, she could feel her heartbeat returning to normal. No alarms were sounded and no laughter pealed out in her direction. Approaching the bar, she slipped off her gloves and smiled at the bartender as he approached. “Ein Glas Weißwein, bitte,” she asked politely, trying to maintain her German accent.

The man smiled and nodded and disappeared to fulfill her request. She could hear the door open behind her and knew that Matheson was likely now inside somewhere. She did not dare to look for him, lest someone unravel their plan, but it was reassuring to know that he was out there somewhere watching over her. She could feel her heart beat faster as she waited for her drink. No matter where he was, she was utterly surrounded by Germans and she had to pass not only as female, but one of them in addition. The entire plan had seemed so simple and easy in her room, but now here amongst the enemy, it felt foolhardy and risky.

“Put her drink on my tab Reinhardt,” A tall dark-haired man in the uniform of an Oberleutnant offered from further along the bar, “That is, if the Fraulein does not mind?”

Maria looked over at the Luftwaffe Lieutenant and smiled graciously. “My thanks, Herr?”

“Oberleutnant Fischer, Fraulein. The pleasure is all mine,” he smiled, moving over to join her, “I do not believe we have met.”

“Maria,” She smiled cautiously. “I am visiting my aunt in town for the week. You are at the local base?”

Fischer nodded and smiled. “Staffel nine of JG.8, we’re training on the very latest generation of our fighters before we head north to prepare for the Invasion of England.”

‘Invasion of England? How bad have things gotten back home?’ Maria thought to herself while she faked a casual smile.

“A Fighter pilot? That sounds so dangerous.” she offered vaguely, trying to sound like an ignorant civilian. “You have been flying a long time?”

Fischer nodded and sipped his drink. “I have been flying for a few years, I’m halfway to an ace.” he grinned puffing out his chest. “The Royal Air Force has been giving our boys hell, but we will soon have them beaten.”

Maria bit her lip to avoid making a sarcastic remark to the German and instead smiled sweetly. “I do wish you the greatest success for the fatherland and the führer, Herr Fischer. I have no doubt that soon the glorious Reich will extend as far as America.”

Fischer nodded approvingly at her party line and smiled as he sipped his drink. “Time will tell Maria, of that I am sure.”

Wishing the Germans success was difficult for her to stomach, but she knew it was the rhetoric that they spouted and expected. Truth be told, it was almost harder than maintaining her masquerade.

“You are far too pretty to be single Maria, tell me, is there a man back home?” The officer asked coyly, raising his eyebrow.

Maria smiled politely and shook her head, “Alas no, I am currently unattached. I have been so focused on, ah, other matters that I have not had the time.”

“Most fortunate for myself then,” he grinned. “Who knows if you’ll be the last single girl I meet before I’m shipped off to fight the British.”

‘Not if I can help it.’ Maria thought to herself before forcing herself to laugh at his thinly veiled line. “Does that work for you often, Herr Fischer? Why not tell me your commanding officer’s name? I will march into his office and demand you are given a medal for your attempt.”

“As much as I would appreciate your attempt my dear, I doubt Major Bergmann would appreciate your tenacity the way I do.”

“Bergmann?” Maria asked, almost choking on her drink. “Markus Bergmann?”

Fischer frowned and nodded, “Yes, He commands our training squadron here at the base, you know him?”

“In another lifetime perhaps,” Maria offered dismissively, attempting to hide her misstep, “I think my brother met him once in France.”

Fischer nodded, “His stories are the talk of the mess I must say. He’s a fine commanding officer. We all benefit from his experience. Though he still carries the limp the British gave him.”

Maria thought back to the man she had spoken with in the garden of a French hospital. It seemed as though it had been an entire lifetime ago. “This war is a confounding thing,” she murmured.

“Your brother was a pilot?”

Maria nodded and glanced across the busy bar, catching sight of Matheson in the distance in conversation with a group of airmen. “My brother, he… My brother is dead.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Fischer replied more gently, touching Maria’s arm on the bar top. “This war, it takes a great deal from us all.”

“You are correct,” Maria sighed, resisting the urge to flinch. “He flew under Major Bergmann while he was there. He always told me tales of his commander and friends.”

Fischer nodded, his posture shifting from one of pursual to a more open and sympathetic position once he realized this conversation would likely not lead to a romantic liaison. “Bergmann is a good leader, I’m sure he remembers your brother, you should visit him if you get time, you are so close. I…” He stalled for a moment, “Give the guard at the gate my name, I will leave word for him to direct you to Major Bergmann.”

Maria reached out and touched the German’s arm and smiled gratefully. “Thank you Oberleutnant, this means a lot to me.”

Fischer smiled and squeezed Maria’s hand. “It is all too often that we cannot get closure during a time like this, Fraulein. It is the least I can do: Who knows, perhaps one day, my sister or parents will come seeking answers from my boss.”

He was right, she realized. Closure was exactly what she lacked. Although unlike him, it wasn’t simply the loss of a comrade or a loved one. For her, it was a matter of her very existence. At this moment, sitting across from the young officer, she realized that they were fundamentally different. It wasn’t a matter of nationality or their respective sides in this war, but rather, their very being. The clarity of interacting with a man as this version of herself, with one that didn’t know her twisted beginnings was like a bucket of ice water to her psyche.

The men from the camp, as much as she cared for them had clouded her vision. They knew her as Brian, the young fighter pilot. It colored how they treated her and behaved around her. It led to their visible awkwardness; It made her behave awkwardly around them too.

With Fischer, she realized, she wasn’t acting. So taken was she with pretending to be German, that she had forgotten to specifically behave like a woman. Regardless of that, she still had; not a single person had expressed doubt or confusion as to who or what she was. She wasn’t romantically interested in the German but she could recognize his attraction to her… to her as a woman. Not something she expected he would express if he had his doubts.

Like a shiver of cold, the thought struck her deep within her very being. This was her default; her normal. The way she had behaved growing up had been what she thought others expected of her. It was what she had been told by society that she needed to be. Right now, deep behind enemy lines in a quaint bar, she was clearly and obviously a woman. The thought did not upset her.

 

 

After another hour with Herr Fischer, Maria excused herself to return to her fictional Aunt’s side. While he might be the enemy she did sympathise with the young airman. Like her, he was fighting for his country, his comrades, and his very life. Fischer was not a wild Nazi idealist hell-bent on world domination, but a hopeful young man, full of the bravado and fire of youth. She had known many like him in her squadron back home in England and she almost regretted the position they would put him in once their misadventures were traced back to their source.

Maria left the bar and turned south along the street. The night air was cool against her skin as she walked, raising goosebumps along her arms. She felt an unbelievable exhilaration at her deception; not her womanhood, but rather, her presentation as a German. Nobody, not even the man she had spoken with for so long, had seen through her deception; it filled her with confidence. Arriving along the riverbank, she stopped and waited at the point she had agreed with Andrew. They had arranged to meet here, rather than be seen to leave together. The river flowed by quietly behind her as she waited just outside the pool of light cast by a nearby street lamp. The very illumination of which felt utterly alien to her blackout-conditioned mind.

After a few moments, she spotted a man slowly making his way along the riverbank toward her. The unknown gentleman resolved himself into the shape of her friend as he drew closer.

“Sucessful sortie?” he called as he approached, his casual pace not wavering.

Maria smiled and turned to fall in step alongside him as they walked back toward the guest house. “I’d say so. A spot of luck in fact; my old pal Bergmann is commanding one of the squadrons on the base here.”

“That Jerry chap you shot down? The one that visited you at the hospital in France?”

Maria nodded, “The same, it turns out he convalesced here to train new pilots. It’s a small world after all.”

“So you think this is our opening?” Matheson asked cautiously. “This only really gets you past the gate.”

Maria nodded, “It gets me past the gate which is all we need. From there, I wing it, Andrew,” she sighed as they crossed the low-walled stone bridge over the river. “I just have to avoid actually meeting Bergmann and I’ll be fine. I don’t know if he’ll recognise me but I’d rather not run the risk if it’s all the same; the last thing I need is him raising the alarm.”

Matheson chuckled, the sound vibrating the arm that Maria had unconsciously tucked into the crook of his elbow. “I don’t think he has much chance of recognising you. I know who you are, and I barely recognize you myself these days.”

Andrew suddenly realized that Maria had stopped walking when he felt her arm slip from his grasp.

“How can you know who I am? I can’t even find the answer to that one myself anymore.”

“I thought you were going to see where this took you and work this all out back in England?” Andrew prompted gently.

Maria rolled her eyes and grinned manically at the night sky above them as if laughing at the heavens themselves. “Do you seriously think I can manage that? Do you really believe have the luxury of that amount of time?” She shook her head and sighed wistfully as she rested against the bridge wall, her arms outstretched beside her. “Look at me,” she implored, eying Matheson earnestly. “You said it yourself earlier, no? All you see is a woman: Well so do I, I have for some time even if I never wanted to admit it. The part that truly scares me is that I’m pretty happy about it.”

Matheson ran his hand through his hair and let out a deep breath. Turning, he sat down beside Maria on the wall, his eyes focused on the dark band of water retreating into the darkness away from them.

“I don’t think anyone can exactly blame you for that,” he conceded quietly. “What happened to you was a freak accident and even the doctors would be flummoxed. Your body betrayed you after your injury and then with what those jerries did to you; your head is just getting used to this new physical reality. It’s only logical that you’d eventually become accustomed.”

“No it’s not,” Maria sighed as she bowed her head, unable to look at Matheson.

“What do you mean it’s not?”

Maria looked over her shoulder at the river's surface as it sparkled in the moonlight below them. “I wish I could blame all of this on the Germans and the hands of fate, but a part of me is so very glad that this happened. A part of me has always felt that something was wrong with me; that something was missing. I don’t really think I could have explained things back in England, before all of this,” she added, gesturing to her body. “I have to admit though, that now, this feels… right. That is what scares me more than you can possibly know. It feels right because I think deep down, I’ve always felt this way.”

Andrew placed one of his hands atop Maria’s on the cool stone of the bridge and squeezed. “When I told you earlier that you hadn’t changed in the time that we’ve known each other, I meant what I said. I won’t pretend to understand how you feel or what causes any of this strangeness but I meant every word of what I have said: You do make more sense this way.”

“A boy…a man, he shouldn’t feel these things,” Maria whispered dejectedly, her tone almost guilty and pleading. “A man should not feel normal this like this, or glad about it either.”

Andrew chuckled, “A man would look bloody silly in that dress. A man would have been kicked out of that bar the second he walked inside wearing it.” He gently reached out a finger to turn her chin toward him. “A man wouldn’t have so elegantly charmed a Jerry Officer into accessing a secure military installation.”

“I was terrified the entire time, I had no idea what I was doing,” Maria admitted quietly.

Andrew smiled and nodded his agreement. “You might not have noticed, but I was watching you the entire time. What I saw was honest and real; that came from inside you. All you needed to do was put on the clothes and the world, I think, saw you properly for the first time.” He locked eyes with her and smiled softly. “Nobody in their right mind could ever confuse you with a boy.”

Maria opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words as her chest clenched. She could still feel the afterglow of Andrew’s fingers along the edge of her jawline.

“But I’m so broken,” she whispered, her eyes locked on his.

Andrew shook his head and smiled softly across at her. “You’re not broken, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, leaning in and grazing his lips against hers.

Maria felt an electric jolt pass through her body as their lips touched in the still of the night. The kiss was subtle and sweet yet spoke of a far deeper meaning than she could possibly comprehend. There was no force or urgency; simply a soft and gentle meeting of two people in the cold of the night. It felt like an eternity had passed before she finally felt their lips separate... She opened her eyes, surprised to find them closed, and smiled sheepishly across at the man beside her.

“Most importantly, a man doesn’t kiss like that,” Matheson murmured as he hooked a lock of hair behind her ear affectionately.

Maria felt a strange warmth spreading throughout her core. Her heart felt like it was in her throat as her breath quickened its pace. Matheson watched her quietly, a gentle expression on his face. “What are you thinking about?”

“I suppose that answers a question I had never dared to ask myself,” she replied sheepishly.

“I’d like to pretend that my intent was purely scientific, but I’d be lying.” Andrew smiled as he stood and offered her his hand.

Rising, she smoothed her dress and fidgeted with her bag strap before glancing back at him nervously. “I… wasn’t expecting to find that as agreeable as I did,” Maria confessed sheepishly. “However, regardless of our feelings, we shouldn’t do that again until we’re safely home in England. Even then, Andrew, it might be wisest to stay away from me once we’re home. There is no scenario where I would be good for you.”

Matheson frowned and took step beside Maria as she started along the bridge. “I wouldn’t care what people had to say; this isn’t your doing. You don’t deserve to spend your life alone because of it.”

“It wouldn’t matter,” Maria sighed. “They would talk regardless. Even then, you’re an officer, the Admiralty would drum you out for the scandal alone.”

“They’d ignore it as long as there was a war on, I suspect,” Matheson muttered quietly.

Maria shook her head sadly. “Look, Andrew, we are caught in a moment here. I barely know myself and you’re being so wonderful and sweet. Let’s not spoil this. Instead, let us focus that energy on getting home. We can work out where we stand then; without the threat of Jerries on our arse. ”

“Well, a slightly different threat of Jerries.” he chuckled.

The pair returned to the guest house with little idle chatter between them. Their objective was completed and they had a way onto the base. While it presented more new challenges than she expected, it would give them the best chance they could possibly hope for. Success would depend entirely on what she did once she was past the gate; what that entailed was still a mystery to her.

That evening had been revealing for Maria on a far more personal level than she had expected. It seemed as though each new dawn managed to shed light upon as yet unseen parts of herself. Her interactions with Fischer had convinced her more certainly than ever that this was the right path for her. Andrew’s kiss, however, had presented far more of a challenge.

Now that she truly saw herself as a woman, at least for the time being, she was able to disregard a lot of her adolescent preconceptions. If she was female, his kiss was natural and normal. Girls kissed boys; this was a natural part of life; she just hadn’t been prepared to respond to it in the way that she had. It was obvious now that things she had felt for her entire life had new meaning here. Whether her current situation allowed her to understand herself better or had caused it, she didn’t know.

What scared her the most, was how quickly she seemed to be adapting now that she was out in the wider world. What would happen upon their return to England? She couldn’t possibly know, but she was certain that she would never be the same person again.

The camp had been a form of holding ground for her sense of self; a world devoid of outside stimuli where she had been able to change and evolve yet perceive none of it from her own perspective. The person she was discovering was quite different from the Brian Campbell that had taken off from the grassy fields of England that summer day long past. She was changing yet, and she wasn’t convinced that would end upon their return home.

Brian had been a decent boy. He had tried his hardest but he had also been somewhat adrift in life, the wind merely enough to lift his wings but not enough to truly soar. The war had given him a direction when he had found none of his own accord. Her direction now was clear, at least in the short term: She would find a way into that base and get them home if it cost her everything. She felt responsible for these men now, the men who had shown her kindness and compassion. These Comrades from many walks of life now felt closer to her than her own blood. They had become her brothers, but what was she to them? Somehow a brother in arms didn’t seem to fit anymore.

 

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Maria straightened her uniform shirt and fidgeted with her hair in the mirror of the guest house’s small room. Her sleep had been fitful and her mind a whirling sea of thoughts. What had happened the night before, her kiss, the day’s challenges; none of it was conducive to a good night’s sleep.

Andrew’s kiss: Ever since she had recognized what was occurring to her, she hadn’t dared consider her sexuality. The idea that she might relate to others differently now was a terrifying prospect, or it had been within the confines of the camp. Her entire life, she had been conditioned toward a certain social structure, men and women behaved a certain way in polite society. Sex was quite honestly a subject she had never really felt strongly about. Like so many things, she had expected that its appeal would simply arrive one day as it had for others.

After her isolation in the camp and her body’s shift had demolished her status quo, she hadn’t dared to consider her feelings regarding companionship or attraction. Inside those walls, she had told herself rigidly that she was a man; to find another man attractive was homosexual. She remembered the looks some of them had given her and the feeling of the man that attacked her. In there, she couldn’t risk considering the subject, it only brought pain and derision.

Since leaving, her bonds to maleness had been cast asunder. Free of expectations, she could reasonably accept now that this felt right. Her acceptance of that had brought disturbing light to her feelings and recolored past interactions and feelings towards others. While she hadn’t considered it in her waking mind, she knew that Andrew’s kiss had changed something between them, and most certainly within herself. She caught herself thinking back to the few times she had seen him nude in the camp and blushed furiously. Her appreciation for the male form had certainly changed.

The mirror did nothing help to ease her mind. Her limited experience with grooming notwithstanding, she was perplexed as to how she was so easily able to appear as female as she did. Her features appeared softer than they had before this odyssey and despite months of neglect, her longish hair appeared far fuller and more alive. Try as she might, she still couldn’t find a single hair below her brows to worry about.

That was what surprised her; she was afraid of finding a hair. She was afraid that it would ruin the image of femininity she was regarding. She hadn’t been particularly hairy before the accident, but now, it was as though she had never begun shaving at all.

The blonde woman looked back at her with an expression of grim determination on her pretty face. She knew that today would present the most significant challenge she had faced to date. By nightfall, they would be airborne and arriving back in England or she would be dead at the hands of the Nazis. It was strangely calming that she would face her fate like this. Not that she wished to die, but somehow, to face it as a woman felt right now.

Pulling her coat over her clothes to disguise the uniform she was wearing, she gave her appearance a final glance before exiting her room with case in hand. Andrew was waiting outside for her and she gave him a thin smile before he escorted her down to the waiting cars. The rest of the men were already present and seemed almost as apprehensive as she was.

“Don’t look so worried boys,” she smiled ruefully. “This has at least a slim chance of not being a one-way trip. Don’t write me off so quickly eh?”

Maddox chuckled and nodded. “Sorry, it just feels like we should be doing more.”

Maria glanced at the group and smiled. “Not this time. You took care of me when I needed it, let me do this and then we can get out of bloody Germany, shall we?”

Back aboard their vehicles, the group drove the short distance south through the town towards the base. The journey was quiet as the gravity of their enterprise lay plain before them. Maria would have been lying if she didn’t feel apprehension about the task ahead, but she knew it had to be done. While she had been, fishing, for information the night before, Maddox and Down had reconnoitered the base and found a spot for them to stop just short of the entrance road. There, they would allow Maria to get out on foot; arriving in a Luftwaffe staff car might raise some eyebrows.

A few short moments later, they pulled to a stop and Maria alighted from the car, leaving her case with the others. With a little luck, they would all be reunited soon. The original plan had called for them to all to bluff their way onto the base together and make good their escape directly. It had been a fairly thin plan with fairly significant risks. Her discovery of Bergmann had given them a far safer plan, albeit, one that placed far more weight on her shoulders than it had previously. One that stripped her of any backup at all.

“You’re ready then, I suppose?” Matheson asked as he handed over her purse.

Maria nodded more confidently than she felt and glanced at the others in turn. “Take good care of them for me. If this all goes to plan, I will see you soon.” She frowned momentarily and lowered her voice. “Andrew, if you don’t hear from me before nightfall… head for Switzerland with the others, without me.”

Matheson frowned. “If we don’t hear from you, we will come looking. I won’t let you rot in there.”

She took a step forward and fixed his gaze firmly with her own. “Go on without me, there’s no reason for you all to get captured or killed for one person, don’t be a bloody fool.”

She could see the man’s jaw working as he attempted to justify some mad caper in her name before gritting his teeth and nodding. “As you wish,” he murmured quietly.

“I will make it, I promise,” she reasserted, her eyes not leaving his. “I will meet you all at the rendezvous.”

“You’d better.”

Without another word, she turned and set off toward the base.

It only took a few minutes for her to walk from the highway to her objective. She had barely time to emotionally compose herself before she arrived at the gatehouse and the grim Luftwaffe guards manning it.

“Stop and state your business.” the first guard challenged, his eyes wandering across her body casually as his hand rested on the stock of his slung rifle. Clearly, he didn’t view her as a threat or was merely relaxed being this far within German territory.

“I am here to see Major Bergmann, my name is Maria Horler. I believe he is expecting me?” She offered politely but firmly, knowing that she had to appear to belong here.

The guard flicked through his logbook and picked up a telephone handset. “I have a Fraulein Horler for Major Bergmann… yes… yes… very well, I’ll send them now.”

The man hung up the handset and smiled at her politely. “Rudi here will escort you Fraulein, please,” the guard gestured past the candy cane-striped barrier and toward a second soldier waiting by a Kubelwagen car.

Following her escort, Maria boarded the vehicle and was driven through the sprawling airbase. For the first time since their escape from the camp, she felt true fear and apprehension creeping into her mind. Her presence here on German military soil felt like a direct challenge to their enemy; an unnecessary risk that could get her killed. That she was here alone felt truly insane.

To her relief, the guard didn’t attempt to strike up a conversation with her, instead deferring to polite silence with his unknown passenger. For the entire journey she was absorbing as much as she could of her surroundings; the location of fuel dumps, hangars, and aircraft so that she might find her way once she was allowed to slip away from prying eyes.

A few moments later, they pulled to a stop outside a group of buildings near the airfield’s southern Runway. The guard hopped out and jogged around to open the door for her. Thanking the man, she followed him toward the buildings that appeared to be a Squadron headquarters.

The guard escorted her through faceless corridors until she spotted a lavatory and her opportunity.

“I wish to freshen up, I can find my way from here thank you.” she offered with a polite smile, hoping the man would disappear before he delivered her directly to Bergmann himself. To her relief, he merely nodded, clicked his heels, and disappeared back the way they had come.

Slipping inside the lavatory, she breathed a sigh of relief and lent back against the sink. Step one of her plan was complete. She was inside the base, and as far as she could tell, unobserved. She removed her coat and smoothed wrinkles from her uniform jacket. All she had to do was quietly make her way back the way they had come and find an unoccupied Junkers that she could slip aboard and make good her escape. The plan had seemed delightfully simple outside but now she was here it all seemed so very overpowering.

How had she imagined they might just allow her to take off in a transport from a large military base? She would need a distraction if that was going to be possible and she had no idea what she was going to do.

Slipping the side cap onto her head she checked its position in the small mirror and turned to leave. As she opened the door, her mind was firmly set to working out how she was going to distract an entire fighter base when she walked into the chest of a tall man.

“Excuse me,” she exclaimed, drawing herself back and glancing up apologetically. Her stomach dropped as she stared into the amused eyes of Major Bergmann.

“Frau Oberleunant, I don't think we have been introduced,” Bergmann smiled warmly. “I was told you were here to see me?” He allowed the sentence to trail off leaving the question firmly in Maria’s hands.

“Ah, Herr Major,” Maria stumbled, attempting to find her footing both physically and intellectually, “My apologies, you startled me.”

Bergmann smiled pleasantly, although there were hidden layers to his look that frightened her. They were depths she hadn’t seen in France; he reminded her of a hungry lion assessing it’s breakfast as he regarded her unapologetically. She could see his eyes wandering across her body before settling on her eyes directly with deep focus. He looked exactly the same as he had in France, although there appeared to be a very different tone to their interaction this time.

“I must admit I was surprised when Herr Fischer told me you would be visiting us,” Bergmann grinned wolfishly. “He did not mention that you were Luftwaffe yourself, nor do I recall losing any pilot by the name of Horler, perhaps you can enlighten me Oberleutnant?”

Maria blinked and smiled nervously. None of her plans had involved actually speaking to Bergmann or portraying a Luftwaffe officer under his gaze. “My brother served with you in France, or so he told me,” she offered. “Perhaps there was a different Bergmann, my apologies, I should leave you, I’m sure you’re incredibly busy.”

Bergmann waved a hand dismissively before giving her a more probing look. “My time is not as busy as a pretty Fraulein’s inquiries, but I must say you do look incredibly familiar. Perhaps I did meet your brother. I would swear we have met before but I would never forget the name of such a beautiful woman.”

Something about Bergmann’s tone seemed to trigger alarm bells in her mind, his polite visage barely concealing an intent towards her. With a quick smile, Maria slid from between Bergmann and the bathroom door finding him now instead between her and her exit “I do not think so Herr Bergmann. I would remember you, I am sure. I apologise for the inconvenience.”

“Nonsense,” Bergmann snorted and gestured along the corridor. “Allow me to offer you refreshment and we shall speak of your brother, you must have traveled far indeed, I would hate for you to leave us, empty-handed.”

Maria wasn’t sure what was happening as she allowed Bergmann to lead her down the corridor toward an office at the end of the building. The Major directed the female adjutant at the desk outside to fetch them coffee before ushering her inside, his hand firmly on the small of her back.

“Please Fraulein, sit, you have traveled from where?”

Maria sat awkwardly in the chair in front of Bergmann’s desk, defying her body’s urge to flee. “I was visiting Manching, my Aunt is sick, I met your Officer, Fisher at a bar in town, it was fortunate that he knew of you, Herr Major. I recall my brother… Hans speaking of a man by your name, it seemed to remind me.”

Bergmann perched on the edge of his desk facing her and smiled thoughtfully, “And just when would this have been?”

Maria recalled the progress of the war before her incarceration. “It would have been the middle of August I think Herr Major.”

Bergmann nodded knowingly, “I recall the period, I was injured myself shortly after this and transferd back to Germany. We were losing many good men in the battle over England. All for nothing,” he signed deeply. “Your brother must have been one of the transfers into my unit during this time, I’m afraid I…” Bergmann’s eyes bored into Maria and his brow furrowed. “I do remember a man, but his name was not Horler I think.”

Maria felt fear rise in her throat and fought to keep her expression neutral, “y-you do?”

Bergmann cocked his head to one side and stared at her, “Yes, I do, but he was not German, he was a young English pilot.”

Maria’s head told her to flee, but her body simply wouldn’t respond. Bergmann’s eyes bored into her soul as she sat before him trapped in the chair as surely as if ropes had bound her to it. She could feel her heart beating within her chest, the thumping accompanying a cold sense of dread as her worst fears came true. She tried to maintain her neutral expression but she was convinced he could read the fear in her eyes.

“You have changed a great deal since last we met, Pilot Officer Campbell. This is quite the surprise indeed.” Bergmann smiled slyly with a dry chuckle as he switched to English. “I must say this does appear to suit you.”

Maria choked back a sob of panic and grounded herself, forcing herself to reply in German. “I..I don’t know what you mean Herr Major.” she stammered weakly, sticking to German, her eyes darting toward the door.

Bergmann followed her line of sight and smirked. “My Adjutant will not be returning any time soon Liebchen. Let us drop the pretense, I know full well who you are. You can speak English, although I must say your German is excellent, I had no idea you were not a native. What makes me more curious is why you are here of all places?”

Maria discounted a dash for the door, she knew she would never make it off the base if she ran. Her only hope was to see whatever Bergmann wanted. “I came to see you Major Bergmann,” she replied in English, effecting a deep sigh of defeat. She turned her gaze on the man she had first met in a French hospital bed. “I thought it long overdue that we catch up again.”

Bergmann smirked and regarded her from head to toe. “I must say, this is a different look for you. I had heard reports of a breakout from one of our prisoner of war camps in the East, but I had not considered that it might be yours. This is… a disguise? What were you hoping to achieve at here? Did you hope to steal a plane and fly yourself home?”

He was far closer to the truth than she wished to admit. A cold realization began to seep into her being that she might not leave the base alive. This was foreplay, she would be arrested and possibly shot, depending on Bergmann’s influence over matters. That they would discover her identity made it suddenly feel worse. She might be done for, but she couldn’t allow him to know anything about the others if they had a chance of succeeding. She chose instead to distract with a half-truth, a variation on their plan that might be plausible given the circumstances. “My time in captivity and my injuries forced me to assess a dark truth that I was hiding from myself,” she admitted with a carefully balanced sigh of sadness. “That I was really a woman, that I don’t belong in this silly war of men. I hoped to return home and… well I hadn’t thought that far ahead to tell the truth.”

Bergmann’s lip curled into a slight predatory smile as he watched her closely, “And how does this lead to you finding yourself here in my office wearing the uniform of a Luftwaffe Oberleutnant? Not that it doesn’t suit you, of course.”

Something about his tone made Maria uncomfortable. “I… I was hoping to…” Maria decided the truth was exactly what she needed to use, but in a modified form. She let her shoulders slump as though her plan was ruined. “I don’t know, I suppose I was hoping to steal a Messerschmitt… fly it back to England and escape this mess.”

Bergmann leaned forward and chuckled deeply as if enjoying his own private joke. “You know Fraulein Campbell, the pilot I met so long ago in France would not have come up with such a poorly thought-out plan. Nor would he have delivered himself so willingly into my clutches in such a…” He paused and locked eyes with Maria, “compromising position.”

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked cautiously. She had known capture was possible, but she had still felt confident that their plan would succeed. To know it was all over felt gutwrenching. It was all she could do to protect the others now. The man held great power over her and could see her executed for what she was doing. Even worse, he could see her shamed and abused beyond any desire to live. Yet for all of her fear, she could sense that he wasn’t likely to do that. She wasn’t sure how to explain her feelings, but she could tell that he was using this reality as a threat, a sword to hold over her head; he wanted something.

Bergmann adjusted his position on the edge of the desk so that he was sitting closer to Maria’s chair. “It is less what I want and more what you can offer me. You find yourself in a precarious position with few cards left to play, Fraulein.”

Maria heard the way he had said the word Fraulein and knew his meaning. “I don’t understand?”

“Let me help you,” Bergmann answered, reaching out and taking Maria’s hand from her lap and placing it on his thigh.

“But I’m…”

Bergmann smiled and shook his head, “You find yourself in the enviable position of being exactly what interests me. As such you are in a position to save yourself from certain very terminal consequences should we reach an…agreeable conclusion to matters here today.”

Maria realized that her read of Bergmann had been unnervingly correct. She had sensed something odd back those many months ago in France, but now, since his plan became clear to her she had known deep down that this was exactly what he was attempting to engineer. Never in her life had she been a fighter, it simply wasn’t in her nature to want to hurt others. She knew that Bergmann’s offer was never going to amount to actual freedom or further her survival. Like those men in the camp, all he wanted was to use her for his own ends. She knew that the second he was done with her, he would toss her to the wolves. Worse yet, she knew the lives of the others depended on her. Andrew, Daniel, Arthur and Mike; they all depended on her. Not here, not like this…

Sliding her hand along Bergmann’s thigh, Maria raised herself out of her seat and looked up a the German officer as he perched on the edge of his desk.

“You want me to make this memorable?” she asked breathlessly, “Something that will drive you wild?” Maria bit her lower lip, emulating the seductive starlets of the silver screen as she placed her hands beside Bergmann on the desk and arched her chest towards him.

The German grinned wolfishly as he reached around and grasped her buttocks through her uniform skirt. Maria yelped slightly but kept her composure. “My, my, you understand me quite clearly it would seem.” he chuckled softly as his fingers kneaded her flesh.

Maria plastered a smile on her lips and ignored the man’s clawing fingers on her rear end. She wanted to push away and slap the him, his grasp and his intent was repulsive to her. She felt his hands slide lower and catch the hem of her skirt. She felt his fingers on the flesh of her legs above her stocking tops before he began to slide her skirt upwards.

She cocked her head to one side and bit her lip again, “I will do whatever it takes to survive,” she breathed in a cheap emulation of Katherine Hepburn’s sultry whisper. “Whatever it takes,” she added, before swinging the desk’s telephone into the side of Bergmann’s head.

The German keeled over sideways without a word and slid to the office floor. Maria waited a moment, her eyes darting to the door but no alarm was raised. Kneeling, she bound the German’s hands with the cord from the telephone and stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth. With him indisposed, she had an opportunity to revive her initial plan if she was expeditious.

After she was done securing Bergmann, Maria reached down and checked his injuries. The man was bleeding slightly from the side of his head where the telephone had struck him, but thankfully his pulse was strong. She wanted to stop the man, not kill him unless she had no other choice. Practically speaking, living or dead wouldn’t matter within a few hours. She would be dead, or they would be in the skies and on their way home. Why add another human being to the tally that didn’t need to?

Maria took the man’s pistol and spare ammunition and tucked it into the waistband of her skirt. She knew she had limited time before he was discovered and had to act quickly to resurrect her original plans. Straightening her uniform, she collected herself before slipping out of the office and back into the corridor outside. The Adjutant was sitting at her desk, the gentle music of the radio set having masked whatever sounds she was intending to ignore.

As she heard the door close, she glanced over at Maria with a questioning look.

“Major Bergmann has asked to not be disturbed for a while,” she informed the Adjutant, straightening her uniform jacket for effect. If Bergmann had signaled the woman initially, this was a routine event for them. If she acted as the woman expected, then she’d have far more time to make good her escape. The woman gave her a strange look and nodded. Maria wasn’t sure what her expression meant, was it pity? She dismissed it and walked briskly away from the office, refusing to look back. She hoped the Adjutant got some measure of satisfaction when she found her pig of a boss hogtied later.

Slipping out of the building Maria made her way along the line of workshops that bordered the Squadron headquarters. She wasn’t sure how much time she would have before an alarm was raised so she had to act quickly. Her heart was pounding in her chest as much as her hand still hurt from the impact.

Successfully stealing a transport would be no easy task, and the Germans were sure to send fighters after her if she departed without clearance. She shook her head and sighed to herself; like Mathewson’s grand plan to drive out of Germany it was a scheme largely held aloft by hope and improvisation.

Reaching the end of the workshops she spotted the row of large hangars that bordered the concrete apron filled with fighter aircraft. If there were transports at the base, these would likely house them. A large control tower was nestled in the center of the buildings where it overlooked the runway beyond. The apron and hangars thrived with life as personnel and vehicles moved to and fro, preparing for the day’s sorties.

Maria took in the sights and sounds of the airfield for a moment, closing her eyes to appreciate the sounds of tools, engines, and the scent of aviation fuel. It felt like a lifetime since she had experienced those very same sensations; she had been a different person then.

The tower would be her biggest opponent to a successful escape; they would quickly notice the unauthorised departure and send fighters to bring her back to the airfield. What she needed was a fitting distraction to keep them occupied while she made good on her mission. Once she was airborne the chance for the Germans to locate her would be far slimmer. If she landed at the rendezvous with the others not far from the base, it would be even less likely they’d find her; any persuers would expect her to make a dash for the nearest border, Switzerland.

This was part of their plan, as fragile as it was: Expected pursuers would make directly for her initial direction of flight, to the southwest and Switzerland. It made the most sense and being neutral territory was the quickest route to freedom. What they wouldn’t expect would be for her to circle back and land. They would board the rest of the group and wait before departing instead to the north. The flight north through the heartland of Germany would be longer but far less likely to raise suspicion. Their real risk would be once they reached the channel and British air cover.

Maria opened her eyes and allowed them to wander and soak up inspiration from the base around her. She was no saboteur and she had no experience with explosives or traps. She had very little idea of how she could hold an entire base at bay long enough to escape unscathed. What she needed was a distraction interesting enough to draw the attention of the control tower while she taxied out and took off. They could work out her plot as long as she had long enough to leave visual range.

The control tower was sat beside one of the larger maintenance hangars so she began her search there. Thankfully her uniform allowed her to pass through the area without question as an officer, however, that was not to say that a good number of the men didn’t give her more than a casual glance.

Slipping inside the cavernous space, Maria allowed her eyes to adjust to the gloom. It was quiet and seemingly empty of any personnel at that moment in time. Four angular Messerschmitt fighter aircraft sat parked on the concrete floor of the hangar, their canopies and cowlings open, work being done on the aircraft. It was her first time seeing the aircraft up close and on the ground. She had faced them before in the air and here, they seemed somehow far more fragile. She ran her fingers along the leading edge of the nearest aircraft and said a silent prayer for those of her friends the type had taken with them.

As she walked around the aircraft, it reminded her of her own preflight checks back home in England. The memory seemed to illuminate the spark of an idea. Crouching down, she searched the underside of the left wing for the fuel drain valve attached to the aircraft’s wing tanks. After a few moments, and a snag in her stockings she managed to locate and open the first of the valves on the German aircraft. Loosening the filling caps on the top of the wing, but not entirely removing them allowed enough air to get into the tank to cause fuel to start to leak at a controllable rate from the drain valves. Repeating the process on the right wing and the remaining three other aircraft, she stepped back from the slowly pooling fuel in the center of the hangar floor.

The fuel was giving off an overpowering stench, and she knew her time in the enclosed space would be limited. The spread was slow, with the growing pool moving several centimeters per minute. Calculating how long she might need, she wrapped a rag around a wrench and dipped it into a waste oil barrel by the wall. Lighting her impromptu torch, she placed it carefully on the ground near the hangar’s eastern wall. Her quick calculations told her that she would likely have ten to fifteen minutes before the fuel spill reached the ignition source. The clock was running and it as time to find herself an aircraft.

Slipping out of one of the small personnel hatches on the hangar’s main door, Maria straightened herself up and began a purposeful walk along the line of hangars and past the control tower. It was still early, yet the place was a hive of activity with personnel going about the day’s work. It took all of her courage to walk purposefully past them without appearing out of place. It was one thing to pass amongst the civilian population but entirely another to move through these people without arousing suspicion. Walking unnoticed amongst a sea of enemy personnel was truly terrifying.

Four hangars along, she found what she had been looking for; a hulking Junkers transport aircraft. The large three-engined beast was sitting quietly inside an open hangar, its wheels chocked and awaiting its next tasking. Confirming that she was unobserved, Maria diverted her path into the hangar and tucked herself out of sight behind a stack of crates. Once she was sure that she was alone, she slipped out of her hiding spot and approached the aircraft.

The angry symbol on the slab-sided tail tugged at her heart but she pushed the thought aside and focused on the task ahead. Stooping down, she pulled the wooden chocks from the main wheels and made her way aft toward the cargo door. Bracing herself on the corrugated skin of the utilitarian aircraft she clambered up and inside the cabin, latching the door behind her. She made her way forward and up into the cockpit, situated slightly above the main deck.

Maria surveyed the instruments before her and experienced a brief moment of panic. It was laid out nothing like the familiar Anson or Hurricanes she had flown at home. Taking a moment to relax, she forced herself to identify familiar instruments as she worked to translate the labels and readings to interpret function. Her German was good enough to translate most of the placards in the cockpit and a cursory search of the space turned up a clipboard with checklists.

Removing her uniform jacket, she settled into the left seat and placed the headset over her ears. The technical German in the checklists was difficult for her to follow at first, but with a few moments, she was able to relate the cumbersome language with the cockpit around her. Beginning her work as quickly as possible, she ran through the first few pages until she reached the important moment; engine starting. The sounds of aircraft engines wouldn’t arouse much suspicion on an airfield, but if she left the hangar too quickly she’d be spotted immediately.

With trepidation, she pressed the large red Netz-Ausschalter button and engaged the battery power. Almost immediately an electric hum filled the cockpit and various lights and dials sprang to life within the space. Encouraged, she continued, flipping switches and adjusting levers until the moment of truth arrived. Engaging the magnetos, she pulled the starter on the center engine and held her breath as the propeller began to spin, the exhaust coughing violently inside the enclosed hangar. After a half dozen blades had passed the windshield, the engine caught and roared into life. Encouraged, she ran through the process to start the outboard engines mounted to the wings and sat back to watch the radial engines warm.

From her location, she could not see the other hangars or the control tower and had no idea what the status of her distraction might be. She sat, her fingers gripping the controls nervously as she waited to hear or see anything that might suggest it was time to move. Eventually, she reasoned she would have to attempt to depart normally and see if she could make it without being pursued too quickly, her fuel and welcome wouldn’t last forever.

Giving the controls of the Junkers a final test, she placed her hand on the three throttles and flexed her fingers, soon enough a worker would wonder why there was a running aircraft idling inside a hangar, she had to make a decision. Before she could reach one, she heard a huge explosion over the rumble of the engines. Without waiting, she gripped the throttles firmly and advanced them, starting the big aircraft rolling out of the hangar. As she cleared the dark interior she was met by a world of chaos. Personnel were running about and sirens were wailing in the distance. Down the line of hangars, she could see the location of her distraction obscured by a large pall of black smoke that obscured most of the adjacent control tower. Fire trucks were rolling toward the hangar and secondary explosions were ejecting fire and debris toward the apron. Not a single person paid attention to the taxiing cargo aircraft as more pilots and crews rushed to start and move aircraft located close to the blaze that had already engulfed two hangars.

Her heart in her mouth, Maria taxied the big aircraft out and away from the dispersal apron. The airfield was in a riot of activity and she managed to make it to the runway threshold unmolested. The moment of truth had arrived and she gunned the throttles and swung out onto the concrete runway. The aircraft settled into position on the centerline and she advanced the throttles to their stops. The engine note grew to a dull roar adn the beast began to roll. The ungainly aircraft creaked and complained as it gained speed, thundering along the strip. Its tail lifted as it gained speed and mere seconds later, she felt the aircraft begin to climb away from the runway.

The Junkers climbed sluggishly up into the air as it shed the bounds of gravity. Over her right shoulder, she could see the pall of smoke climbing up into the air as chaos gripped the base. Her distraction had been far more successful than she could have possibly imagined. The resulting chaos was such that not a single aircraft was departing in pursuit. Little did she know, but the adjacent hangar to the one she had sabotaged had contained two fully loaded Stuka ground attack aircraft whose bombload had contributed to the unfolding anarchy.

Flipping through the radio channels on the cockpit set, she couldn’t hear anything about her departure on any of the preprogrammed frequencies. The tower frequency was silent, which wasn’t surprising given the circumstances. She flew southwest for a few moments until she was sure she was out of visual range of the base before turning north and heading toward their arranged rendezvous point. So far, everything seemed to be going as planned; it was almost too good to be true.

 

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Andrew Matheson couldn’t manage to sit still. They had parked the vehicles in a small patch of woodland next to the main road heading west. It was the location they had agreed to wait for Maria as the meadow adjacent had just enough room to land an aircraft without too much difficulty. They were far enough from the road to avoid the attention of casual passers-by but it still paid for them to remain quiet.

As he paced back and forth between the trees he wished above all else that he had gone with her. They had left Campbell at the gate over an hour ago and there was still no news. He couldn’t believe that he’d allowed her to pull this silly stunt on her own; he should have insisted on sending one of the others with her or gone along himself. He knew that sending a single person in made more sense, but he was undoubtedly worried. What if she’d been captured? Finding a British officer in German uniform inside a Luftwaffe base would surely end with her execution.

He’d felt a strong urge to protect the young pilot from the very first day that she had arrived in the camp long ago. His memory played tricks on him; even now, he somehow replaced the shy young man who had first joined them with the striking young woman she was today. What had happened to her was strange and unusual, but it certainly seemed to suit her.

It was fortuitous that their escape had come when it did. Whatever had happened to her had changed the young pilot a great deal. It certainly hadn’t gone unnoticed amongst the camp inmates. While the other imprisoned airmen were allies and countrymen, he wasn’t blind to the fact that many had been eying her up as their separation from polite society had drawn on. By the time of the escape, Campbell had not resembled the young pilot who arrived in anything but name. If they had remained there much longer, he feared he wouldn’t have been able to protect her from some of the others.

Matheson let his mind float back to the first moment he’d seen her in the administration room in the uniform of a Luftwaffe Lieutenant. Even as nervous and awkward as she was, it had been a stark difference from the awkward creature she had been before. The young woman he saw that day seemed to somehow fit the skin she was in far better. He hadn’t dared to say a word on the subject, but he had seen her truth at that moment. Thinking forward, he visualised the woman he’d sat with on the bridge in Manching and smiled to himself. No, that awkward creature had been left behind in the camp.

A low rumble in the distance snatched his attention from his daydream.

“That was from the direction of the airfield Sir,” Maddox called, making his way over from the edge of the woodland. “Explosion by the sound of things, a big one, smoke rising I think.”

“An explosion seems to suggest all is going to plan with the wee lass.” Hamley chuckled. He hadn’t been the only one worried Matheson mused. Even from his position within the woodline, he could now make out the smoke rising on the horizon a few miles away. Secondary detonations were rippling out every few minutes; whatever had gone up was not insignificant, an ammo dump or a fuel supply by the sound of things. The group watched the smoke cloud climbing for a few moments in silence before the low drone of aero engines could be heard in the distance.

“You think they’re scrambling fighters?” Maddox asked as he sidled up next to his friend.

Matheson shrugged. “I have no idea old chap, I sure as hell hope it’s our girl though. Wild as this bloody foolhardy plan has been, I’ve gotten rather fond of that one.”

“I Hope so too, for all of our sakes,” The younger naval pilot admitted, turning to face his colleague. “I have to say, I find myself unable to shake the urge to look after her.”

Matheson smiled. “I know what you mean Dan, she’s a real enigma.”

Maddox shifted uncomfortably. “That’s just it isn’t it Andy? She; how by Jove did that happen? I know what started all of this, the mechanics as it were. I just don’t understand how what seemed to be a chap turned into a dish like her. Do you think she’s been having us on this whole time?”

Matheson shook his head, still straining his ears as he attempted to locate the low drone of an engine. “No, I’ve seen her in the shower, she wasn’t, he was…” he shrugged. “You know what I mean. She’s still not as far as I know, but everything else is up in the air old chap,” he shrugged. “I can’t explain it, neither can she, but it’s not my place to go into her feelings.”

“Blows my bloody mind that she’s so convincing, it’s like something out of a paperback,” Maddox admitted glancing over at his friend. “She’s going to have a bloody difficult time when we get home, I don’t envy her.”

Before he could reply, Matheson’s attention was drawn to a dark speck on the horizon. He squinted, attempting to make out the object, it was low, moving west over the landscape. “Either I’m imagining it or that’s a bloody plane.”

As they focused their attention, the dot resolved itself into the distinctive three-engined form of a Junkers transport aircraft.

“I had my doubts, sir,” Maddox admitted. “We really do have a shot at this don’t we?”

The Junkers loomed into view, its three engines distinctive against the blue sky. Andrew watched the plane swoop in low over their heads before banking around to the south, the big iron crosses visible under its wings.

“Never thought I’d be pleased to see one of those,” Maddox chuckled.

“I’d fly back to England in a bloody hot air balloon Daniel.”

The aircraft came around and lined up with the meadow and began its approach. The big aircraft seemed to float, its huge wings holding it aloft like a raptor riding a thermal. Matheson watched as it touched down and rolled to a stop a short distance away from their position. Without breaking a beat, the engines roared and the big aircraft began to turn, spinning around on the short grass of the meadow and positioning itself for the return journey before its engines coughed and cut out.

The cockpit window slid back and an elfin blonde leaned out grinning broady. Andrew felt his heart jump as he grinned back at Maria. Somehow in that moment, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Cupping her hands to her mouth she called out to them. “I heard you boys needed a ride back to England?”

“I don’t think that balloon will be strictly necessary sir.” Maddox offered, shooting his friend a smile, “Let’s get out of here.”

 

 

Maria hopped down from the hatch at the rear of the Junker’s fuselage. It felt good to have solid ground under her feet once again, even for a pilot. Even now she was still coming to terms with the fact that she had made it out of the base in one piece. When Bergmann had discovered her she had, she realized, been preparing herself for death. She had acknowledged the possibility when they had concocted this foolhardy plan but it had always just been a theoretical possibility. Confronting that moment had brought a cold clarity to her. She had chosen to fight and she had chosen life. Here she now stood on the cusp of achieving that very goal. The group was reunited, and her mind was clear on at least one more question; Maria had fought for her life, not Brian.

Still shaking slightly with nervous energy, she lit a cigarette to calm herself and distract from the sudden feeling that she might burst into tears. She felt a strong urge to rid herself of her stress and fear; to vent her shame and anger in a visceral way. She focused her energy instead on deep cleansing breathing and resisted the urge to cry in front of the others. It was not because they would think it weak or unmasculine, but rather, because she didn’t want them to feel guilty for what she had done for them. These men had protected and cared for her in the camp and now, she would do her level best to get them home, no matter the cost.

She had barely a chance to inhale when the others rounded the tail of the aircraft and rushed toward her, joyful expressions on their faces. She squeaked indignantly as Matheson unashamedly swept her into a crushing bearhug, lifting her clean off the ground as he did so.

“Oh hell! Put me down you bloody oaf!” she giggled, the moment relieving a great deal of the tension she had held. “You still need me to fly this crate. I can’t do that with broken ribs!”

Matheson had the good grace to blush slightly as he deposited her back on her feet. “Glad to see you made it in one piece.”

“Close run thing, but they’re having somewhat bigger issues at the moment,” Maria grinned wolfishly as she drew on her forgotten cigarette.

“Those explosions were your doing, eh lass?” Hamley asked with a note of incredulity.

Maria nodded, “I started a fire in a hangar. I got lucky that the Jerries aren’t storing things separately like good boys.”

“No fighters?” Down asked as he joined the others.

Maria shook her head, “I don’t think so. I did a few circuits around the area checking for any tail and I saw nothing.” She was about to continue and tell them about Bergmann but chose to remain silent on that matter. She would tell Andrew later, once they were all safe. For the time being, it wouldn’t make a difference, and it would only serve to complicate things.

“How are we on fuel?” Down asked, testing the control surface he was leaning next to. “And how much does this kraut shed drink?”

Maria shrugged. “Just over half tanks by my reckoning. She’s got around a thousand-kilometer range according to the Jerry manual, we’re about… I’d guess half that, we might have enough if we run her lean and economical.”

“You think or you know?” the American raised an eyebrow.

“No idea,” Maria admitted frankly. “Manual isn’t super clear on what to expect and I’m mixing measurements. The best guess, honestly.”

“We play it by ear then,” Matheson offered. “We’ve got no reason to push things, so lean her out and we can see what we’re working with. Worst case, we’ll land and find another option, but we’ll be far closer to home in doing so.”

With their defacto leader’s orders settling matters, the crew set about the business of loading their meager possessions aboard the aircraft. With the cars well hidden inside the woodland, they hoped their trail would remain cold for some time.

When everyone was finally aboard and the hatches closed, Maria and Down made their way forward into the cockpit and set about preparing for takeoff.

“How do you even work this mess out?” Down frowned, regarding the instrument panel. “This entire thing is gibberish.”

Maria smiled and pointed at the altimeter. “You see this? It’s exactly the same as normal, except its in meters and kilometers, just triple your numbers.”

“What so three thousand feet is one kilometer?” The American frowned.

“Essentially yes, otherwise it’s pretty normal,”

“I don’t like it; feels wrong” Down complained as he scanned the checklist. “Feels mighty unAmerican.”

Maria settled the headset over her ears and began flicking switches in preparation of engine start. “That, my dear, is because the world doesn’t revolve around your little patch of Cowboys and Indians.”

Within short order, they had the engines restarted and the big aircraft was turned into position on their improvised landing strip. With a glance at the American sitting across from her, Maria advanced the throttles smoothly toward their stops and the big Junkers vibrated with power as it began to roll across the meadow. Before long, the tail rose and the speed increased until they lifted clear of the ground and began to climb away.

“Damn, this thing really wants to fly.” Down observed, watching Maria as she banked them north. “Wish my clipper leap up this easily.”

“It’s certainly nothing like we have at home,” Maria agreed as she leveled out high above the German countryside. “Not bad for a garden shed eh? This thing can get up to… she paused, herself mentally converting the metric instrumentation into a more familiar Imperial unit. “I’d say around one hundred and fifty miles per hour?”

“Damn crate is at walking pace next to the DC3 and the clipper,” Mike mused.

“But we’re in the air and flying home, it’s a darn sight better than driving past every Jerry on the way I’d say.”

As they cruised along, Maria explained more of the cockpit’s German instrumentation and systems to her American colleague. He was a quick study, and before long the pair had an efficient system going. They weren’t experts by any stretch, but they were more than prepared to handle the beast. For the first time since they’d left the camp, Maria felt confident that they were going to make it home.

She gazed out of the window as they flew, watching the German countryside pass by far beneath them. It was not a country she had visited during peace time but she was surprised at how similar it appeared to back home. The tableau of patchwork fields and villages below could have been easily transported into the home counties of England..

A tap on her shoulder drew her attention from the landscape and she turned to find Matheson leaning into the cockpit. She smiled down at him, “Everything ok?”

“You think you can handle the kite for a bit on your own Mike?” Matheson asked her compatriot. The American shrugged and nodded wordlessly. Now he was more familiar with the Junkers, he had settled into a long-practiced routine from his years in airline service.

Returning his attention to Maria, Matheson jerked a thumb back into the cabin. “You’re on a break, you need to rest after this morning.”

Maria shook her head and smiled, “I’m fine really; last leg and all that.”

Matheson shook his head, “Maddox will take a turn, Down can keep an eye on him, you’re taking a break and that’s an order.”

Maria held her hands up in surrender. “Your aircraft Mike,” she called before removing her headset and slipping out of the seat and down into the cabin. Arthur was snoring loudly in one of the rows, his head resting against the vibrating window unperturbed. Making her way aft she dropped into the back row of seats and closed her eyes. Now that she was out from behind the controls she could sense her weariness far more profoundly. She felt the seat move as Matheson sat down beside her.

“You look exhausted.”

“It’s been a long day,” She agreed without looking over at him.

“What happened in there? Don’t think I didn’t notice the state you were in when you landed.”

Maria grimaced and glanced over at Matheson. She thought she had hidden the tremor left by her experience with Bergmann. There was no accusation in his expression, simply a look of concern.

“I ran into an old acquaintance this morning, things got a little more complicated than we would have liked.”

“Bergmann? Wait, you actually met him? Did he recognize you?”

Maria shifted awkwardly in her seat, remembering the interaction. “Not at first, but he worked it out eventually.”

Andrew placed his hand over Maria’s where it rested on her knee and squeezed, “What did he say?”

“He wanted what those men in the camp wanted,” she replied timidly, her eyes flicking to his as they shared a moment of understanding. “He threatened to turn me over and have me shot if I didn’t let him… If I didn’t let him have sex with me.”

Matheson bristled and Maria felt his hand clench around hers. “That bastard,” he growled.

Maria turned to watch Germany pass them by beyond the window far below. “He said I was… exactly what he liked. I think he wanted me because I’m… not like other girls.”

Andrew squeezed her hand and remained silent as she stared out of the window. He wasn’t sure what the right thing to say at that moment was, but he knew that she needed him to be there. She of all of them had placed so very much on the line that day. She alone had faced certain death to speed them homeward.

“I let him think I was interested,” she offered looking back at him, her eyes pleading with a childlike sadness. “I made him think I was going to be, that I would allow him to… that I wanted it too.”

She glanced down before returning her gaze to Matheson, “I hit him, Andrew, I hit him in the head with the telephone and I calmly left the room; just like that. I don’t even know if he’s alive or dead. I just knew I had to hit him as hard as I could.”

“That was the right thing to do,” Andrew soothed. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“Is it wrong that I hope he’s dead?” She asked uncertainty.

Matheson shook his head. “He would have had you killed either way in the end, I suspect, so no. This is a war after all.”

“Feels very different to being behind the gunsight of a Hurricane,” Maria muttered sullenly. “That’s two now that I won’t ever forget.”

Matheson nodded, “One does tend to keep count, I must admit.”

“I should get back,” Maria offered, giving his hand a final squeeze of thanks before she slipped past him and out into the aisle. Turning back before she made her way back to the cockpit, she hesitated. “Andrew, what will become of me when we get home?”

Matheson stood and closed the distance between them before wrapping the girl in a gentle embrace. “I don’t know,” he whispered in her ear, barely audible over the drone of the engines. “But I’ll be there, and so will the others. You mean a great deal to me, to us all.”

Maria detangled herself and smiled sadly before working her way forward to the cockpit to resume her place.

 

 

“That’s the River Rhine down to our left,” Maria indicated the wide band of water that carved through the landscape far below to the others. “That puts Frankfurt to our north and Mannheim to our south.”

“This is the right way?” Maddox asked uncertainly.

“Kent as the crow flies,” Maria indicated ahead of them,“if my calculations are correct.”

“How are we on fuel?” Hamley chipped in from the cockpit door.

“So, do you want the kinda good news or the really bad news?” Down asked brightly.

Matheson sighed and nodded. The American grinned broadly, “Well the good news is we still have fuel, the bad news is we got, what?” He asked glancing across at Maria.

“Maybe forty or fifty miles,” Maria grimaced. “We are burning far more fuel than I calculated. This beast is a right old brick.”

“Options?” Matheson asked, rubbing his neck.

Maria shrugged, “We could find an airport and risk the Germans but we might get lucky and blag some fuel. The other option is to go as far as we can and glide to a landing, go on foot, and find a car. That is of course if we stick to a route where we’ll have the option.”

“How far can we get if we fly straight on?” Matheson queried.

“Probably south of Koblenz, that’s in the Eifel region I think. That would put us maybe forty miles from the Belgian border.”

“Further to the French line at the South?”

“Last I heard there were still holdouts fighting in the Maginot Line,” Down offered, that area would be real busy.”

“More chance of friendly folks in Belgium and Northern France boss,” Maddox pointed out to his friend. “I say we push it as far as we can economically and see what we can get then play it by ear.”

Matheson nodded and without being asked, Maria throttled back the engines to draw as much range as possible out of their remaining fuel reserves.

They kept the Rhine off their right side as they droned northward towards the Belgian border. Maria felt a growing apprehension as their fuel levels continued to drop lower. She could glide an aircraft, that was not in question. She’d flown gliders with her Uncle before the war, but she had never performed that maneuver with an aircraft that was designed to have engines that also happened to carry people she valued very highly.

“Keep North of those hills, Mike,” Maria called over the intercom, “I want to keep possible landing sites in range for us, we have no idea what this brick will do when she goes dry.”

The American nodded and adjusted their heading to avoid the terrain feature indicated. Maria watched the engine instruments nervously, her eyes flicking to the antiquated tube and float fuel gauges attached atop each of the three engine cowlings. What she wouldn’t give for a modern dial like her Hurricane at this moment in time; something with a modicum of precision. They were hovering just above the empty marker from the angle she could see. After that point, she expected they would have what fuel remained in the lines.

There is an old saying that a watched pot never boils, however, this does not apply when hoping that your remaining fuel will last just one more mile. They had managed to make it past the Rhine’s turn northward at Bingen and were cruising high above the forested slopes of the Hunsrück mountains when the port engine coughed and spluttered before dying completely.

“Port is out, feathering,” Down called, moving the lever between their seats. “Strap in back there,” Down yelled into the cabin as the aircraft’s note began to drop. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we’re about to begin our descent, please ensure your seats are in the upright position and you extinguish any cigarettes, please assume crash positions and kiss your asses goodbye.”

“That’s a horrible thing to tell them,” Maria scolded as the nose engine failed followed shortly by the starboard.

“You were saying?” Down chuckled.

“I said it was horrible, not wrong,” she admitted, raising her eyebrows. Gently, she pushed the controls forward, lowering the nose to maintain their speed.

“When we pull off a miraculous landing they’ll all think we’re damn heroes,” The American beside her chuckled darkly.

“If.”

Maria rolled her eyes and began to scan the terrain below for a suitable landing site. The forest gave way to farmland as it approached the mighty river that carved its way through the landscape. Above the river valley, the terrain was gently rolling and dotted with small villages and farms. Maria turned them north along the river, her eyes scanning the terrain below. The big Junkers was gliding well, its huge wings providing a great deal of lift as she had expected despite the cargo plane’s overall blunt profile.

“There, by the bend, on the left.” She pointed out at a small village overlooking a town down by the river.

“Think we can make that?” Down asked, manhandling the controls of the big aircraft.

“Fields to the east of town, that pale one’s been fallow since harvest in the autumn, it should be fairly clear and hard.”

“You got it, Ma’am.”

To both sides of the village, the ground dropped away steeply as gorges ran down towards the Rhine itself. Unlike a powered landing, they had no opportunity to do a flyby and check out the suitability of their landing site, nor, would they be able to change their minds once committed. This would be an all-or-nothing gamble.

To kill off excess altitude and airspeed, Maria flew outwards over the Rhine before swinging back around to make their approach to the field. Each turn elicited creeks and groans from the aircraft as it flexed in the air, the noise of the wind rushing past as their only accompaniment. The climbing gradient of the terrain made their descent seem faster than it was, and it took all of Maria’s nerve to maintain her approach angle.

Just in case, Maria took a hand of the controls and pulled the pilot’s side window open as they descended. It was naught but a habit from her days in a fighter. In an emergency landing, pilots made sure their canopy was unlatched and open so they could escape if the fuselage was warped by the impact. Here, it hopefully did nothing, but it would pay dividends if anything happened to the crew hatch aft.

“We’re going too fast to stop this beast, we gotta scrub some of this off or we’re gonna tip her over as soon as we hit,” Down pointed out past gritted teeth.

Maria thought back to one of her uncle’s glider tricks and acted quickly. “Help me, Mike,”

Stepping on the right pedal with both feet, she forced the rudder to the right as she cranked the control wheel left. Crossing the controls slewed the big aircraft sideways until it was heading towards the ground at forty-five degrees, its slab side acting like a massive airbrake.

“Jesus Christ woman what the hell are we doing.” Down yelped. He might not know what she was doing, but she felt his help on the controls to achieve it.

“Hang on and snap straight when I say.”

The aircraft lurched and seemed to drop out of the air, their speed reducing as the field rushed up to meet them.

“Now!” she called, reversing her actions.

The aircraft straightened out around thirty feet above the hedges the pilots hauled back on the controls just in time for them to slam into the ground far harder than a normal landing. Bounced around in her seat, Maria fought for control as they thundered over the rutted field, their gear thankfully still holding out. The pilots slowly applied the brakes, afraid of tipping the aircraft over on the uneven ground.

It felt like an eternity before the transport rolled to a stop, creaking and ticking as the metal cooled. Letting out a long-held breath, Maria switched off the instruments before flexing her painfully cramped fingers. “Is everyone okay?”

“Aye, I’ve had worse,” Hamley laughed from the cabin.

“I didn’t realize you landed on aircraft carriers.” Maddox complained, “Now I know how my lunch feels.”

Maria and Mike were the last to disembark after checking over the aircraft. The American rolled his eyes as Matheson offered Maria his hand to help her down from the cargo door.

“Hey Hamley, you wanna lift me down from here? Or is chivalry dead?” The American hammed, posing in the doorway.

“Carry yourself on yank,” The Irishman laughed. “After that landing, ye can walk back to England.”

“That was more her fault than anything.” Down pouted, leaping down to the Barley stubble-covered ground.

Matheson deposited Maria carefully on the ground. “She has other redeeming qualities Down, and she’s far easier on the eye than you.”

The American huffed. “So little respect.”

The field that they now found themselves in had a rutted dirt track running along its southern edge that led to a farmhouse a few hundred meters away. It hadn’t taken long before the resident had come to check on the new addition to his field.

A man that Maria assumed to be the farmer pulled up by the gate in a small truck. Hopping down, he regarded them for a moment before approaching casually across the field.

“I thought the British had crashed one of their bombers. I was coming out here to take you all prisoner and get myself a medal.” the man smiled as he approached the Junkers with a shotgun cradled under one arm. “What are you all doing here?”

Matheson stepped forward and offered the farmer a handshake, his posture the mirror of the perfect German Officer. “Good day Mein Herr, we appologise for any damage caused to your land. My aircraft suffered a mechanical malfunction and were forced to make an emergency landing.”

The farmer regarded the motley group for a moment before nodding in understanding and chuckling, “the magnificent machines of the Riech are more unreliable than my tractor, it seems.”

“Quite so,” Matheson smiled politely. “I wonder if you might help us. We were not able to radio in our position before we landed, would you possibly point my men in the direction of the nearest town?"

The old farmer nodded and gestured up the road to the west. “That way, half a mile, or down the hill by the Rhien. You can’t miss it. I don’t have a phone at the farm or I would offer.” he shrugged. “I do have kaffee however. I would be honored if you would join us?”

Matheson smiled and nodded before turning to the others, “You guard the aircraft,” He indicated the plane to Hamley so he understood the German order. “You two head into town, contact the base and organize transport. You can find us at the farm when you are done.”

“Jarwol Herr Major,” Maddox clicked his heels and took off with the American in tow after explaining Matheson’s orders quietly to Hamley. Maria was almost certain they understood the real message to ‘steal’ some transport, but the show seemed to work for the old farmer who led them back to his small truck.

“Where are you based?” The farmer asked as they slid into the cab and headed off towards the farm along the bumpy dirt track.

“Manching, near Ingolstadt,” Matheson offered. “We were moving to a new headquarters nearer the front when we suffered our misfortune.”

“Eclectic crew you have,” The Farmer observed eying Maria briefly.
Matheson smiled. “Staffel headquarters personnel. Oberloitnant Horler here is my Adjutant.”

“A pleasure Fraulein,” The farmer nodded.

Clattering into the small yard, they stopped the ruck by a large barn. Matheson hopped down before turning to offer Maria his hand so she could step down with a little grace. Straightening her uniform skirt, she gazed around at the farm. It was typical of the region; with the farmhouse and barn constructed of latticed timber and plaster exterior with thatched roof. Following their host, the group was led inside where they were met by a warm and welcoming kitchen. The farmer offered them seats at the table before disappearing into the house to find his wife.

Matheson leaned close to Maria and lowered his voice, yet continued in German. “Did you ever expect to find yourself taking Kaffee in a Deutches Bauernhaus?”

Maria smirked slightly and shook her head. “Not in my wildest dreams, but it will be a story to tell one day.”

The farmer returned accompanied by a cheerful woman with rosy cheeks who bustled over to the stove immediately and began preparing coffee. “Hallo! I’m Ingrid, It is good to meet you! Please sit!”

“Thank you, Frau…?” Matheson asked, taking a seat at the table.

“Schneider Herr Major, I am Kurt and this is my wife, Ingrid,” The farmer offered joining them only once Maria had taken a seat herself.

“Your men will be joining us?”

Matheson shook his head. “They will be quite busy with the aircraft and securing our transport, but thank you. Tell me, where are we exactly?”

“We are near the village of Dellhofen, we are just above the town of Oberwesel down by the Rhein, is that where you expected?”

Matheson looked thoughtful then nodded, “Yes, we were traveling to Belgium.”

Ingrid turned to Maria while the men were talking and smiled, “My husband he said you are Adjutant to the Major? What does that mean?”

“I am his assistant; I help him organize the sq…staffel,” Maria offered. “I am a staff officer.”

“You are nervous, going closer to the front lines?” She asked offering a slice of what Maria interpreted to be some sort of plum cake. “Our two boys, they are in France, with the Wehrmacht.” Ingrid offered.

At that moment, Maria’s heart went out to the German couple. They were lying to them and abusing their kind-hearted generosity. This couple was offering them their hospitality out of the goodness of their heart because they had sons away at war just like their own families.

She could see a mother’s worry on Ingrid's face as she regarded the older woman; a look that she knew must have crossed her own mother’s face on more than one occasion. She could scarcely imagine what her parent went through when she was reported missing and later a prisoner. She wondered if they would even speak to her now.

“You are ok, my dear?” Ingrid asked softly, noting Maria’s darkened expression. “You have someone in France too?”

Maria shook her head, “No, no I do not... Your concern for your sons; it made me think of my own parents back home.”

Ingrid smiled softly and touched Maria’s hand. “I hope you return home to your family one day, just as I hope my Hans and Erik come back to us. One day they will take over the farm when we are old and grey.”

Maria smiled at the woman’s image of the future. These people were exactly like her own family and friends. They were simple folk who were swept up in this bloody mess and just as affected by its horrors. Maria felt nothing but sympathy for the farmer and his wife. She regretted their subterfuge, but she was glad she had met them.

Ingrid gave Maria a hard look for a moment, as though she was evaluating the young woman before her. Maria’s stomach dropped, fearing that the older woman had seen through her presentation. Eventually, the farmer’s wife smiled and leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Between you and I, I don’t care much for the city politics or living space or whatever they call it. I just want our babies home safely and this all to be over.”

Maria realized that the woman was judging her allegiances rather than her womanhood. It made her wonder just how many Germans truly subscribed to the wild ideals of the Nazi party. At home, of course, they were told that all of the Germans were Nazis, fervent supporters of Herr Hitler and his terrible machinations. Here, in the real place, amongst its people, she’d seen her fair share of Nazis that was certain. But the reality was that just like at home, people were people.

This couple simply wanted to live their lives in peace; to see their sons return from war, sons that like her were fighting for their country. She hated the nazis, she hated what they were doing, but she couldn’t hate the ordinary Germans like Ingrid and her husband. Would it stop her from pulling the trigger on another German bomber? No, but it would however cost her soul a little more each time she did.

“Where are your family?” Ingrid asked, refilling Maria’s coffee.

Maria resisted the urge to say Cambridgeshire. “Regensburg.”

“Do you miss them?”

“More than you can know. It feels like a lifetime.” she sighed whistfully. “I’m afraid they will think I’ve changed.”

Ingrid smiled warmly and placed her hand on Maria’s. “My dear, we all change, life is a never ending journey. Your parents will love their daughter no matter what. I have no doubt you will see them again.”

Maria was quiet for a moment as she battled the urge to cry. She hoped that Ingrid’s words were true, that this mothers love extended to her own. She looked across at the older woman and smiled her thanks. Neither spoke, they didn’t need to.

A short while later their conversation was interrupted by the roar of an engine as a large grey truck pulled into the farmyard. Maria caught sight of iron crosses on the doors and her heart dropped. Matheson had clearly spotted the truck too, but seemed unfazed as he stood and straightened his uniform. “Herr und Frau Schneider, I thank you for your hospitality. It would seem my men have acquired transport for us.”

Maria eyed him uncertainly but Matheson didn’t show any sign of reaction. As usual, whether he had a plan or not, the Navy pilot had a poker face that could deceive even the most veteran player.

“The pleasure was ours Herr Major,” Kurt Schneider replied offering his hand to Matheson. “The best of luck with your onward journey.”

“I’ll have a crew remove the aircraft from your field Herr Schneider, it may take a day or two,” Matheson promised as he stepped towards the door. “Goodbye and thank you.”

Maria followed Andrew out into the farm yard and towards the large grey truck. The Opel Blitz was idling as Maddox hopped down from the cab. “Herr Major, we are ready to leave.”

Maria wasn’t sure how or where they had acquired a German army truck, but she was certainly impressed. Maddox offered his hand to assist her up into the cab of the truck. It was all she could do to maintain her modesty as she clambered up into the vehicle next to Down on the bench seat. “Where’d you get this from?” she asked as Matheson joined them.

“We got our sources,” The American grinned as he put the big truck into gear and pulled away with only minor abuse of the transmission. Driving out of the farm yard, Maria waved to Frau Schneider. She knew that she would find out one day that she had been lying to them, but she did hope they saw their sons again. As the truck rumbled along the dirt road and past the Junkers, a window at the back of the cab slid open to reveal Maddox’s head “Like our new wheels boss?”

“Do I even want to know?” Matheson asked with a smirk.

“We took a wrong turn and ended up going down into the main town by the river. Here we are wandering through town when this Jerry chap pulls into the petrol station. Well, we told him a sob story about running out of petrol with wounded onboard and if he could bring us up to the plane to transport the poor buggers to the local hospital we’d be really grateful.”

“He’s far less grateful now tied to a tree about half a mile back.” Down chuckled. “Really colorful language that even I understood.”

“When I saw this bloody great thing pull into the yard I thought our goose was cooked for certain.” Maria sighed. “I was hoping we could drop the Luftwaffe disguises and just be civilians.”

“We’ll pass easier through the occupied countries with a military cover than as civvies being asked for paperwork at every checkpoint,” Matheson pointed out.

“I feel really bad deceiving that couple back there,” Maria mused, glancing at the disappearing farm in the rearview mirror. “They were kind to us; hospitable. We just lied straight to their faces.”

“A necessity,” Matheson replied quietly. “They might very well have handed us over to the Germans if they had known the truth, they might not be that nice.”

Maria nodded reluctantly. She hated this war. Her own part in it back home had not prepared her for the reality faced since her capture in France. It felt like a lifetime ago that she had awoken in a hospital bed as a prisoner of war. She had seen so much and experienced so much that she wasn’t sure she would see it the same way again. The hopeful exuberance, the British bravado to ‘wack the Bosch and teach Mister Hitler a lesson.’ seemed so arrogantly jingoistic. That couple were not Nazis, they were not political ideology bent on her destruction. She hoped their sons would return to the family farm one day, she hoped she would live to see her own.

 

Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!

 

 

Maria was jostled awake when the truck changed gear, rattling the cab around her. Cracking an eye, she slowly absorbed her surroundings. The truck was rolling along a tree-lined roadway that was relatively clear of traffic and she was tucked in against a warm shoulder that smelled strongly of Andrew. She fought her immediate instinct to pull away and instead, allowed herself to enjoy the moment.

“You’re awake huh?” the arm rumbled as its owner chuckled. “You’ve been out like a light for ages.”

“It’s been a busy day,” she muttered as she sat upright and stretched. “Where are we?”

“We drove past a town called Gerolstein about thirty minutes ago, we’re maybe twenty miles from the Belgian border.”

“That close already? I’m about done with Germany.”

“Plenty more Germans though sadly,” Matheson pointed out. “One hundred and twenty or so miles through Belgium, mostly the Ardennes Forest, then another hundred to the French coast. Then we have to work out what we’re going to do once we get there.”

“You haven't already worked this out and planned every detail in minutia?”

Matheson shook his head and smiled. “I thought for a change we could just make this one up as we go.”

“Ah, he finally admits it's all a bunch of tosh,” Maria rolled her eyes. “We're all bloody lost, might as well head back to the camp and admit defeat.”

“God I hate it when mom and dad fight,” Down gagged from behind the wheel.

“Sure it beats you goin' on about how great ye are.” Hamley offered leaning through the cab window from the rear cargo area. “Anyone woulda thought you were winnin’ the war single-handed.”

“Look, we gotta have at least one of us that will look good in the papers after all this is done,” the American grinned. “I strike a rather more dashing figure than you, old man.”

“We can fix that old boy,” Maddox called from somewhere in the back of the truck.

Maria smiled to herself as the men argued back and forth. The group had always been close during their time at the camp, but now, it felt like a real family. They were from such different worlds and yet they all shared a common experience. It was one that had bonded them in ways that conflict alone might not have. She certainly considered them her brothers almost as much as her flesh and blood siblings back home in England. She did wonder how the others saw her though. The rest of the group had stopped treating her strangely after that first day and for that, she was eternally grateful. It seemed as though for the time being at least they had forgotten her past and were content to treat her as she appeared. She knew that Andrew saw her as a woman and his kiss had confirmed as much. Perhaps that wasn’t a sibling connection she felt in his case.

As they drove through the Eifel countryside, she allowed herself to lean back against Andrew’s arm. The simple physical contact with him felt pleasant and comforting in a world of such turmoil. Maria wasn’t certain how to feel about her growing interest in him. Having any sort of interest in a man at all felt sinful and wrong to her still. Perhaps it was a hangover from her upbringing, she reasoned. Somewhere deep inside her, a small voice called her all of the slurs her bullies had used in school. That same voice told her she was meant to be trying harder to be a man.

While physically she was now far from simply male, she did question whether the chicken had come before the egg when it came to her feelings. Did what had happened to her body conform her more to her already feminine mind or did she modify her mind to cope with the changes happening to her body? It was a difficult question to answer and one that she suspected wouldn’t be answered satisfactorily for some time.

The truth of the moment was that it did not matter which had come first: This was what she was now, and she was becoming increasingly comfortable with the changes that had occurred. Her body felt more fitting to her heart and her mind. Suddenly things that had been so difficult for her before felt so fluid and simple. She was able to relax and simply live without feeling as though life took a concerted effort; her interaction with the men was proving that unequivocally; she was capable of actually befriending men now, whereas before she had always been awkward and uncertain.

At home in England, she had never really had much interest in girls. She had been told by society and her peers that she was meant to find them attractive, that she would marry one and make lots of babies. The truth was that she didn’t want to and never really had; it was a relief to admit that. Now, she was beginning to feel things that were in entirely new territory for her; attraction. If she was truly a woman, then her growing feelings were natural and normal. To find a man’s scent and the firmness of his muscles alluring was acceptable. Maria closed her eyes and took a deep breath before regretfully sitting back upright. Whatever she felt had to wait; this wasn’t the time or place to cross that particular bridge.

The rolling countryside began to become more heavily wooded as they drew closer to the Belgian border. Far from major routes, the traffic was lighter and largely civilian in composition meaning that their progress was relatively unhindered as they rolled westward.

The group’s arrival at the Belgian border was a significant letdown. Tension had been growing as they drew closer to the international border, unsure of what to expect upon their arrival. It was greatly anticlimatic, only for the German checkpoint at the bridge to Steinebrück to simply wave them across without a second glance. The Belgian side was entirely unmanned.

All wanted to celebrate the moment; they had left Germany. It did mark a significant milestone in their escape but they were, however, not under any illusion that it meant that they were now any safer across this line on a map. They still had a great distance to cover in entirely enemy-occupied territory and were still very much at risk of being shot as spies.

They drove on until the early evening, finally stopping in the town of Huy. It was situated south of the city of Liége, perched along the banks of the Meuse river. It was agreed that they would rest for the night before moving on the following day to reach their next milestone; the French Border. Military traffic had grown significantly heavier as they had pressed onward into the occupied territories and it had become more important to avoid the major cities and buildups as they traveled onward.

They found rooms at a pleasant but modest hotel near the center of town for the evening. The staff gave them a stark reminder that they were now in the occupied territories. Whereas in Germany, their uniforms had endeared people towards them; they had been fellow countrymen. Here in Belgium, they were a sign of the invading power. As much as they wished to cast off the disguises and present themselves as civilians, it was still far too necessary to maintain their ruse to allow for free movement. It was their first taste of the occupied territories since their departure from the camp and it reminded them that they needed to be on far greater guard now than ever before. From now on, enemies would be on all sides; their uniforms keeping them safe and also putting them in great danger. Belgium and soon France would pose significant new challenges they were only just beginning to understand.

 

 

“I think that somehow I preferred Germany,” Maddox observed quietly as they sat around a table at a riverfront restaurant on the Meuse. Their short walk from the hotel had been met with a mixture of passive-aggressive hostility and indifference from the Belgian locals and it had left the group in a far darker mood than they had felt since crossing over the border.

Maria sipped her wine and nodded. “I do get the distinct impression we’re not welcome here. It’s not entirely surprising, but it’s certainly unpleasant. I really want out of this bloody uniform.”

Matheson grimaced and nodded, “Not long now; we’ll likely ditch this mess once we’re over the French border, should be easier for us to move then.”

“Can’t be soon enough,” Hamley added. “I’m tired of gettin’ these funny looks. I just want tae tell them I’m on their bloody side.”

“Any idea what we’re going to do when we get to France? I get the impression we’re going to be so close but so far,” Maddox inquired of his friend.

“Not sure old chap, but I suspect we can tea leaf a boat and hop over the channel easily enough from somewhere quiet. Krauts don’t control that yet as far as I know.”

The group’s conversation switched back to German as the waitstaff brought out their meals and all conversation about their plans was shelved until they could guarantee greater privacy. The food was simple but filling; cabbage, potato, and pork shoulder. Once again Maria was well aware that their full bellies might only last as far as their arrival home. They had eaten far better since their escape than they had during their entire incarceration, and certainly better than their time in England.

Not wishing to risk overstaying their welcome and risking any unnecessary exposure, they made their way back to the hotel in smaller groups. There was a palpable sense of tension and excitement bubbling under the surface that could derail their plans if they acted too rashly. Better to keep their heads down and remain vigilant than relax so close to safety.

Maria had lagged behind when the group had left the restaurant. Andrew had tried to stay with her but she had insisted on doing this by herself. Time alone was something she had not experienced a great deal of since her incarceration and its precious few moments allowed her time to think. God knows, she needed to think.

As she strolled along the riverbank, she allowed herself a moment to simply exist. Back in England, life would be chaotic and the war would be on once again. She knew she wasn’t ready to confront what she would face upon her return. It would be unpleasant and likely uncomfortable, but here in occupied Belgium, she was given a brief stay of execution. Here she could take a moment to be alive; she wasn’t… whatever she was. Here she could simply be a woman called Maria Horler, or was it Maria Campbell?

Despite the German occupation, the civilians were still going about their business and living their daily lives. Men and women walked past her, non giving her more than a second glance. Admittedly most of those glances were less than pleasant given her uniform, but she didn’t blame them for that.

Walking alone here along the river gave her a greater appreciation for her situation. Less than a week ago she had been, technically, a male prisoner of war incarcerated in the heart of Germany. She accepted the fact now that she hadn’t been truly male in a long time, months perhaps. Despite her own feelings on the matter, she had clung to what others had wanted for her, what others had decided was correct because it was easier than accepting that she was different.

Doctor Muller had been right she realized. She hadn’t been ready to hear what the man had tried to tell her. She deeply regretted that she wasn’t able to save him. What had happened to him was a travesty. That man had never harmed a soul, German or not, he was a healer, a good man. He didn’t deserve to die in his own blood.

She had told herself at first that this version of herself was merely a disguise; a way to help them reach freedom. It hadn’t taken long for her to realize the true weight of what she was doing. Taking on the mantle of Maria had opened her eyes to the world as it should be. Being Maria wasn’t a disguise anymore, it was the removal of one.

She didn’t understand the medical science behind what had occurred but she knew that it was her reality now. She had changed far more in the camp than she had appreciated at the time. So focused was she on what she should be rather than what she was, that it had blinded her to the growing truth. Here, walking along the Meuse River she couldn’t deny that to all observers, she appeared to be a normal young woman.

Maria paused and leaned against a railing and gazed out over the water. She wasn’t ready to say that she was female, perhaps that was a step too soon. She was certainly happier here than she ever had been. Of course, that would change when she returned to England when life resumed and she found a place in it.

For now, though, Maria Campbell could exist, for a brief moment, unencumbered by expectations. Who she was, she was beginning to understand. What she was still felt like a mystery to her. She knew this form felt more comfortable, how people related to her. Naming it felt premature.

“Belgium truly is a beautiful part of the world,” a German voice announced from behind her.

Maria started and turned to see a tall blonde man in a German Captain’s uniform smiling in her direction.

“A little flat for my taste, but it holds a certain timeless energy,” the man smiled offering Maria his hand. “Hauptmann Johan Schmitt, Frau Oberleutnant?”

Maria took the hand gently and smiled, “Horler, Maria Horler, Hauptmann, can I help you?”

The captain shook his head and gazed out across the river. “No, not at all. I saw you standing here alone and you looked, if I might say, conflicted?”

The man’s expression was soft and genuine, she couldn’t detect any ulterior motive, not that she was an expert in the matter. Maria decided to offer a form of the truth.

“I must admit I am in fact conflicted, Herr Schmitt. I have a great deal on my mind and decisions to make about the future.”

Schmitt nodded and didn’t pry. “We all have our fears, these are uncertain times.”

Maria regarded the man for a moment. He was tall, nearly a foot taller than her own height and well-built. His blonde hair was short but neat and parted over his left eye. She suddenly realized with a mixture of fear and trepidation that she found this man attractive.

“I was walking back to my hotel Herr Hauptmann, perhaps I was lost in thought.”

Schmitt bowed his head. “Would the Fraulein accept my escort? These are not entirely safe streets for a lady.”

Maria seemed uncertain but the German held up his hands. “I have no ulterior motive Fraulein, I promise. I just wish to see you safely back to your accommodations.”

Maria considered the man’s offer for a moment before reluctantly nodding. “Thank you, Herr Schmitt, I would accept.”

Maria began walking and the German fell in beside her as they made their way slowly back up into the town.

“You said you found Belgium too flat?” Maria asked, glancing across at Schmitt. “Where is home?”

“I am from the Schwarzwald, Bad Liebenzell to be precise. It is a little more hilly than the flatlands of Belgium.”

“Bavaria, Regensburg,” Maria offered, considering the place to be far enough away from the Captain’s home and arguably, the place of her birth.

Schmitt nodded. “Beautiful there, you have family at home?”

“My parents, a sister, and two brothers.”

“My father died in the Der Große Krieg, My mother raised my sisters and I by herself.” Schmitt offered a slight quirk of his lip indicating it wasn’t a new story.

“I’m very sorry, do you miss them?”

Schmitt nodded, “Very much. My sisters have all flown the coop and married, my mother lives with my wife and children in Stuttgart. She finds walking a little difficult these days.”

Maria realized the man’s intentions had indeed been pure and warmed to him significantly.

“You remind me of my youngest sister,” he continued with a chuckle. “She was always a thinker. She would wander off into the forest and draw for hours. I always told her she would be eaten by wolves but she never wanted to listen to Big Brother.”

“So the Belgians, they are the wolves?” Maria quirked an eyebrow.

Schmitt shook his head, as they waited for several trucks to pass heading westward. “The frightened hound is more likely to lash out after you strike him with a cane than if you treat him to steak. Wolves? No, but we have pushed these people very hard.”

Maria nodded and was about to reply when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. A small child was teetering across the street, her mother caught in conversation with a friend on the far side of the road, unaware of her daughter’s bid for freedom.

One truck swerved past the girl, its horn blaring before Maria could react. Without thinking, she darted out into the roadway and scooped the child up in her arms. Shielding the toddler with her body, she turned away from the next vehicle barreling down upon them.

There was a scream of brakes and sliding tires but the impact she was expecting never came. Slowly opening her eyes, Maria glanced around cautiously; the street was at a standstill. Pedestrians and soldiers alike were frozen, staring at her cradling the young girl in her arms.

Slowly standing up she checked over the young girl, relieved to find her entirely unhurt.

“You are not hurt?” she asked softly in the little French she knew.

The little girl nodded shyly, turning pink. Maria smiled and straightened her coat. The girl’s mother rushed over and swept the child up in her arms, a look of panic and joy on her features to find her daughter safe. She looked at Maria, for the first time recognizing her Luftwaffe uniform and appeared conflicted for a second. Her parental instincts seemed to take over and she smiled slightly and nodded her thanks before turning and rushing away.

A vehicle door slammed open and the sharp slapping sounds of leather on cobblestone indicated someone coming towards her quickly. “What the hell is going on here? Why are you stopping my trucks?”

A shorter bald-headed man in the uniform of an unterfeldwebel or sergeant, stood redfaced, his hands on his gunbelt. The man’s bluster seemed to pale when Maria turned around.

“Frau Oberleutnant I’m sorry,” the man spluttered. “My apologies for my tone.”

Maria regarded the man cooly. “And your drivers are in the habit of carelessly running down small children?”

“I’m sorry Frau Oberleutnant, They’ll be more careful.” the sergeant replied nervously, glancing at the cab of the now idling truck. The man’s eyes returned to Maria before growing wider yet as Schmitt appeared beside her.

“Your unit, Unterfeldwebel?”

“Three hundred and forty-first transport corps Herr Hauptmann.”

“Carry on, and heed the Frau Oberleutnant. Have your men drive with more due care.”

The Sergeant snapped a nazi salute and vanished back down the line of vehicles.

Maria stepped out of the roadway with Schmitt and placed her hand on her heart, feeling it thump against her ribcage.

“That was quite dramatic,” The German grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a jumped-up little toad like him backpedal so quickly.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Maria sighed. “I just saw the little girl and I had to do something.”

Schmitt nodded as they began walking once more. “Remember what I was saying about canes and steak? That was most certainly steak.”

“Are your rations that poor?” Maria asked glancing across at the man.

“No,” he chuckled. “You put yourself at risk to save that little Belgian girl. The people who saw the German woman put herself in danger to protect the kinder. It’s moments like that which remind them that we are not their enemy.”

“We are not?”

“A means to an end,” Hauptmann Schmitt admitted. “With how the French built up the Maginot line we had little choice.”

Maria held her tongue. For a brief moment, she had considered the man different, unique but he was at his core a German soldier. To borrow the man’s metaphor, even a wolf could wag his tail, she reminded herself.

Changing the subject, she nodded at the man’s insignia on his cap. “I don’t recognize your unit badge, who are you with?”

Schmitt smiled and ran a finger over the insignia. “Aufklärungs-Abteilung 4, Reconnaissance Battalion.”

“Is there much to Recconoitre in France?”

Schmitt smiled, “We were shipped up here for Operation Sea Lion; the Invasion of England. When Command put that on indefinite hold in September we’ve been sat here spinning our heels. There’s talk of us heading to Poland soon for an unspecified onward operation.”

The invasion of England was on indefinite hold? Maria wanted to scream with joy at the news but didn’t show it. “Onward? Do you think Russia?”

“Some think that the Fuhrer’s patience with the Soviets is growing thin.” Schmitt grinned.

After a short walk, the pair arrived back outside Maria’s hotel. The German took Maria by the hand and kissed her fingers. “It has been a pleasure Frau Oberleutnant Horler. I do hope our paths cross again.”

“Likewise Herr Schmitt.”

“Johan, please.”

“Johan, please be safe.”

The man smiled before turning and departing back along the road. Maria stood at the front door watching his disappearing back for a moment. For his faults, Schmitt had been a gentleman and the second man she had interacted with at length who had no knowledge of her past. It had been a pleasant experience if one discounted nearly being killed by a supply truck.

Maria smiled at the thought of the little girl. While the idea of having a wife and children as a father and husband felt truly alien to her, the idea of being a mother herself was starting to grow on her. She had felt academic regret that she would not be able to procreate back when the doctors had first told her of her injuries. Now, however, she felt true regret that she wouldn’t be able to be a mother in the most complete way. Still, she reasoned. It was far too soon to worry about anything of the sort.

 

 

“So where are we heading once we cross over? And where do we get clothes from?” Down asked again, pacing the room he shared with Arthur Hamley. The entire group was present, all glad to be able to relax away from prying eyes for once. At that moment, Andrew Matheson was going over the plan for their next day’s travel. The hopefully, final day of travel in their entire journey.

“The aim is to cross the border into France north of Lille and aim for somewhere south of Calais along the coast. That area is full of fishing villages, so the chances of us finding a boat we can borrow is fairly high. The only uncertainty we have is the German strength along the coast. According to Maria, they were muttering about an Invasion force before she was captured.”

“According to the Jerry chap, I spoke with last night, they called off Sealion in September, units are being reassigned.”

Matheson nodded, “so shouldn’t be awful then.”

“I can handle most things short of a full-on ship.” Maddox offered. “Dad had a motor launch back home and I sailed fairly often.”

“I think we’ll manage,” Matheson agreed as he sat heavily on the bed and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m blood tired, I know we all are, but we have to keep things together for the last stretch. This is where we can stuff this up the most; we have to be cautious.”

Maria pursed her lips and thought back to her final flight. “From what I recall, I came over the coast near Dieppe and Abbeville. The coastline didn’t have any anti-aircraft guns on it or fortifications that I could see at the time, but they’ve had months since we were captured to change that.”

“I don’t think the Bosch are worried about an invasion yet, so it should be fairly quiet outside of port towns.” Matheson agreed.

Down shifted uncomfortably and glanced across at Maria. “Not to be a spoil sport here, but what do we do about her when we get home? Have we worked that one out yet?”

Maria eyed the American warily, uncertain as to where he was going with his question.

“I mean, when we get out of these uniforms are we expecting her to just put on some random fella’s French civvies and poof, this cat will be back in the bag? I might be the dumb yank here, but even I can see this isn’t some costume no more. It hasn’t been since the camp, has it?”

“That is a bridge we’ll cross when we get to it.” Matheson offered tactfully, glancing across at Maria. “But I agree, it’s going to present some difficulty to explain.”

“May I?” Maria asked, catching the eye of each of the group individually. She stood up and faced the others, her hands clasped before her. “Look, Andrew and Daniel are more than aware that this is far more than it first seemed. Hell, I’m sure you all are by now, but it’s not exactly been subtle. The truth is that I’m…” She sighed and brushed her hair out of her face. “After my accident and what the Germans did to me, I have very much changed. I’m not the same person that came to that camp seven months ago, none of us are. Truth be told, I don’t think I ever was him, not really, not up here.” she offered, touching her heart and then her head.

“I’m happier this way; I think this is quite likely the real me. No matter what they have on record, somehow this just fits me better. I will not be changing back before we return home but I will change out of this uniform with you. The only difference is that I will still be the woman you see here and now. I will return home as her and hopefully not get locked up in an insane asylum.”

“I think that was obvious lass,” Hamley murmured softly with a smile. “It’s not that big a change sure it’s not.”

Andrew and Daniel both simply smiled and Down pointed at her and looked smug. “See? I told you she was a broad this entire time.”

Maria chuckled softly and smiled at her friends. “Who knows, maybe they’ll let me stay in the WAAF when we get back if I’m not in some padded hospital.”

Maddox grinned, “a bloody waste for an experienced combat pilot at a time like this, having you making cups of tea.”

“I’d hope they would at least let me ferry aircraft about,” Maria sighed unhappily. “Honestly I have no idea, I’ll do what I can to contribute but it’s what they say that will go. You know the head shed types; they have their own silly ideas.”

“This all hinges on us making it, you know,” Matheson reminded the group. “We’ve got to have our heads in the game tomorrow. Get some rest and I’ll see you all bright and early.”

Their plans settled, the group separated and prepared to retire for the evening. Andrew escorted Maria back down the corridor towards her room. He was about to leave to rejoin Maddox when she touched his arm.

“Do you have a minute?” she asked in a small voice tinged with nerves.

“Of course, here or inside?”

“Inside, that might be better I think.”

Unlocking the door, Maria allowed the Navy pilot inside before closing the door and kicking off her shoes. “God I hate those things.”

Matheson smiled and leaned back against the door. “Pretty sure that’s a hazard of the occupation.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t wear them, just that I don’t like them.” Maria huffed waving a finger in his direction.

Matheson shook his head and smiled, “You ready to face the folks back home?”

“God no,” she sighed. “I’m bloody terrified! Part of me wants to stay here forever to avoid confronting them. Gosh, my parents, the RAF, everything; it's just too much!”

“We’ve got your back,” Andrew reassured the worried girl. “All of us can attest to what happened and what the Jerries did to you, you’ll be fine.”

“God Andrew I’m so scared,” she wailed more loudly. “Will my parents take me back? Or will it be some great scandal? I can’t be him anymore, I simply can’t. I know what I said to the others; that I’m happier this way and that is true. I can’t begin to imagine going back to being Brian. Not physically certainly, but emotionally? I think I might die if they made me. It’s as though after years in a dark room they finally gave me a box of matches. I can see now, and I’m striking them one after another afraid that it will go dark again. What do I do when they run out?”

Matheson stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. “You’ll be fine, we’ll get you more matches, hell, a bloody lantern. They’ve got bigger problems right now back home and you have us… you have me.”

“I want you,” Maria murmured softly into his shoulder. “Is it wrong that I want you?” she frowned.

Matheson looked down at the woman in his arms and smiled, “I want you too, very much.”

Maria’s anguished expression softened and her upturned cheeks seemed to flush with colour. Her lips parted slightly in surprise as her eyes flickered closed. Andrew’s head moved downward until their lips met in a tantalizing kiss that drove the very air from her lungs.

The two separated after what felt like an eternity and Maria felt lightheaded. Her entire world was spinning and her stomach was doing backflips. She felt a heat that she had never experienced before flush through her entire body from head to toe. “We shouldn’t,” she murmured breathlessly, unable to tear her eyes away from the man who cradled her in his arms.

Andrew looked equally affected by their kiss, his eyes holding a great warmth as he stared down at her affectionately. “Who the hell cares?”

He pulled her in against his body, this time not pausing before he kissed her with a far greater passion. Maria’s head swirled as her nostrils filled with his scent, her fingers dug into the flesh of his back and suddenly, her entire world was reduced to this one man.

Maria felt herself moving backwards until the backs of her legs touched the edge of the bed. Allowing herself to sit before falling backwards onto the cover, she pulled Andrew down on top of her and hungrily returned his kisses with a fire that she had never known before in her life. She felt almost giddy, drunk with sensation.

Andrew’s hands roamed along her body as they embraced. His grip was firm but gentle and there was a trepidation to his movements as though he was afraid that he might break her. His fingers lingered along the buttons of her blouse as though asking a question. Maria answered him by hurriedly unfastening them herself. Slipping the garment from her shoulders before shrugging out of his own shirt, Andrew returned to the embrace. The feeling of their skin touching each other felt like electric shocks coursing through her body.

Lifting herself off the bed slightly, Maria fumbled behind herself with the clasp of her brassiere. Bashfully, she slipped it from her shoulders and removed it, allowing Andrew to see her naked breasts. Her cheeks were flushed and her face held an innocent guilt that belied her hunger. “They’re not much, I’m sorry,” she offered apologetically, glancing down at her breasts.

“They… you’re beautiful,” Andrew whispered softly, his fingers grazing the side of her torso before circling a breast. “You’re perfect.”

Andrew lowered his head and kissed the firm nipple of her left breast, his tongue flicking against it ever so slightly. Maria moaned, gazing up at the man above her, and bit her lip.

As they kissed, a brief flash of another time and another man crashed through her mind as Andrew’s hand slid up her thigh and beneath her skirt. The memory was darker, a reminder of a past she wanted to forget. Forcing the memory back down, she chose instead to live in the moment; Andrew wasn’t him.

Maria gasped as Andrews's fingers squeezed the flesh of her bottom. She gazed up into his eyes and felt the breath catch in her chest as he smiled at her. At that moment, her heart sang. For the first time in her life, she felt certain about something. For the first time, she felt whole.

“Please,” she whispered, gazing up into Andrew’s eyes, “please.”

 

 

Maria slowly opened her eyes and gazed out into the moon-dappled darkness of the hotel room. She could feel the warmth of the body pressed up behind her and heard the rhythmic breathing of its owner. Andrew’s arm was draped over her waist and was pinning her in place; she had no desire to move.

She felt no guilt or shame about what she had done, simply an all-encompassing calm that seemed to flow through her like a peaceful river. This felt right; there was no other way to describe it. She had known the answer to her questions for some time now but she had been afraid to admit them to herself. She might have told the others that she felt better this way, that it felt right, but these were safe statements. They implied that she was still in a state of duality, and merely held a preference. The truth was that this was right, this was who she was. She was a woman, it finally made sense; she knew that now without a shadow of a doubt.

Maria smiled to herself in the darkness and placed her hand over Andrew’s as it lightly cupped her right breast. She was comfortable calling them breasts now and she was glad that she had them. No longer were they a source of confusion or shame, but instead, a marker of her burgeoning womanhood.

She knew that this night couldn’t happen again until they returned home, nor should it have. They had been weak, so very weak. No matter the irresponsibility, had also been a truly wonderful experience. Deep down, feeling this way while they still run from captivity could put them all at risk and affect their very chances of survival. If Andrew couldn’t resist it, she would have to do so for both of them. At least until they were safe in England.

There was no way they could tell the others, although she was reasonably sure that Maddox would guess relatively quickly. He was a good man and he had readily accepted her for who she was. He was, however, no idiot. They had to focus now more so than ever before, the occupied territories were dangerous and their every move was now scrutinized by both local and German alike.

Andrew moved in his sleep and groggily stroked her breast before rolling over onto his other side. A jolt of pleasure ran through her body and she rolled over to snuggle up against his broad back. Brian Campbell was dead if he had ever truly existed at all. She was more convinced now than ever that he never really had. She didn’t know how it worked, or why, but she was now convinced that this had always been who she was meant to be. Perhaps her body had simply caught up with her once the influences of testosterone on her system had vanished.

She hadn’t merely adapted to her new reality, the biological pressure forcing her to become adapt or die. This is who she had always been; she could see the traces in her memories, peeking from beneath the surface of Brian Campbell.

Whatever the truth was, Maria Campbell would go home to England. She would reach her parents and her siblings and they would deal with this new reality. She would fly again, somehow, somewhere, and most importantly, she would love the man in her arms if it was the last thing she did.

 

Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!

 

 

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.”

 

Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!

 

 

Maria watched the sun slip lower until it kissed the edge of the horizon. From her vantage in the hayloft of the barn, she had an uninterrupted view out over the flat French countryside. She sat on the edge of the loft floor, her legs hanging free out into the open air. It wasn’t much, but her view above the fields and wall gave her the slightest sensation that she was in the air once more.

“I thought I’d find you here,” a French-accented female voice called from deep in the rear of the loft

Maria turned to see Mademoiselle Garnier climbing up from the loft ladder, her hiding place hadn’t remained secret for long.

“Your Lieutenant Commander said you might be up here.” The woman added for context smiling as she approached. Maria noted that Matheson would need to be put to death for spilling state secrets.

“I was just… hoping for a little peace and quiet, it’s been a long few days.”

“I can leave if you wish?”

“No, that’s ok.” Maria smiled. “This is your home, isn’t it? I’d feel awfully rude asking you to leave.”

Yvette nodded. “It was my husband’s farm and now it is mine. One day we will grow crops and feed animals only. For now, they are a disguise so we can make war.”

Maria regarded the Frenchwoman for a moment. She was in her mid-thirties, her red hair was wavy and full and flowed down past thin shoulders as it hung free. She was small in stature, but there was a stubborn strength to her that belied her size. Her skin was rich with freckles and her eyes shone brightly in the growing gloom of the barn. Yvette Garnier sat down beside her on the edge of the loft floor and swung her legs in the open air like a child.

“Your Lieutenant Commander, he said you were a pilot?”

Maria sighed wistfully, “Yes, Hurricanes.”

Yvette inclined her head and looked at the British woman beside her. “I did not think your military allowed women to fight, no?”

“I… uh no, not ordinarily, but It’s uh, desperate times I suppose.” she lied quickly, hoping the fear she felt at her slip didn’t show. This was the first time she was among friends since their escape, but she wasn’t quite prepared to explain her true origins yet. She wasn’t sure how people might react to her peculiar situation. She was more surprised by the urge to be treated only as the woman she appeared to be.

“That they are,” the Frenchwoman agreed sadly. “Men, they are fools to discount us; we are just as capable as them, often more so.”

While she couldn’t relate to the woman’s frustrations by direct experience yet, she felt a sudden surge of kinship with her. Whether it was by fate or design, this was her lot in life now too. She didn’t lament the loss of what little male advantages she had once had; it had been admittedly quite small. She swore then that she would prove to them that she was their equal. She smiled, looking out over the fields. “They’ll learn; this war will see to that.”

Yvette nodded. “I wish that were true ma chérie, I wish that were true.”

“You never know,” Maria shrugged. “A lot of things change, some of them we don’t expect.”

“They are too focused on keeping us barefoot and pregnant to truly let us truly be their equals.” Yvette scoffed. “These men, however, these airmen; they respect you. That much is obvious to see.”

“They’re good people.”

“That is what we have here, this Marquis. This little group, we are a family created by war, just like you are with those men, not kin, but family nonetheless.”

Maria smiled and said nothing.

“Though I think more perhaps than a friend, in one case?”

Maria looked at Yvette sharply, “No, that’s…” She tried to find a defense or a reason to deny the assertion but failed. “Yes, you are correct.”

Yvette smiled broadly. “The Lieutenant Commander, yes? I have seen how he looks at you. Unlike you, he does not hide it well.”

“He does?”

“Certainement chérie! He has the look of love: The eyes, they linger when you are not looking.”

Maria felt her skin flush and she allowed herself a slight smile at the thought. “We are… working out what we are,” she admitted slowly, glancing sidelong at Yvette. “It is something we should have waited for… until we were home I think.”

The Frenchwoman nodded sagely. “To find something in all this chaos, it is special, I think. We can be smart in life or we can take comfort while we can, do not blame yourself.”

“It’s… complicated.” Maria sighed.

Yvette glanced at the woman beside her and shrugged. “Life is complicated.”

 

 

The farmhouse was not as comfortable as the hotels or guesthouses the group had stayed at during their escape from incarceration, however, it had provided the first truly safe night of rest they had experienced in many long months. There were no guards to keep them in, no door to suddenly burst open in the dark of the night. For the first time since England, they slept peacefully.

Maria stretched out in her bed and stared up at the white ceiling. Outside she could hear the sounds of the farmyard coming alive for the day. She had felt slightly guilty taking up an entire room to herself while the boys shared, but she was more than aware now that it was no longer appropriate for her to bunk with them. She smiled to herself as she remembered their long months together in the camp and her blossoming; had it ever really been appropriate?

Sitting up, she brushed the hair from her eyes and smiled to herself. For the first time in this entire enterprise, she felt reasonably confident that they might finally see home again. That is if this silly caper with the French didn’t get them all killed.

Slipping from the bed, she stripped off her night dress and regarded her nude body in the mirror. With the exclusion of one small inconsistency, she was extremely pleased with what she saw looking back at her. Now that her mind was no longer denying the blatant truth, the reflection she saw was undeniably female. From the curve of her buttock to the swell of her small breasts and the delicate smoothness of her musculature, she could only see Maria Campbell in the mirror and she was happy about that fact.

Dressing quickly in a simple burgundy house dress, she applied light makeup and brushed her hair before checking her reflection once more. She smiled; the young woman staring back at her in the mirror felt correct. This war, this silly romp across Europe was quite possibly the worst place to discover herself, but she could not deny that it had happened; she was most certainly glad that it did.

Venturing downstairs, she was drawn to the kitchen by the smell of food and the sounds of conversation. Entering the room, she was surprised to find she was close to the last to arrive.

“Bout time you joined us lassie,” Hamley grinned, saluting her with a steaming mug of French coffee. “It must be nice tae have a lie-in when there’s a war on.”

“I think I was rather exhausted,” she grinned sheepishly.

“Ignore him, we’re all a little early.” Matheson smiled as he handed her a mug. “Feels good to be out of the Jerry togs for a bit doesn’t it?”

Accepting the beverage gratefully, Maria nodded and took a seat at the table. “It does indeed, I can’t say that I’m not rather glad. It’s certainly nice to sit here like civilized people and speak English too.” She pursed her lips and frowned. “I assume we’re reprising our Jerry disguises for this SS job?”

Matheson nodded. “That’s the plan, but that’s tomorrow’s problem according to Monsoir Laurent. We have a fairly narrow window of opportunity when their contingent is reduced.”

“How so?”

Matheson pulled out a sheaf of photographs showing a French country house surrounded by trees. “Before the war, a wealthy local Jewish businessman lived here. After the Jerries rocked up, he magically vanished and they took the place over to house their local SS Police unit that was tasked with rounding up partisans and politicos in the area. While typically there are up to twenty of them around the place, we expect them to be much reduced tomorrow. Something about a well-known partisan expected to blow up a rail line near Wancourt.”

“But nobody’s going to be there, right?” Maria surmised, catching on to the plot. “Are they likely to buy this?”

Matheson nodded. “The French are burning a reliable source on this one to guarantee our friends will be out of town. We should have the element of surprise and fairly equal numbers.”

“We’re pilots, not soldiers. Are you sure this is the only way?”

“Don’t see a great deal of options,” Maddox admitted dryly. “Although you’re welcome to try and ask nicely.”

“I just worry we’ll end up out of our depth.”

“We get in, we take control of the head honcho and while we do that, Laurent’s men will secure the exterior. Once we have the Frenchmen, we can be gone before they know what hit them. If this all goes to plan, there won’t be a shot fired in anger.”

Maria sipped the coffee and pondered the plan for a moment. It did on paper at least, seem efficient and practical. With their German disguises, they should be able to pass relatively unmolested into their enemies' inner sanctum. Far enough at least to get a senior man at gunpoint and use him as a bargaining chip. They were not soldiers, they were not spies, but it was possible… maybe.

If anything the plan seemed far more like a bank robbery than a military operation. They were after all stealing a valuable asset from their enemy; human life. What strange twist of fate landed them here? Allied pilots and aircrew sitting around a French farmhouse table plotting to break into their enemies' headquarters after escaping a prison camp only a week ago?

The entire bloody thing sounded insane.

Matheson and Maddox left with Laurent to reconnoiter the SS headquarters in Saint Léger ahead of the next day’s planned incursion. That had left Maria, Arthur, and Mike behind with most of the Marquis members at their home base. Their French hosts had been welcoming to the Allied prisoners, showing them no ill will over the events at Dunquerue. Maria remembered her brother Christopher expressing great guilt over their abandonment of the French on the beaches as they turned tails and ran from the German guns.

Her fears of their qualifications aside, helping the French to free their men was the right thing to do she reasoned. They were uniquely placed to help, and if successful, could do so with limited bloodshed. She wasn’t naive enough to believe that it would be that easy, the plan carried significant risk to them more than anyone. She had to admit, that their portrayal of Germans had withstood scrutiny several times over the length of their journey to date. Once more, it should be reasonably possible for a far less selfish cause. The only risk was their lack of any orders or paperwork in a more formal setting. Regardless, they had to make the effort; she could only imagine what the Germans were doing to those partisans in their custody while they waited.

Maria hadn’t detected any surprise from the others with regard to her appearance that morning in civilian attire. She knew that she had told them that she wasn’t planning to go back to being Brian but to see it in reality was a different matter.

With their now greater proximity to home, she began to worry about her return to England. What would they make of her? Would they allow her to exist as she was? All of her documents referred to her as Brian Campbell, a young man and an Officer. She was, after all, a pilot in His Majesty’s Royal Air Force, could she be ordered to return to being a man?

While she had only presented outwardly as female for a very limited time, it had become abundantly clear that this was her future. Even if her body had not put her in this position, she was almost certain now that this had been inside her for many years. She knew now that her heart and soul were feminine; she simply worked better this way. The disjointed and disconnected child had finally grown into a woman who knew her own mind.

The idea of returning to being Brian, if her body would even permit it, felt so wrong to her now. It was as though she had finally worn spectacles after a lifetime of short-sightedness. The idea of willingly seeing less again was unthinkable to her.

Living to enjoy it, that would be the true question. Their trip had been far from over when they first met their French comrades. Now, they were preparing to assault a local headquarters of the infamous Schutzstaffel, the SS. Their military units had been viciously effective during the Battle for France according to her brother Christopher. She was most certainly apprehensive about the prospect of seeking out trouble. They had survived entering one German installation back in Manching, but here on the front lines and with such a serious group? She certainly hoped Andrew knew what he was doing.

Unwilling to spend more time alone with her thoughts, Maria sought out the company of others. It was a strange reversal of norms she admitted. Before the war, she had always found great comfort in being alone. Now, being alone only brought questions. Whether it had been her time in the camp living in close proximity to others or finally finding people she wanted to be around, she wasn’t sure.

Wandering out into the farm yard, Maria found Arthur Hamley tinkering with an ancient-looking tractor. The Irishman was stripped to his vest and elbow-deep in the machine’s oily engine.

“Didn’t take you for a mechanic.” She called, leaning against the machine’s rear wheel.

Hamley glanced up at her and grinned. “Aye lass, long before the war I worked for me Da’s garage back home in Dublin. That was a long time before I moved to England and settled down with the missus.”

Maria smiled. “You looking forward to seeing them?”

Hamley cursed as a wrench slipped. “Aye, although I expect a good hiding from the wife for putting her through all this heartache.”

“French putting you to good use?”

The Irishman nodded. “I asked if they had anythin’ that needed doing. I didn’t want to sit around idle and start worrying this close to the end.”
“Don’t think we can pull it off?”

Hamley stood up and wiped his hands on an oily rag. He seemed to ponder the question for a moment before answering.

“Aye, I do think we can pull it off with a little luck. Will all of us come out unscathed? I bloody well hope so. To tell the truth, I’m more nervous about us actually getting home after it’s all done. With the camp and messing around pretending to be Jerries, I’m a little afraid I’ve forgotten how to live a normal life.”

“You and me both,” Maria smirked sarcastically. “I’m debating doing a runner and living in a French barn till the war is over.”

Hamley closed the tractor’s bonnet and propped one of his big feet up on the front tire. “You sure ended up in a pickle didn’t you eh?”

“You could say that,” Maria replied darkly. “I might end up in a looney bin before Friday.”

Hamley pursed his lips and frowned. “That’s no way to think lass. Sure enough, I have no idea what it will be like when we get home, but I know we’ll all be grand. I have no idea what happened to you, but I can tell with certainty that there’s no bloody way they can confuse you for a boy.”

“That’s the problem isnt it?” Maria shrugged, “One left, and suddenly I return.”

The large Irishman went to clasp her by the shoulder but reconsidered the gesture and grinned at his still oily paw. “I don’t think you ever were one to begin with girl. I’m sure those that matter will see that right enough.”

“Thanks, Arthur,” Maria smiled genuinely. “Your girls have a jolly good father.”

“You wouldn’t think it to listen to them!” he chucked. “That pair would decry me the devil himself!”

Hamley climbed up onto the tractor and turned the key in the ignition. The old machine coughed several times before smoke billowed out of its exhaust stack as it rumbled unsteadily to life. After a few minutes of revving the engine, he shut the beast down and hopped back down to the cobbled farmyard.

“Good as new,” he beamed proudly. “I haven’t lost me touch!”

Maria watched the Irishman tinker with the tractor and smiled to herself. That little moment of normality was the man’s way of processing their situation. Even here, billeted with French Partizans on the eve of a potentially deadly mission, he was fixing with one of Yvette’s tractors just to make himself useful.

She would do whatever was needed to ensure that Arthur made it back to his wife and daughters. In doing so, perhaps she could banish the worry of imagining what her own father would think of his new daughter.

 

 

Once Andrew, Daniel, and the French returned from their reconnoiter of the SS headquarters, the plan was finalized over dinner in the farmhouse kitchen. The atmosphere was warm and jovial, despite their current circumstances. Eating with the French allowed them to relax and be themselves for once. It was a far throw away from the stiff and proper German act they had been portraying since their escape.

The French had prepared a delicious beef stew with fresh bread for dinner. Despite being simple food, it was one of the best meals that Maria had eaten in what felt like years. Here she sat with friends, with her brothers and their allies. There might be a war on, but at that table, one would be forgiven for thinking otherwise. For the first time in her life, Maria Campbell truly felt right in the world.

Maria had felt guilty for not helping with the meal. A small part of her brain told her that it would be expected for her to offer assistance, though her own experience in culinary matters was sorely limited. Thankfully, she was saved from her domestic inadequacies by a polite refusal from Yvette; she was a guest, it wouldn’t be proper to help.

The finalized plan was elegant in its simplicity, if still extremely risky. First thing in the morning, after the Germans had left to ambush the absent Laurent, the British would arrive posing as their own hunters. With the help of some German equipment acquired by the French, they would pose as a Luftwaffe unit tasked with hunting down themselves and beg the mightly Schutzstaffel Polizei for their assistance.

Once inside the base and while awaiting an audience with their top man, the French would slowly surround the house and prevent any reinforcements from arriving. Their job would be to subdue any resistance remaining inside the house and to liberate the French prisoners.

They would leave via a circuitous route to avoid a German tail before finally ditching the German lorry and uniforms. Once they were clear, the French would deliver them to a waiting Fishing trawler on the coast near Le Crotoy.

It was, Maria realized, their final hurdle. If everything went as they had planned, this would be their final night on the continent. The following evening, they would be dead, or at home in England. It was perhaps a grim way to look at matters but, she reasoned, a realistic one. It was a relief to know that it was likely all over after the following day. One final effort, and they could rest.

As she sat at the kitchen table, a glass of red wine in her hand, she took a moment to look at the people around her. The French, were here on the front lines of this war every day. They were fighting an enemy that had already conquered their land. This resistance, this partisan war would be bloody and terrifying and so very costly for them and their families but she could see that they had no other choice. This was their land, their homes, and their people. She could only hope that if England were ever conquered, that they might do the same.

The others, that group of men that she had first met on that awful day back in August were now her closest friends. Daniel Maddox, Michael Down, and Arthur Hamley were very special to her. She considered them family and no different to her own siblings. They had been there for her when she had nobody and nothing. They had protected her, helped her to grow, and supported her even in her darkest time. She knew at that moment that she would give her life for any of them if it was asked.

Andrew; that was a subject that she could barely begin to fathom. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever consider that she might have such feelings for a man? Here, in the midst of war and horror, she had discovered herself, and yet, she had also found another. For the first time in her life she had felt attraction, desire, and passion; emotions previously alien to her.

She had given herself to that man in her totality. To some, the passage of such a milestone transformed her from a girl to a woman. In truth, she still felt like a lost child, one who barely knew her own mind. When it came to Andrew Matheson, she could not truly evaluate her feelings until they had made it safely back to England. Once she had a better grasp on who she was, she would know for certain.

Her sex was not in doubt, she felt certain of that now, but she was still yet to truly know who that woman was. Maria Campbell was an infant; a lost and confused girl so very far from home and so disconnected from the real world that she truly couldn’t know her own feelings. Tomorrow night, back in England, she could begin that journey.

Looking around the table, Maria took in the merriment of her friends and comrades. She knew that regardless of the outcome of the following day, that they were doing the right thing. This might not win them the war, but it would be a start. In a world full of uncertainties, a world torn asunder by violence and suffering, that they had a duty to try. That by standing against that tide, they might be part of the solution. That start, that chink in the armor of the unstoppable juggernaut was the first step towards victory.

She regarded them, those few that sat around the kitchen table in that French farmhouse so far behind enemy lines on the eve of battle. They were but ordinary people, people thrown together by circumstance, by fate and their own fears.

“Now, is the winter of our discontent,” she murmured to herself.

 

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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.

 

Comments are the lifeblood of authors. Please leave a comment with your thoughts/feelings and I'll answer! Let me know what you think!

 

 

Safely outside the wall, the Allied forces were able to take a moment to breathe and collect themselves. A brief firefight with the Germans had allowed them the time to pull back and melt into the woodland behind the Chateau. True to their word, the French had led them to an old gate leading out into the farmland beyond. It was there that the other resistance fighters that had not accompanied them in disguise had rallied once they had broken contact.

“They see through our subterfuge faster than I expected,” Laurent conceded once he made it back to them.

“Little hairy alright, but we got your chaps out. What now?” Matheson asked, inserting a fresh magazine into his weapon.

“Our original plan, it will not work anymore,” Garnier admitted, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but the boat is entirely out of the question now.”

“So you’re gonna fuck us over?” Down snapped, “We risk our necks for you and it’s ‘oh sorry, no can do.’?”

“That is not what I say,” Yvette snapped. “I said the boat is out of the question, not that we cannot aid your escape. Listen for once, oui?”

“Everyone calm down,” Matheson barked before turning to address the French. “What’s your new plan?”

Yvette glanced at André who shrugged and nodded.

“The boat would have been the most quiet method to get you out but that is no longer suitable given the elevated German response. As it stands we will have to go to ground to avoid reprisals from these pigs after what just happened,” she sighed. “What we can do, is get you to Roclincourt, it is a village north of Arras that 'as an aerodrome. Before the Germans took over, it was home to a bomber squadron of the Armée de l'Air.” she let the idea sink in for a moment before continuing.

“The Germans, they have used it and other aerodromes to store our equipment before they scrap it for war material. Right now there are perhaps, thirty to forty aircraft parked awaiting the saw, we can get you there and to a plane, the Germans, they have only token guards at the gate.”

“Bloody risky caper that,” Maddox opined as he glanced at Matheson. “I’m worried about us being able to pilot your French kites, what do they have there?” he asked turning to Yvette.

She smiled. “You may be familiar; your Government, they give us fifty of your Bristol Blenheim light bombers before the invasion.”

With a plan in place, André Laurent bid them farewell and departed with his men to the south and back in the direction of the farm. For the brief time they had worked with him, they had been impressed with his dedication and his drive. Maria sorely hoped that he would survive the war.

The pilots were left in the hands of Yvette Garnier and two of her men. Loading them into a Citroen van, they sped away to the east before turning north to put distance between themselves and the village of Saint Léger. The van was a civilian vehicle belonging to a nearby bakery and one that allowed them to blend into the traffic on the roads with little difficulty. According to Mademoiselle Garnier, the airfield was scant ten miles to their north.

“Are you going to tell me about the blood then?” Matheson asked Maria as they sped along narrow lanes in the cramped rear of the van. It was difficult to see where they were going exactly, but the windows in the rear doors showed flashes of green as they passed.

Maria set her jaw and swallowed. “The Sergeant that they had torturing those poor men in the basement, he got free. He jumped me when I went back and… I took care of it.”

Andrew squeezed her hand. “Why the hell did you go back down there?”

Maria smiled thinly and pulled the folder out of her jacket and handed it to him. “I saw you collecting files upstairs and I assumed someone at home might fancy a shufti at this.”

The German text on the front of the file said everything it needed to; ‘Reich Security Central Office - Sicherheitspolizei - Infrastructure & Organization Directory - Occupied Territory of France - 1941.’

“Jesus,” Andrew muttered, folding the document and handing it back to Maria.

“I remembered seeing it when we went down there the first time. He was referencing it while he was writing some report, I figured it might be useful to the chaps back home.”

“Not half! Bloody nice find, but a silly risk to take, Maria.”

“We’re going home aren’t we?” Maria asked uncertainly, not letting go of Andrew’s hand as they bumped along the French lanes.

“We’re going home,” he agreed. “Tonight, you’ll sleep in your own bed, or at least, one back in England.”

“If we make it,” she muttered dryly. “We still need to get there first.”

Twenty minutes later, the van slowed as they approached the aerodrome on the southern edge of the village of Roclincourt. They rolled along a gravel track from the main road until they came to a stop by what appeared to be a checkpoint. The French had been correct; the only two German guards on the entire site were not prepared for intruders and it took them barely a minute to silence the men.

Driving out onto the airfield, Maria was dismayed to see so many aircraft in various states of disassembly. French fighters and bombers lay, their wings and other components removed, in heaps along one row of buildings while mounds of scrap metal were piled to the far side.

Civilian workers paid them little attention as they drove the van slowly across the packed yard and out onto the grass of the aerodrome.

“The newest arrivals are on the far end here,” Yvette indicated ahead of them along the line of parked aircraft. “Most of them come in as they were found, so they likely still have fuel and ammunition onboard. The workers, they unload it ‘ere.” she explained.

“Awful trusting of Jerry,” Hamley muttered, watching over Yvette’s shoulder in the cab.

“What is one plane going to do against the entire Luftwaffe?” she shrugged. “They’re not afraid of them.”

The van parked at the far end of the row and the crew disembarked. Before them, a line of twin-engined Bristol Blenheim light bombers stretched wearing the red, white, and blue roundels of the Armée de l'Air.

The bombers were antiquated before the war even broke out Maria recalled. Originally designed as high-speed airliners, they had been redesigned to RAF specifications as a light bomber. They were fast and capable little aircraft, but an insignificant payload and a weakness to the more advanced German fighters in daylight left them woefully unsuited for their job.

“Ok, find us one with fuel,” Matheson ordered. “We don’t want to stick around here long, and I don’t want a repeat of the Junkers.”

Maria grinned sheepishly and held up her hands in mock surrender. “In my defense, I didn’t get a lot of options to pick from.”

“Not blaming you, but I don’t fancy swimming halfway to Dover,” Matheson smirked.

“I’ll go get some fuel cans,” Down offered, jogging off with one of the Frenchmen.

Maria rolled her eyes and started her walk around of the nearest bomber. It wasn’t a type she had flown, but it wasn’t much bigger than the Ansons she had piloted in her initial training. The irony was that she might have flown one of these very aircraft had her life taken a slightly different pathway. Where might her life have gone if she had not been placed in the circumstances that led to internment at the Regensburg camp? Squashing the thought, she got back to the task at hand.

Once satisfied, she clambered aboard the aircraft, cursing the German uniform skirt as she clambered first onto the wing before lowered herself into the cockpit through the roof hatch. Taking a moment to absorb the familiar surroundings, she began checking over the instruments. Unlike the German transport, everything here was written in English within the bomber’s cockpit, its new French owners hadn’t bothered to change the placards. The uniquely British quirks of the instrument panel were comfortingly familiar after so long away from home.

While bloody useless as a bomber, the aircraft was more than suitable for their specific purposes. Fitted with a single .303 machine gun in the port wing, one in the nose, and a pair in a dorsal turret on her back, she was armed enough to make a run for the cost. With her Bristol Mercury engines, she could manage two hundred and sixty miles per hour; It was no Hurricane, but it was good enough. Pulling a chart out of the side pocket, she began to study the route they would need to take to the Channel coast.

A few minutes later, Matheson clambered aboard and dropped himself into the copilot’s seat beside her. “What do you reckon? Are we good to go?”

“Probably,” she opined. “Seventy or eighty miles to Folkestone as the crow flies, course three zero five. Will take us twenty-five minutes or so once we’re up.”

“Avoiding Calais and Dunkirk I assume?”

Maria nodded. “Will be where they have most of their triple-A I suspect. I don’t want to encourage Jerry to have a pop.”

“Down and the French have managed to tea leaf some petrol from the other birds and Hamley has a few cans of .303 for the guns. Let's hope we don’t need it eh?”

Maria pushed her hair back and let out a sigh. “Good, I can’t wait to get this kite up in the air.”

“Feel like a pilot again?” Matheson grinned.

Maria wrinkled her nose and gazed around the cockpit. “Feels like a lifetime ago, a different lifetime. She’s no Hurricane, but she’s British; it feels good.”

“That it will,” he agreed. “Let's get ourselves home, eh?”

Once fueling was completed and the crew was aboard, Yvette Garnier clambered aboard the wing and leaned down into the cockpit. “You are all ready to get out of here, yes?”

“I think so,” Maria nodded. “As we’ll ever be I suppose. Look,” she hesitated. “Best of luck and all that. If we don’t… keep yourself out of trouble, Yvette, okay?”

The Frenchwoman grinned. “I aim to be in as much trouble as possible ma chérie, but I understand what you say, yes?”

Unable to fight the urge, Maria dragged herself up until she stood on the pilot’s seat, her upper body out of the cockpit hatch. She hugged the Frenchwoman fiercely and gave her a brief wan smile. “Stay safe, and thank you.”

“Thank you all,” Yvette replied softly, “You helped return our people to us, and you didn’t ‘ave to. Keep up the fight eh? And get these boys home safely.”

“I will,” Maria nodded. “Best of luck.”

The woman smiled and hopped down from the wing before retreating to a safe distance.

Dropping back into her seat, Maria flipped the starters and cranked over the big Mercury engines. With a high-pitched whine, the starters engaged and the bomber’s engines roared to life, in a cloud of smoke and noise.

After a moment of staring at the shuddering instruments, she pulled the roof hatch shut and slid her side window closed. Checking over the instruments one last time, she keyed the intercom. “As much as I’ve enjoyed this little adventure, it’s time to go home.”

“Home for tea and medals,” Hamley chuckled from the nose.

“You Brits and your damn tea,” Down complained from somewhere in the tail. “Can’t fuckin stand the stuff.”

Maria rolled her eyes at Matheson and shot him a slight smile, “Hold on boys, next stop, old blighty.”

Gunning the engines, she coaxed the bomber out onto the grass of the aerodrome and lined up with the grass runway. One last look over the instruments confirmed they were ready to go, and with a last glance at Yvette and her men, she threw them a sharp salute before advancing the throttles to their stops.

The bomber began to roll, its engines roaring as it accelerated across the grass of the airfield. French workers stopped and stared in awe, unfamiliar with the sight of an aircraft actually leaving their graveyard the way it had arrived. Some even cheered, watching the French colors take to the air once more.

The Blenheim thundered across the field, its tail rising as it picked up speed. The aircraft became light on its wheels before slowly lifting away from the ground, its twin propellers clawing at the air to drag it back into its natural environment.

Once airborne, Maria turned them around and thundered back across the airfield at a low level, wagging her wings in the victory salute to the French resistance members down below. She knew there was a very real chance that she would never see Yvette Garnier or André Laurent ever again. No matter what, she was most certainly grateful to them. With a last look down, Maria banked away and set course fo the French Coast.

“How does it feel to be back in the front seat of a Bomber?” She called down to Hamley in the cramped nose compartment of the aircraft.

“You know lass, I think I’ve missed it.” he chuckled, his voice sounding more tinny over the intercom connection. “But I’m sure as hell glad I flew in Wellingtons; they’ve got a lot more room than this wee tin can.”

“Just keep your eyes peeled,” she laughed, “and the same with you in the rear turret Mike; the last thing we need is to get jumped by some Jerry out for a constitutional.”

“Someone has the feeling back,” Andrew smiled, switching the intercom back to local. “Feels right, doesn’t it?”

Maria glanced over at him and smiled happily. “Yes, it rather does. Glad to put Germany, that bastard Bergmann, and the camp far behind us.”

“Rather a bad lot, him showing up when he did.”

“Like a proverbial bad penny.” she agreed.

Maria paused for a moment, staring out as the French countryside retreated below them. “When I first met him in France, he almost seemed like an okay sort of chap. He was a nice, kind, and friendly man. At the time I saw a lot of common ground. I don’t suppose I saw his dark side until much later.”

“People do that,” Matheson agreed. “They show you what they want you to see, what we need to see until it no longer benefits them.”

Maria watched the town of Béthune pass by their starboard wing as they flew northwest towards the coast. “Has it only been a week Andrew?” She asked glancing over at the man beside her. “One week and the world has changed so much.”

“Sometimes that’s all the time you need.”

“I’m afraid of what it’s going to be like when we get home,” she admitted quietly.

Matheson reached over and placed a hand on her arm, a comforting and intimate gesture. “Don’t; what’s done is done, and what will be, is tomorrow’s concern. Focus your energy on what you can effect now.”

“Deeply philosophical of you,” she observed dryly.

“I had a long time to read in that bloody camp,” Matheson admitted.

“Fighters, four O’clock high!” Maddox called from the rear of the fuselage. “Down, get the guns around.”

“Shit,” Matheson muttered. “Philosophy later, this bloody mess first.”

“I count six, single-seaters; coming up on us fast,” Maddox called from the rear.

Maria pushed the controls forwards in a futile effort to coax a little more speed out of the bomber. She was no slouch for her type but when compared to a fighter she might as well have been standing still. Diving the Blenheim down low would make their detection a little more difficult too.

Adjusting the mirror on the cockpit roof, she managed to focus on the specs in the blue sky above them. “Looks like 109s” she declared, eyeballing the boxy nose profiles. “Damn it to hell, this isn't what we need.”

“How are they on us so quickly?” Matheson muttered, “We’ve only been up ten minutes.”

“Guesswork or someone saw us take off,” Maria offered without looking. “It doesn’t really matter, we’ve got at least ten more minutes to the coast. Keep those things off me and I’ll do my best to be hard to hit.”

Increasing the angle of their descent, Maria pushed them down towards the countryside below. Their only hope was to be difficult to see and to hit. By flying low across the terrain she made that possible. It had the coincidental benefit of also defending the Blenheim’s atrocious weak underside from attack. Dodging a few steeples and trees was a small price to pay for the added protection.

Once they reached the channel, however, that defense would be all but gone. Without anywhere to hide, the Germans could come at them from any angle they pleased. The .303 guns of the Blenheim would be of little use against the twenty-millimetre cannons of the Messerschmitt fighters.

The first attacker descended on them and a burst of fire shot past their nose. Maria threw the Blenheim sideways to evade the gunfire and make them more difficult to sight. Behind her, Down was going for it in the rear turret, his guns chattering away loudly in the enclosed space of the cabin despite the roar of their engines.

“Let me know where he is.” Maria barked, yanking the controls over to the right with all her strength.

The bomber was smaller and more nimble than most, but it was still a twin-engined bomber; it responded sluggishly to her commands like a pit pony on a cart. The Blenheim was nothing like the thoroughbred racehorse that was her Hurricane, much to her chagrin.

The second attack came from their nine o'clock, a German fighter diving out of their port side. Maria chopped the power, slowing the aircraft enough to cause the German to miscalculate his aim. Tracer streaked across the windscreen mere feet ahead of them.

The first attacker swooped by them, chased by the tracer from the dorsal turret. “Come on Yank, I thought you cowboys were crack shots,” She screamed over the intercom. “Bloody hit something already!”

“I’m trying, the damn Jerries won't stay still.” The American cursed, the strain evident in his voice.

“Three are going past us high, they’re going to get ahead of us,” Hamley called from the nose. “They would do that to us in the heavies; get ahead and dive on the nose where we were weakest.”

“Copy,” Maria replied tersely, trying to evade one of the fighters chasing them from behind.

She’d never been the crew of a bomber evading a fighter attack, but she’d most certainly been the one doing the attacking. There were many ways to take down a target, but when you outnumbered an enemy, you could afford to distract them while you set up your main thrust. Hamley’s suggestion of the head-on attack seemed logical, British Bombers were weakest to the front.

Reaching up, she flipped down the gunsight for the wing-mounted machinegun and flipped off the safety catch. Behind, another of the Messerschmitt’s was doing a run, its tracer jabbing holes in their left wing.

The German fighter swooped past them on the starboard side before bursting into flames and rolling away towards the countryside below.

“Wooo Yeah Baby!” Down screamed over the intercom. “Got ‘em!”

“It took you this long to hit one? I’ll be impressed when you do it again,” Matheson called back to the American, “Seriously though, nice shooting Doc Holiday.”

“Wait, after all this time I finally get a nickname? When we’re about to die? That’s not fair!”

“Don’t be a silly bugger, shoot better and we won’t die,” Maddox chimed in.

Maria barely heard the banter exchanged between the crew. Voices had become muted and the world closed into the bubble of her cockpit; it was her, the aircraft, and the enemy. She grimaced as she hauled the controls around, banking them away from one of the other attackers. Her muscles were burning from the effort it took to throw the ungainly aircraft around the sky. It was futile, they were playing a losing game. They might have hit one of their attackers but in a six-way fight, they stood little realistic chance and she knew it.

The Germans had been playing with their food. They had a massive advantage and it had shown with the one-on-one attacks sent against them. With the loss of their comrade, however, they switched strategy and began a more concerted effort to down the fleeing bomber. Several strafing runs managed to score hits, peppering their airframe with holes.

While they were occupied by their pursuers, one of the group that had flown past dove down to begin his attack run. It was meant to be a surgical strike on the occupied bomber, its guns aimed in other directions but it didn’t work quite as planned.
Watching the fighter swing around and dive head-on towards her, Maria was ready. As the German angled his aircraft and waited for the perfect shot, Maria hauled back on the controls and aimed the lumbering bomber up at the oncoming fighter. Before he could react, she thumbed the trigger and sent a stream of tracer and armor-piercing ammunition into his engine.

The Messerschmitt belched black smoke and rolled away to port, the pilot bailing out of his stricken ship quickly before it became engulfed in flames.

“Bloody good shooting!” Matheson cheered, clapping Maria on the shoulder. “That will show ‘em!”

Maria shook her head and pushed the nose back down, trying to keep the aircraft as close to the ground as possible. “That trick will only work once,” she sighed.

“Four left,” Hamley called from the nose, “And the coast is in sight.”

Maria looked down from the circling German fighters and spotted the strip of blue just visible on the horizon: The English Channel.

It was a beautiful but tragic sight; the channel meant they were close to home and safety, that their journey was almost at its end. Sadly, with four of the German fighters still up and active, it also meant that they would die within sight of home.

“Nowhere to hide out there,” she muttered under her breath, dodging a church steeple as they sped along barely fifty feet off the fields below. “I’ll keep us down here until we run out of land, but then we’re absolutely at their mercy.”

“You’ll do what you can, and nothing more.” Matheson offered reassuringly. “I believe in you.”

“Depends if it’s enough,” Maria grumbled to herself.

The villages and woodlands that dotted the French landscape grew more scarce as they flew ever closer to the coastline. The remaining four German fighters loitered up above them at altitude. They seemed to have realized that soon their quarry to run out of places to hide. After losing two of their number, they seemed marginally more reluctant to get close to the troublesome Bomber.

Maria took her hands off the controls and flexed her cramping digits. “Best reload the guns now,” she called over the com. “Get everything ready while we have some quiet; they’ll hit us the second we cross over the water.”

Matheson reached behind him and hauled a machinegun onto his lap.

“What the hell do you have that for?” Maria balked, glancing over at the weapon, one clearly pulled from one of the other bombers before they departed.

“I figured it was insurance… should something like this happen.” Matheson shrugged, patting the weapon’s cover. “Not like we have a surplus of firepower on this crate.”

“And just where do you expect to fire it?”

“We have windows.”

Maria shook her head. “Don’t you dare get cartridges stuck in my controls or you kill us all.”

“Yes Mother,”

Maria glared at Andrew for a long moment before returning her attention to the landscape outside, deftly flicking them past a stand of trees.

They blasted across the coastline near the village of Le Sodit. Ahead of them, twenty miles of the English Channel lay spread out before them. It was a barren featureless expanse of water that left them exposed from all sides. Even above, the spring sky was absent of clouds giving them nowhere to hide. Maria glanced down at the water far below. It felt like a lifetime ago she had been guided to land by those very same waves. Back then, she had been the hunter, now she just prayed that she would survive.

The Germans were on them almost from the moment they crossed the coast. Diving low, two of the boxy fighters came at them from the forward port quarter, only to be denied by Hamley’s valiant efforts on the bow machine gun.

“Left side, left side,” a call over the intercom cried. “On the tail, going right!

“Under us to the left!”

“Right, two o’clock!”

“Above, Five o’clock!”

Bullets ripped through the left wing, tearing panels off the engine nacelle. Oil began streaking back along the wing as the engine began to bleed.

“We’re hit, left side.”

Maria glanced at the instruments, “Losing oil, blast, Shut down one.”

Matheson shut down the left engine and feathered the propeller. Losing the engine was bad, but having it run out of oil and cease up while they were flying could rip it from the wing.

“We’re going to be severely hampered with only one engine, they’ll have us now for certain.”

“Do what you can,” Matheson growled as he slid open the cockpit hatch above their heads. Hefting the machine gun in his hands he pulled on a pair of goggles. “If we’re going to go, we go down fighting.”

Fire from the dorsal turret clipped one of the Messerschmitts, causing it to smoke but not outright killing the bird. The result was the same however as the stricken aircraft turned and made for home.

“Three remaining but they’re persistent buggers,” Maddox yelled forward.

Maria checked her instruments, “we should be nearly halfway by my calculations. We’re slower than I’d like with only one engine; one fifty or one sixty at most. It’s going to be tight but I can maintain altitude, not much left for evasion though.”

“Focus on flying, and try not to toss me out, ok?” Matheson insisted. Standing up in the cockpit, he braced himself against the rear framework and hefted the machine gun’s barrel out into the airstream.

One of the three fighters dropped down and began a run from their five o'clock. He stayed low, to remain under the top turret’s depression where they were at their weakest. As he drew closer, he began to angle in for an attack, only to have Matheson open up with the gun from the roof hatch. Not constrained by a turret track, he was able to angle down at the fighter slithering up in their blind spot and rake its fuselage with bullets.

“Two now,” Maddox called from the rear, “but I can only see one of them.”

No sooner had he spoken than Andrew Matheson was hurled bodily against the cockpit floor, his blood spraying across the windshield as bullets tore through them from above. Shielding her eyes from exploding glass, Maria banked away from the unseen attacker just in time to avoid further damage. The Messerschmidt overshot them and pealed away, easily dancing away from Hamley's tracer fire.

Maria recognized the aircraft immediately, it was one she had danced with before. The red and yellow markings on the nose were distinctive; it was Bergmann’s aircraft.

“Andrew!” She screamed, daring to look away from the windshield to the wounded man. “Where are you hit?”

Matheson was slumped down in the cockpit, propped awkwardly against the forward bulkhead. His left arm was a bloody mess and his skin was pale.

“I’m…I think they got me,” He murmured, watching the blood pulse between the fingers clamped over his wound.

“Maddox get up here,” she screamed over the intercom, “They got Andy, I can’t… I can’t right now… jesus christ.”

The other German raked the aircraft, and black smoke started billowing from their remaining engine. Maria watched with dread as the cylinder head temperatures skyrocketed and flames burst from the cowling.

Looking out of the blood and oil-spattered windshield, she could barely make out the dirty smudge of the English coastline in the distance. She wasn’t sure how far they were away, but they were not going to make it if she didn’t act fast.

Grimacing, she firewalled the burning starboard engine only serving to fan the raging inferno within its cowling as she fed it more fuel. Unbalanced by the asymmetrical thrust of the remaining engine she fought to keep the wounded aircraft straight as she prayed they didn’t explode.

Bergmann banked around, the other 109 sticking to his rear quarter like a good wingman should. Clearly, Maria grimaced, he considered them wounded enough to be worth his time now.

Maddox scrambled through the space above the bomb bay and slid into Matheson’s seat beside her. “I got him, you focus on flying,” he yelled over the roar of the engine. “Just get us over dry land.”

Maria nodded grimly and returned her focus to the job at hand. All she had to do was fly the plane. She visualized that she was alone in the cockpit of a Hurricane once more; there was nobody else aboard that she cared about and she was entirely alone. She repeated the mantra over and over to herself, attempting to blot out the knowledge that everyone else's life depended on her.

The remaining engine spluttered alarmingly but remained alive for the time being, the flames licking back along the wing as she demanded what little it had left. Their speed was dropping now, but she had managed to gain another thousand feet in the meantime. It wasn’t much, but it meant a few hundred yards extra if they needed to glide.

The sound of the world seemed to fade away as Maria fought to control the bomber in its death throws. Screaming voices were muted, the roar of the engine fell away and the tracer fire streaming past the windscreen was eerily silent. In what felt like their final moments, everything was serene and peaceful.

Bergmann’s aircraft rolled over and dived down towards them, its cannons blazing. He wouldn’t miss; they couldn’t fight back or even evade him. In the end, they would be an easy kill for even a rookie pilot.

Maria looked over at Andrew, huddled in the footwell beside her. He was pale, but his eyes were clear and he was staring right back at her. She smiled and she was glad that he was here when it happened. She was glad they were all together, their little family.

An explosion slammed the aircraft, peppering them with debris as Bergmann’s Messerschmitt detonated in mid-air. It took barely a fraction of a second and suddenly all sound came roaring back to the world at once.

Tracer fire streaked down from above and the distinctive oval winged shape of a brace of Spitfires streaked past.

Maria wanted to scream, she wanted to cry, to shout and join the whooping joy of the others as their rescuers set upon the remaining German fighter but her hands were full with their stricken aircraft. She had no idea where their angels had come from, but she was beyond relieved that they had.

Spluttering and coughing, the burning engine finally gave way and died. The Blenheim’s nose dropped and they began sinking down towards the waves, the drag of the still windmilling propeller pulling them to the right. Managing to feather the propeller, Maria finally achieved some modicum of control and began to ease the aircraft back towards an even keel.

She had barely four thousand feet of air and they were dropping like a stone. As far as she could guess, they were perhaps a mile or two off the coast. Ahead of them, she could just make out the houses of a small seaside village nestled behind sand dunes.

Maria turned to Maddox and jabbed a finger at Matheson. “Get him aft, and get yourselves braced, this is going to be rough.”

The man nodded and hauled his friend up and through the narrow gap above the bomb bay and into the rear fuselage of the aircraft. Up front, Arthur Hamley was already crawling out of the nose compartment, the bombardier could already tell what was coming.

“You need a hand lass, or are you ok?”

“I’m fine, strap in and hold on.”

The Irishman pulled down Andrew's Jump seat and strapped himself in beside her. The aircraft groaned as it dropped, the winds shifting beneath them as they flew now silently onward. The rush of the wind was considerably louder now that the massive radial engines were silent and every shift was audible through the thin skin of the bomber.

Clear of their pursuit, the two Spitfires returned and were now flying alongside, fifty yards off of her wingtips as she made her final descent. At any other moment, when she had a second to think, she would have felt joy to see spits off her wings again. As it was, she barely acknowledged their presence.

She shot over the beach with around eight hundred feet under her wings. They were dropping rapidly, and by the time she cleared the houses of the village, she was barely above the church steeple. Glancing out over her port wing, she watched the Spit pilot throw a salute before pealing away and upward, closely followed by his wingman to their right. Seeing them go was a sobering thought as they plummeted down towards the countryside. She wondered if she would ever know their names; they had done what they could, and whether those pilots saved them now depended entirely on her actions.

“Brace for impact!”

The Blenheim seemed to hover for a moment, suspended over the grassy heathland. Time passed as though immersed in molasses as Maria let go of the controls and grabbed hold of her harness, bracing for the impact to come. The sky gave her up and she slammed into the ground with a deafening screech of tortured metal. Maria squeezed her eyes shut and held on for dear life as they careened across the terrain, the vibration and noise almost too much for her to stand. They bounced once and slid sideways before finally coming to rest in a small depression by a dry stone wall.

The bomber seemed to sag after it finally stopped moving and the cabin was filled with eerie
silence. Maria opened her eyes slowly and glanced around, They were stationary and they were on the ground. She wasn’t entirely sure where they were, but it was most certainly England.

“Everyone alive?” a voice in the rear called out. Affirmations rang out from most of the crew.

Maria glanced over at the Irishman beside her and grinned sheepishly. “Not my best landing.”

The big man smiled broadly and patted her leg.“Lass, as far as I’m concerned that was your best.”

Unfastening her harness, she pulled herself upright and peered into the back of the aircraft.

“How’s Andrew doing?”

Maddox gave her a thumbs up before kicking out the escape panel and hauling his friend clear of the aircraft.

“Come on lass, out we go,” Hamley ordered, taking Maria by the hips and hefting her up and through the cockpit hatch until she was sat on the roof.

“Quite undignified,” she huffed, pulling her legs clear before sliding down onto the wing root.

Carefully hopping down onto the ground, she ran across to where Maddox had propped Andrew up against the stone wall.

“How is he? Andrew? Are you ok?”

“See for yourself,” Maddox grinned leaning aside to reveal the pilot looking bloodied but very much alert, his arm bandaged tightly with field dressings and strips of clothing fabric.

“Nice landing, Captain,” Matheson chuckled softly. His features were drawn by pain, but there was more color in his cheeks than there had been at first.

“You had me so worried,” she admitted sheepishly. “I thought… god, I thought the worst Andrew.”

She perched nervously on her knees beside him, wanting so very much to reach out and touch him just to believe he really was alive and well.

“Oh sodding hell, just kiss him already,” Maddox laughed as he stepped out of the way.

Maria needed no further bidding. Kneeling beside the man she loved, she took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. They were home and they were alive; they were all alive. She no longer felt embarrassed by her feelings towards him. Nothing else really mattered after what they had survived; no longer did she feel afraid.

Down walked up beside Maddox and Hamley as the men watched the reunion play out before them. “They finally get around to that?”

“They got around to that in bloody Belgium old boy,” Maddox admitted with a smirk.

“I expected as much,” Hamley agreed. “I suspect my missus is going to want a few minutes with me once she finds out I’m back.”

“After she kicks your butt for getting caught, Paddy,” Down jeered. “Man, I never thought I’d be so pleased to see jolly old England.”

Maddox glanced around, slowly taking in the rolling Kent countryside. Unbelievably, they were home. Somehow, it didn’t quite seem real. Mere moments before, they had been in a fight for their very lives, their chances of survival slipping closer to zero by the second. Somehow, after their insane odyssey, they were back on English soil once more.

“Heads up lads,” Hamley warned, pointing at a group of Home Guard marching purposefully across the field with their rifles raised. “Remember how we’re dressed, eh?”

“Oh bloody hell,” Maddox sighed. “Hey, you two,” he called down to the couple. “If you can stop with the happily ever after for a minute, I think we’re about to be arrested.”

Maria sat up, her cheeks flushed, “pardon?”

“Dad's army is here and they’re looking a bit keen.”

The closest of the soldiers arrived at the crash site and waved his Lee Enfield rifle at them menacingly.

“Handy hook, Fritz,” One of the men ordered, waving his rifle in their direction. “Speaken ze Engleesh?”

Maria stood slowly, her hands raised, and turned to face the soldiers, “We are English, not German.”

“Sure you are Helga,” a sergeant in his sixties added, rolling his eyes, “The lot of you can turn around; you’re under arrest.”

“This is a French plane, Sarge,” One of the soldiers pointed out, prodding the French colors on the aircraft skin with his rifle butt. “What they doin' in a frog plane if they’re jerries?”

“Probably ran out of their own, didn’t they Derek.”

“Shut up Clive, I know what I’m talking about.”

The Sergeant sighed, “Oi! The lot of you better shape up and get this bunch into custody or I’ll have your hides, on the double!”

“Hey buddy, seriously, we’re not Germans,” Down exclaimed as a pair of soldiers handcuffed him. “I’m from Texas, man.”

The Sergeant approached Maria, who stood defiantly in front of Matheson. “Fraulein, please.”

“Sergeant, My name…is… well… I’m Pilot Officer Campbell, We are escaping prisoners of war fleeing occupied Europe. We are only wearing German uniforms as part of a disguise, if we were Jerries why on earth would our own people shoot at us?”

“Frau….Ma’am, I’m not sayin’ I don’t believe you like, but I have a job to do. I’m sure we’ll work it out with the brass but we’ve got to hold you till we work it all out, see?”

Maria sighed with exasperation; she knew they weren’t going to get anywhere with these soldiers. “Fine, but please, my friend here needs medical attention,” she indicated, stepping aside to allow them access to Matheson. “He was shot during our escape.”

The Sergeant waved a medic forward who bent down to take care of Matheson while he escorted her to one side.

“I need to pat you down Ma’am, rules are rules.”

Maria nodded her consent. The man was smooth and efficient and was done within moments, only pausing at the bulge in her jacket pocket. Carefully, the man reached inside and withdrew the small leather photograph album and the manilla folder. “What are these?”

“A captured document for command and… a precious gift from a friend.”

“A friend?”

Maria sighed, “She’s dead now.”

The Sergeant nodded and smiled kindly before putting the book back inside her pocket.

Slipping the cuffs over her wrists, he gestured off towards the town. “Well, either way, Ma’am, welcome to England, or welcome home.”

 

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The interrogation room at Shorncliffe barracks was a cold, damp, and quiet place. It was located deep within the bowels of the British Army facility and the room had no exterior windows. A product of the Victorian era, the basement interrogation space that belonged to the Royal Military Police felt like a tomb.

Maria rubbed her arms, the thin blouse was a poor defense against the cold that seeped from the room’s old stone walls. The guards had left her with the German uniform skirt and blouse she had arrived in, despite her desire to get out of the enemy clothing as soon as possible. Trapped down here in the gloom, she had lost all track of time, confined away from all signs of life.

She had been interrogated for hours by Military policemen who treated her with overt suspicion and barely concealed contempt. Naturally, her German identity documents had muddied the water; not a single person would believe that the Blonde German Fraulein before them was really Brian Campbell, Royal Air Force Officer and pilot.

The Home Guard had brought them into the local police station in the village of Palmarsh, just down the coast from Folkstone. The locals had, of course, come out to witness the German prisoners their proud old-timers had bravely captured. Thankfully, nobody had been particularly rough with them on their transit to custody. In fact, most of the soldiers were mightily confused that their German captives seemed to be delighted to be there, and just as English as they were.

After the local Police station, Military Policemen from the nearby Shorncliffe Camp had arrived to take over their custody. For most, it had been relatively easy to prove their identity as they had records on file with their relevant branches. In Michael Down’s case, a quick call to the American Embassy clarified matters for him.

Maria was truly the odd one out in this most unique of circumstances. While the others did their best to explain and defend her, the MPs were convinced they had captured a ruthless German spy. One so cunning that she had fooled Allied prisoners into thinking she was a boy.

She had expected difficulties upon her return, but she had somehow always viewed them as a hypothetical future; one that would forever seem just over the horizon. Actually facing it now, was a far more daunting and intimidating experience. Despite the fear and uncertainty of their long journey across Europe, they had lived in a bubble of sorts; a suspended isolation where the rest of the war simply wasn’t happening. Returning now brought it all back into stark relief.

Interviewer after interviewer had tried to get her to change her story or slip on a single detail. Most of them seemed to scoff at the idea that she had once been Brian Campbell when she explained her story. Somehow, the small, fine-featured pilot of record couldn’t possibly be the woman that sat before them.

They had at least given her cups of tea, she thought. With rationing in effect, it had meant that she had to take it without milk or sugar. She smiled to herself in the darkness at the knowledge of how well she had eaten while they were still in occupied Europe. Maybe she could go back to that little restaurant in Belgium one day with Andrew after this was all over?

She was snapped from her daydream when the door opened and one of the Military Police Officers returned with another cup of tea in hand. She wasn’t really thirsty, but it at least provided some warmth in the frigid room.

The Captain placed the mug in front of her before seating himself on the opposite side of the table. He pulled out a folder and began to flip through several pages without looking up.

“How much longer am I going to be here?” She asked quietly, “I’m bloody exhausted.”

The man looked up at the sound of her voice. He was in his forties, judging by his appearance. He had a thin mustache on his top lip that quivered when he was thinking and his dark hair was thinning in the front. “Do you wish to revise your story Fraulein Horler?”

Maria let her head rock back until she was staring at the ceiling. “For the fiftieth bloody time; my name was… is Pilot Officer Brian R Campbell, 588403. I was born in Cambridge in 1922. My parents are Johnathan and Vivian Campbell. I have three siblings; Richard, Christopher, and Anna. We had a cat called Socks, what else do you want to know?”

The man glanced down at his paperwork and his moustache twitched. “If you can answer a couple of questions for me, please, we can see what we can do.”

Maria sighed with exasperation. “I’ve been answering your questions for hours, Captain. With respect sir, what more do I have to do?”

The man smiled thinly. “I promise, just a few more.”

Maria nodded and waved her consent to continue without looking at the man.

“When you were ten years old, you took a trip to the Norfolk Broads. What color was the boat?”

Maria raised an eyebrow, “the boat?”

“The boat Fraulein Horler.”

Maria chewed her lip as she racked her memory. “Blue, with a white stripe. Christopher fell in and made an awful racket until he found out that he could stand up in the shallows. Anna caught an eal with father and she screamed so loud that all the birds took off.”

The Captain smirked at the story and continued, “Christmas Eve when you were sixteen years old, your brothers fought about what?”

Maria smiled, instantly recalling the memory. “Alice Thurlton had sent a gift for Christopher, but Richard was convinced she fancied him instead.”

“Finally, your Mother, Vivian Campbell. She has what on her left foot?”

Maria smiled. “A birthmark on her ankle that looks like Ireland.”

The Captain nodded and closed his file. “Pilot Officer Campbell, I am confident that you are who you say you are, as strange as this whole mess may seem,” he added with a pause as he glanced at her. “Please forgive our hesitance, but we had to be certain, what with a war going on.”

“What was with the wait then?”

The Captain smiled, “I needed an independent party tracked down that could generate specific questions that only a family member would know.”

“Who?”

“Captain Christopher Campbell of the West Yorkshire Rifles, Miss Campbell.”

Maria’s heart leapt. “My brother is here?”

“Yes Miss Campbell, he was listening in.”

Maria glanced at the metal grille in the door and felt suddenly apprehensive. “Does he want to….speak with me?”

The Captain nodded and stood, “I’ll leave that for you two to discuss, Miss Campbell.”

The man made his way to the door and unlatched it before stepping out into the corridor. This time, however, the door was left open.

Maria scrambled to her feet and hurriedly finger-combed her hair and smoothed her skirt. A moment later, a tall man with sandy blonde hair and the uniform of an infantry Captain stepped into the room and removed his cap.

Christopher Campbell took in the young woman before him. She looked exhausted and her clothes were dirty and blooded, but there was no doubt that this was, in fact, a young woman. He wasn’t sure what he had expected when they’d given him the call, but it hadn’t been this. He expected to see his little brother Brian in a frock and a bad wig, not someone who looked far more like his darling sister Anna. She looked a little like Brian, that was true; she had his mop of blonde hair and the same big slate-grey eyes. Then, there was her face; it was undeniably their mother's daughter that stood before him. Their mother’s daughter, in the place where his skinny little brother should have been.

“Bri?”

Maria blushed and lowered her head. “I know it’s a great deal to take in Chris, but yes.”

“When they said some Jerry woman was claiming to be you… I… bloody hell Brian.”

Maria winced at the name but said nothing. “It’s all a rather long story I suppose.”

“So this isn't just some wild getup to escape the Krauts is it?”

Maria shook her head slowly and glanced at her brother. “No, it's not.”

“So you want to be…. a woman?”

Maria raised her head and looked her brother in the eyes, “I didn’t exactly get a choice in the matter Christopher. A lot of what happened to me was because of my injuries but it sparked something… else. All of that aside as it turns out, however, yes; yes I do.”

The older sibling regarded the younger for a moment. She, and there was no denying that it was a female he was looking at, was stood up straight with her head held high. Try as he might, he couldn’t help but see his mother and sister standing before him.

Christopher shook his head and gestured towards the door. “Come on then spud, They dragged me back from leave to work out who you were. The very least you can do is to join me for a drink in the mess. You can explain all of this silliness to me over a drink. Lord knows you probably need one.”

Maria hesitated and plucked at her blood-stained blouse, “Do they have anything else I could wear? I’m afraid I’m a little grubby for the mess.”

Her brother rolled his eyes and laughed. “If I still had any doubt of your sex spud, you’d have just dispelled it.”

Maria frowned, “thanks… I guess.”

Christopher smiled at his sibling’s annoyance. “A fresh uniform and the things you came in with are in the bathroom up the hall. I warn you though, all they had available was Army, so you’ll need to accept an upgrade to the superior branch.”

Maria smiled, “It will do I suppose, I’ll have to slum it for the moment.”

“You know some of us made it back from France without getting caught.” the Captain pointed out dryly.

Giving her brother an unladylike gesture, Maria left to change. Once in the bathroom, she slipped out of the skirt and blouse she had been wearing for the better part of the last week and folded them neatly on the counter. She had grown strangely used to the Luftwaffe blue/grey uniform and was almost reluctant to let it go.

Giving herself a quick wash in the sink, she tidied her hair before turning to face the provided clothing. Before her, was the olive uniform of an Auxiliary Territorial Service First Subaltern. It wasn’t entirely equivalent to her RAF rank, but she was more than grateful to wear the uniform of her own side for once.

She dressed quickly, finding the clothing a reasonably good fit, and turned back to face the mirror. The young woman who looked back at her appeared tired but presentable; she wouldn’t win any beauty awards, but she appeared far better than she felt. Slipping the cap under her arm, she picked up the few personal items that she had arrived with and slipped them into the canvas ATS shoulder bag that had been left for her. Once satisfied, she left the bathroom and went in search of her brother.

She found Christopher by the entrance to the detention block chatting with the Military Police Captain who had questioned her.

“Gentlemen?”

Both men turned to face her and seemed suddenly surprised at her transformation. “Am I presentable enough for the mess Captain Campbell?”

“Not bad at all spud,” Chris agreed before turning to the MP Captain and shaking his hand. “Thanks for the chat Welgate, I’ll let Archie know about the motor.”

The man returned the gesture and departed.

“Friends in every barracks I suppose?” Maria observed dryly.

“Lenard’s a friend of a friend.” the older sibling shrugged. “It’s a small Army after all.”

“I’m sure it is,” Maria agreed.

The two walked out of the detention block and made their way across the parade ground. The sky outside was darkening, and the buildings around them cast long shadows as they walked.

“Did they tell you anything about the others?”

“Your pals from the plane?”

Maria nodded.

“They’re all fine, they all cleared interrogation a lot quicker than you did. Then again, you’re the only one that doesn’t look like their service file anymore.”

“What about Andrew? I… ah, Lieutenant Commander Matheson. He was hurt during our escape. They never told me what happened to him.” Maria asked cautiously, eying her big brother.

The elder sibling looked at her for a moment before answering. “He’s fine; the bullet caused a lot of bleeding but they managed to get him sewn up alright. Should be back playing cricket again in no time. They have him down the way in Dover Naval Hospital.”

Maria smiled gratefully at the news.

“So what do you want me to call you now?” he asked as they walked, in no particular hurry to arrive at the mess.

“I went by Maria, over there,” she offered quietly, “ I suppose I always expected to keep at least the first name. I think I saw it as a way to thank the lady whose identification saved my life.”

Her brother nodded his understanding. “The rest of the family will find this awfully strange you know.”

“Probably at first,” she agreed. “The funny part is, I don’t think I’m really that different if you think about it.”

Chris smiled and glanced at his younger sibling. “Truth be told Spud, no.”

They arrived a few moments later at the Officer’s Mess. While she had visited plenty of Army messes in her time with her brothers and friends, this time proved to be a most unique experience for the young pilot. Upon entering with her brother, she drew far more attention than she had ever in the past. Even Christopher seemed to notice the stares she was attracting.

The pair were seated and a steward took their order before retreating off to leave them in peace.

“You’re not bothered by all the looks?”

Maria shrugged, “I suppose I’m getting used to them.”

“The family are going to be quite surprised by this you know. Your capture hit them bloody hard.”

“I didn’t get a choice Chris,” Maria sighed. “After my crash and the surgery, everything just… ran its course. According to the Jerry doctor, my body had been in a form of limbo before. Not quite sure where to turn. When the injuries tipped the scales; well, off it went. I had a lot of time to think of there. I really do think this is how I’m meant to be Chris; this is who I am.”

Her brother grimaced at the reminder of what had happened. “Bloody awful mess that, but I suppose it’s good to have you back. A wild story that, escaping dressed as Jerries, infiltrating bases and taking up against the SS of all people.”

“It all really just happened,” Maria admitted with a grin. “We weren’t really making big plans.”

“Rich would be home, but the Jerries just joined the Italians in North Africa so that’s a bloody mess now too.”

Maria felt both relief and fear at the news of her oldest brother. “I really hope he’s ok.”

“Ricky is a tough egg,” Chris agreed as the steward returned with their drinks. “That one will outlive us all.”

“You know, I thought about you all; over there,” Maria admitted. “You, Rich, Anna, and our parents. It was the thought of you all that kept me going.”

Chris sipped his beer and watched his younger sibling for a moment. “You really are the spit of mother you know.”

Maria pondered the thought for a moment before nodding. “I think you’re right.”

“It’s uncanny,” her brother admitted. “Not hard to think of you as my little sister when you look like that.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to boot me back across the channel?”

Christopher looked at Maria across the table from him. Now he was more used to how she appeared, he saw only his sibling; it was funny how the brain adapted to changes without outside influence. She looked very different to the way she once had, but at the same time, so very familiar. Brian had been a good egg, but he was always such a shadow of a boy. Nothing ever truly enthused him or made him happy and no matter what the bullies at school had done to him, it didn't seem to have hurt his spirits; the poor boy simply didn’t have any to hurt.

The young woman sitting across from him was very different. Without even moving, she carried so much more life and vitality than Brian ever had. There was a light in her eyes that seemed to radiate an inner strength that he had never seen in her before. She was right; it hadn’t been that big a change, but it had made all of the difference.

“Yeah spud, I think I am.”

“There’s no chance I’m ditching that nickname is there?” she sighed, a half smile on her lips. “I thought I’d graduated beyond that.”

“Perhaps you have, but it’s a brother’s prerogative to tease isn’t it?”

Maria smiled sadly, “Thinking of all of you kept me going in that place. Some days, it was all I had to keep my spirits up.”

“Sounds awful,” Chris agreed. “We never gave up hope; the family, you know?”

Maria sighed. “I really missed you all, When… this whole business started to happen and I realized that I was more than ok with it. Hell, I was happy with what was happening to me. I was terrified that if I ever made it home, that you would all hate me.”

Chris squeezed his sister’s hand across the table. “It might take me some time to get used to calling you Maira, but you’re still my blood and nothing can change that; I love you.”

“Hearing you say that makes the last eight months worth it.” Maria smiled.

“What were they like?”

“The Germans?”

Chris nodded. “I never really got that close to them in France. I shot a few, but never got closer than shouting range.”

“Ich spreche jetzt gut Deutsch.” Maria chuckled.

“Huh?”

I speak German pretty well now,” She translated. “An old Dutch Captain taught us while we were in the camp. I figured it might come in useful if we got a chance to scarper one day.”

“And you did,” Chris observed. “What happened?”

Maria made a face. She wasn’t quite ready to tell her brother what that man had done to her. Even now, so many miles away she was unwilling to confront the horror she had experienced in that moment. “A riot broke out about a week ago. In the fighting, some prisoners got hold of guns and the whole thing turned into an all-out battle.”

“Sounds bloody wild, “Chris agreed.

“A lot of Germans and prisoners were killed in the fighting. Once the dust settled, most took off into the forests and made for freedom. Probably didn’t get far. We thought we’d be smarter; we took uniforms and documents and put drove out. We figured if we could bluff our way across a border we had a chance. Honestly, we really just made it up as we went along.”

“Why them? Those men?”

Maria smiled at the memory. “They were the men that just happened to be assigned to the hut I was given when I arrived so very long ago. It rather felt like starting school all over again.”

“What did they think of all, this?” he asked tentatively, gesturing generally at Maria.

“It wasn’t all overnight you know.” Maria pointed out with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t just wake up like this one morning.”

Chris leaned in and lowered his voice. “So, I mean… wasn’t it a little, odd? A woman with a bunch of men?”

Maria thought for a moment. “I’m not sure how it felt for them, but I was in denial for a long time. I changed over the months, my body had lost whatever barrier had existed to what it wanted to do anyway. I suppose it was like going through puberty.”

It was Christopher Campbell’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Better late than never, eh spud?”

Maria chuckled softly, “Yes, I suppose it was.”

The conversation paused as a steward delivered another round of drinks. All around them, voices in English warbled away softly in the background. Maria found it rather surreal, after becoming so used to hearing German during their odyssey.

“So, the Jerries,” Chris continued after taking a deep draw from his pint. “What were they like?”

Maria thought back to all the people she had met during her time in captivity and their subsequent flight to freedom. They had matched every stereotype that the papers had portrayed them to be and at the same time, exactly the same as her. A tear rolled down her cheek as she thought of Doctor Muller.

With a sad smile, she spoke. “We were invited into the home of a farmer and his wife when we were on our way north. She offered me cake and told me stories of her two sons who were off fighting in France. She hoped they would make it home alive so that one day, they could take over the family farm. She was scared; for her children, for her home, and for the future. She didn’t care for Hitler or any of his rubbish, she just wanted to live a quiet life. All she cared about were her boys and worrying if they were safe. She might as well have been Mum.”

“Not so easy pulling the trigger when you see them as people,” Chris admitted quietly.

“It isn’t,” Maria agreed, taking a long sip from her whiskey.

The elder Campbell raised an eyebrow. “You got your hands dirty Spud?”

Maria swallowed and remembered the terror and the violence of their flight to safety, the shudder of the aircraft beneath her as its guns spat fire. She remembered the anger and the hatred of their escape from the camp in Regensburg. Eventually, her mind drifted back to the cellar of a French Chateau and the smell of gunpowder mingled with the metallic tang of blood.

“I did.”

 

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The sounds of men marching on the parade ground outside woke Maria at the crack of dawn the next morning. Although she had spent months around servicemen, there was nothing quite like the sounds of base life to remind her instantly that she was home.

Shorncliffe Camp’s Mess had guest quarters for visiting Officers and it was in one of those small but neatly appointed rooms that she now found herself. Sitting up, she stretched and listened to the cadence of the marching soldiers outside and simply enjoyed the old familiar atmosphere. There might be a war on, but England felt so positively peaceful on a bright sunny morning.

Before retiring for the evening, her brother had arranged for her to board at the mess. One of the stewards had even been sent to acquire toiletries and night clothes for her. When she finally made it to the room just after midnight, she had collapsed into the bed and slept like the proverbial dead.

So far, nobody had been outwardly hostile towards her, but she had sensed a general unease from those who knew her origins. She knew it was unavoidable, but it made it no less unpleasant. A small part of her brain missed their time in Europe. Despite the danger, there she had just been Maria and nothing more. Now that she was home and her reality was known, she could tell that to some, she was viewed as a thing.

She had spoken with her brother Christopher for several long hours the night before. She had missed the man a great deal and was overjoyed at his positive reception of her. When they had spent time together, she had initially attributed their easy compatibility as siblings to their reunion. However, as the evening drew on, she began to realize it was because they now worked at a fundamental level. As brother and sister, Christopher and Maria worked.

Before, she had been the runty little brother that had to be tolerated; a burden to be protected at school out of familial obligation. Now, as a sister, she felt closer than ever to the man. She knew in no small part that her actions had earned his respect, her new preference for skirts aside. Chris had always been a man of deeds and action; that she had overcome such odds most certainly earned his approval.

Yawning, Maria slipped out of bed and stretched. She had slept in a lot of places over the last seven months, but this had been the first one that had truly felt safe. Being back in England had finally let her release a tension that she had carried since she first awoke in that French hospital in another lifetime.

Slipping her feet into the provided slippers, she wrapped the dressing gown about her shoulders to ward off the morning chill before setting off to locate the facilities.

As unfamiliar as the mess was, Military architecture in England was somewhat universal. The old buildings she found herself in reminded her almost of RAF Cranwell. Before long, and with a little logical extrapolation she had located the ablutions block. The room was cleaner than she had expected and its white tiled surfaces were warm. The air within was humid and the mirrors were fogged as though the space had only just been vacated by a prior visitor.

Leaving her belongings by the sink, Maria took her wash kit and a towel through to the showers and turned on the faucet. Stripping out of her night clothes, she stepped under the hot water and delighted as the heat worked the tension from her tired muscles. Her body ached, she was surprised how much given the prior day’s activity.

As she washed, she glanced down at her body; she was in awe of how much she had changed over the previous months. Rather than the shame she first felt, she now felt pride when she looked at her body; the softness of her skin and the smoothness of her curves fitted who she was meant to be, minus one small exception.

As she rinsed her hair, her mind turned to Andrew and their burgeoning romance. She wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to keep herself from showing her feelings when she visited him later with Christopher, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it. It was a bridge she would come to far sooner than she wished, and she was more than aware of that fact.

She was turning off the water when the door to the ablutions block creaked open signifying the arrival of another tenant of the guest quarters. Quickly wrapping her towel around her body, Maria peered out of the showers to see who had entered.

A brunette woman shuffled over to the toilets and smiled at her in passing, “Morning love.”

“I’m, ah, sorry, I won’t be long.” Maria stumbled, pulling her knickers on under her towel. “I didn’t know anyone else was staying here.”

“Just me and you I think,” the woman called from out of sight. “Giving a lecture to a bunch of new Scaleys on new radio procedure, what about you?”

Maria felt slightly unnerved by the woman’s lack of concern. “I’m not sure yet, I’ve only just gotten back to England.”

“Oh, where were you? America? Canada?”

“Germany.”

There was the sound of a flush and the woman reappeared, tossing her dressing gown over a railing as she made to brush her teeth in only her nightdress. “You’re with those POWs that came in yesterday, aren’t you? Talk of the camp that; Jerry fighters and crash landings and what was it? Luftwaffe uniforms?”

“Not much secret around here I see,” Maria smiled sheepishly.

“Doris, by the way,” The woman offered, giving Maria a finger wave, “Sublatern with Fifty-Second Signals.”

“Pilot Officer Campbell… Maria.”

“Oh, you’re WAAF eh?” I swear I saw you in ATS togs last night in the mess?”

“It was all they had,” Maria admitted. “I have basically nothing; what little I had, we left in France.”

“Oh you poor dear,” Doris smiled sadly as she brushed her teeth. “That must be bloody awful, nothing at all?”

Maria shook her head.

Doris smiled kindly, “Look, why don’t you go get yourself dressed, I’ve got some bits and bobs with me, we’ll sort you out eh?”

“Are you sure? Really?”

The woman nodded, “Sure I am love; we girls gotta stick together right?”

Thanking the woman, Maria collected her belongings and returned to her room to dress. With few possessions besides the contents of her pockets and the photo album she had managed to bring with her, she was dressed in record time. The ATS uniform still felt wrong for her, as though she was betraying her own branch but it was surely better than a German one. She left the night clothes and towels neatly folded on the bed and made her way back to the bathrooms to find Doris.

When she arrived back at the ablutions, she fought the urge to knock before entering. A small part of her brain still told her that this was not a place for her, despite every piece of evidence to the contrary. Steeling her nerves, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. The space suddenly felt extremely warm, although she couldn’t decide if it was the humidity or her own embarrassment.

Doris was drying herself off from the shower when she entered and seemed utterly unapologetic about her nudity in front of the young pilot. “Welcome back, oh, that uniform does suit you.” she grinned.

“I’d still rather it be my own,” Maria admitted, unable to look at the other woman. “But at least it fits.”

“Certainly does,” Doris observed with a raised eyebrow.

“It really feels good to be home you know, I didn’t realize just how much I missed it.”

Doris looked over as she fastened her brassiere, “So how did you get captured? In the retreat to Dunkerque?”

Maria shook her head, “No, I bailed out over France in August, Jerries captured me and tossed me in a camp in darkest Deutschland.”

“You got shot down?” Doris asked, furrowing her brow, “How’d you manage that?”

Maria realized her misstep and panicked, “I uh… I got lost over the Channel in bad weather, and ended up over occupied territory.”

The other woman seemed to accept the explanation and appeared to dismiss her panic as emotional trauma from her experiences. “I’m really sorry to hear that love, that sounds bloody awful.”

“I met some good people,” Maria admitted. “Without them, I don’t think I’d be here today.”

“Those gents you were brought in with?”

Maria nodded.

Doris finished dressing and broke out her makeup bag. She set about unpacking her collection while studying Maria’s face. “We won’t do too much, got to stay within regs, but you deserve to look your best after all that mess.”

“Thank you,” Maria offered, trying not to move as the woman attacked her face, “What little I had… it’s all gone now.”

“Anyone you’re looking forwards to seeing now you’re home? Family, a sweetheart?”

“My brother is here; he’s a Captain with the West Yorkshire Rifles. I do hope to see my parents again and my little sister too.”

“No sweetheart?”

Maria blushed at the idea of admitting her feelings, “well, perhaps.”

Doris grinned broadly, “Oh you do, don’t you! Oh, go on, share!”

Maria flushed pink as Doris worked on her eyes. “Well, one of the gentlemen I escaped with, a Navy pilot… he and I grew rather close.”

“Oh, pulled together by the horrors of war and on the run together; awfully romantic that,” the brunette enthused. “Sounds like a right paperback bodice ripper that does.”

“Maybe just a little,” Maria conceded with a grin.

Doris stepped back and smiled with satisfaction. “All done, take a look darling.”

Maria turned to the mirror and stared at her reflection. The young woman looking back was beautiful. Her own feeble attempts had been passable but they had been nothing compared to the practiced hand Doris clearly wielded. Her eyes appeared larger and her lips were red and shiny. Her cheeks carried the hint of a blush against her pale skin that made the line of her cheekbone seem more pronounced.

“Wow”

Doris grinned and began brushing her hair. “Not too bad if I do say so myself, although you were an excellent canvas, I must concede.”

“I don’t think I ever looked this good before,” Maria whispered, fighting the urge to touch her face. “Thank you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing love, just glad to be able to help.”

Finishing her hair with a few clips, Doris stood back and regarded her handiwork, and smiled broadly. “Looking smashing! That Navy man of yours isn’t going to be able to keep his hands to himself!”

“Thank you, honestly,” Maria enthused, turning to face the other woman. “I don’t know what I’d have done otherwise.”

“Oh don’t mind it,” Doris smiled pulling her into a hug. “Go see your gent and your family. Lord knows we all lose so much in this bloody war. Means we need to cherish what we got when we have it. You got lucky love; you got home, so many didn’t.”

Maria squeezed the woman back and nodded sadly. “I know it all too well.”

 

 

Captain Campbell leaned against the door of the Humber staff car, drumming his fingers on the side of the bonnet. He had agreed the night before to meet Br... Maria to drive…her, over to see the Navy chap hurt during their escape from Europe. This whole mess confused him more out of habit than actuality. Everything he saw made him want to refer to his sibling in the feminine, but his memories were taking far longer to convince.

The family had learned of Brian’s capture only a week after he had been reported missing. During these uncertain times, a report of a pilot missing in action usually meant that they were, in fact, dead. When they received news of Brian’s disappearance they had like most, feared the worst. The entire mess had hit their mother very hard indeed. She had always been close with Brian; the eventual news of his capture had given her hope, but the truth was none of them had expected to see him again before the war was over. What that world would even look like, had been a mystery.

The war had changed them all. Seeing their younger brother go off to fight had been the strangest part of all for Chris and Richard. Brian had barely survived boarding school when the war broke out and like the rest of them, he went off to do his patriotic duty. Their younger brother had never been the military sort, nor had he shown the fortitude to fight. Chris would freely admit that he had been shocked to see the boy go to war.

Brian had always loved flying and it was one of the few things he had excelled at as a child. He had always loved being alone up there in the blue, dancing amongst the clouds. That he ended up in a front-line fighter squadron had certainly surprised them, but they had been proud of him all the same. To learn he had gone down alone in a dogfight over the channel had seemed like such a tragic end.

Little Brian had always been a gentle boy; he had never shown interest in sports like Richard or himself. Moreso, they both had to regularly intervene on his behalf at school when people picked on him. On more than one occasion they had joked that he was more like their sister Anna, but now that was no longer a joke.

When he had received word that Brian might have escaped and made it home to England he found himself equal parts shocked and overjoyed. If true, it was wonderful news, but it was certainly out of the ordinary: Escaping a prison camp and fleeing across an occupied continent had never seemed like something Brian might do.

When the MP’s had explained that this Blonde Fraulein was claiming to be their brother he had laughed at the very idea. That was until he had listened in to her interrogation. Even before he had given the questions to Captain Welgate, the woman had seemed undeniably familiar. She wasn’t Brian, that much was certain, but he was positive that Brian was somewhere inside her. Whoever had gone down in France, had returned changed. The changes had been more than merely physical; the young woman who was his newest sister had a confidence that Brian had never before possessed. She had a certainty and a drive that had never existed in the youngest Campbell boy. She had a completeness to her where once Brian had seemed like a missed opportunity.

The heavy Mess door clunked in its frame causing Christopher to glance over. A pretty blonde in an ATS uniform walked casually down the steps and began to stroll across the parade ground. It took him a second to realize that it was Maria. With her hair and makeup done, the difference was stark; he was looking at the spitting image of his mother as a young woman.

“Bloody hell Spud.”

Maria raised an eyebrow, “Something wrong?”

“You look…”

Maria smiled coyly, “What is it, Chris? Cat got your tongue?”

The elder Campbell shook his head and grinned. “Don’t do that Spud; it’s not right you know. You looking like that… and you sound like Anna right now.”

“I do?”

Christopher nodded. “You know just when to tease your brother, it’s unnatural.”

“I mean it all happened somewhat naturally.”

“You know what I mean Spud,” Chris sighed before turning to the car. “Anyway, in you get, we’ve got visiting time at the Navy Hospital so you can see your friend.”

Maria carefully climbed into the car beside her brother and turned to face him. “I suppose I hadn’t asked, but how do you think Mother and Father will react to all of this?”

Christopher started the car and pulled away before answering. “I don’t know Spud; they will be glad that you’re alive of course, but they will certainly be shocked. Father, well, he will struggle with it I suspect. You returning as the conquering hero might soften that, or is it heroine now? Mum? She will probably be fine.”

They drove along the streets of Folkstone for a moment in silence before Maria dared to bring up what she wanted to say.

“Chris, I have to tell you something.”

Chris Campbell glanced over at Maria as they drove, “What? That you’re a woman?”

Maria rolled her eyes, “No, well, but it is related though.”

“You’re going to tell me that you’re sweet on this Navy chap eh? You’re afraid that, on top of being a girl, liking boys might somehow be a step too far for me?”

Maria wasn’t sure what to say to her brother. Obviously, he’d hit the very difficult nail right on the head.

“Yes, I suppose that is what I’m saying.”

Chris smiled kindly, “Good for you Spud. You showed almost zero interest in romance before all this mess, I won’t begrudge you some happiness.”

Maria reached over and squeezed her brother’s hand. “Thank you, this… isn’t too strange for you?”

“Honestly, it just means less competition for me and Richy-boy, so I'm all for it.”

“I’m serious!” she pouted.

Chris shrugged. “It took me a lot longer to get my head around the fact that you’re a girl, Spud. Once I got my head there, it didn’t make sense any other way. This way, it just seems correct, no? If you’re a woman, you’d be expected to want to find yourself a gent.”

“It took me a lot of soul searching to get my head around it,” she admitted quietly, watching the houses pass from the window.

“Is he good to you?”

Maria smiled at her brother, “I wouldn’t be here without him.”

 

 

They arrived at the Royal Naval Hospital in Dover a little after ten that morning. The hospital was a large whitewashed building located right in the middle of the city by Pencester Gardens. Like most larger buildings at the time, its ground floor was heavily cladded with sandbags.

A stressed receptionist checked over Christopher’s credentials before admitting them and directing them up to the correct floor and ward. As they wandered the corridors bustling with nurses and orderlies, Maria was saddened by just how many men were missing limbs and disfigured by the horrors of war. Having been in Europe for the last eight months, she felt so utterly disconnected from the reality back at home.

Andrew was sitting up in his bed reading the newspaper. He felt rather guilty for taking up a bed, but the doctors had insisted on keeping him in overnight for observation. Apparently, he had lost rather a great deal of blood. He was finishing catching up on the sports section when he first spotted the pretty blonde ATS officer enter with a Captain. Not being an Army man himself, he had initially ignored the pair before realising quite to his surprise that the pretty blonde was none other than his Maria.

She caught his eye as she walked over, a broad smile on her ruby-red lips. Her hair and makeup were perfect and the uniform, while not her own, looked a damn sight better than the Luftwaffe blue-grey she had been wearing for most of the past week.

“How are you feeling?” she asked as she sat delicately on the edge of his bed.

“I’ve been worse,” he admitted dryly. “I feel a damn sight better now you’re here though.”

Maria blushed and glanced up at the Captain beside her. “Ah, Lieutenant Commander Matheson, this is Captain Christopher Campbell, my older brother.”

“Andrew,” he offered, extending his hand to the elder Campbell. “Maria here has told me a great deal about you.”

“Chris,” he replied taking the hand. “I hope it wasn’t all bad, knowing her.”

“She was quite complimentary of Big Brother” He conceded before turning to Maria. “Although you never told me, is this the one that wet the bed, or the one that cried in the school play?”

Maria went to slap Matheson’s arm before rethinking her choice and scowling instead. “That’s mean, I never said that.”

“Heard you got winged on the way back old boy, how’s the arm?” Chris asked.

Andrew shrugged and winced at the movement, “Could be better, but no permanent damage. They’ll have me out of here in a day apparently. They need the beds for real wounded men probably.”

“Good to hear old boy.” He gave Matheson a serious look. Tell you what, I’ll leave you in peace to catch up. Do me a favor, look after my little sister, would you?”

Andrew exchanged a look with the elder Campbell that carried a great deal of meaning, “I will.”

Maria watched her brother retreat back toward the entrance to give them some space before returning her attention to the man who meant so very much to her.

“I missed you so much,” she admitted, squeezing his leg.

“It was only one night,” he chuckled. “And you went and changed branches on me.”

“This?” she asked, plucking at the uniform. “It was all they had at the time.”

“It looks amazing on you; you, look amazing.”

Maria blushed and bit her lip, “thank you.”

“God, I love it when you do that,” he whispered softly, stroking her cheek. It drives me bloody wild.”

Maria smiled shyly back, “I can live with that.”

“When I’m out of here and we’re all settled, I really do want to make a go of things.” Andrew insisted. “Sod anyone else, I won’t pass this up; I love you.”

“You… love me?” She asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

Andrew nodded and took her hand in his. “I’ve loved you for some time, but it only made sense on the way home in that bloody tin can. There was a moment where we thought it was all over, when I thought were were all about to buy it. I knew right then that the only thing that mattered was you.”

Maria felt her stomach flip. “I… love you too,” she whispered.

 

 

By the door to the ward, Chris Campbell stood watching the exchange between his little sister and the wounded Lieutenant Commander.

“God that’s adorable,” the nurse beside him opined. “You’re positive that she’s Brian?”

“Maria is what she uses now,” he corrected, not taking his eyes off the two young lovers. Brian really doesn’t fit her anymore.”

“I always wanted a sister,” the nurse smiled, looking up at Chris. “Three brothers was always such a bore. I used to pretend he was my sister when we were little; there was always this… I don’t know, feeling about him?”

“I didn’t see it at the time, but now, I can’t unsee it.”

“Something like that,” Anna Campbell agreed.

“Ready to go meet her?”

“I really don’t want to interrupt that,” the youngest Campbell sibling replied as she watched the heartfelt exchange between the two lovers.

“Come on, she’ll have plenty of time to be soppy later.”

 

 

Maria leaned in to kiss Andrew on the tip of his nose. Displaying affection in public was still new for her, but she decided she quite liked it after all.

“I’ve got orders to return to Biggin Hill tomorrow to debrief,” she admitted sadly. “They want me to sit down with a bunch of intelligent bods. Will you visit when they let you out?”

“Just try and stop me.”

Andrew glanced over Maria’s shoulder at an approaching nurse, accompanied by Chris Campbell, and raised an eyebrow. “I only just had my dressing changed, please tell me that you’re turfing me out already?”

The nurse shook her head and smiled. “You’re not I’m afraid, but you’ll need far more than a dressing if you break my big sister’s heart.”

Maria spun around and came face to face with her youngest sibling.

“Anna? Oh my god, Anna!”

The young woman smiled as the blonde hugged her tightly. “Oh Anna I’ve mi… sister?”

Holding Maria at arm's length Anna inclined her head and grinned. “Well I don’t think brother really works now does it?”

“How are you here? You’re a nurse?”

Anna nodded happily and flicked the metal badge on her uniform. “Queen Alexandria’s Royal Naval Nursing Service, yup.”

Maria sighed happily. “I end up in a prisoner of war camp for eight months and the whole world changes.”

Anna cocked an eyebrow and smiled “Really? You escape Nazi-occupied Europe, find a gorgeous chap, and turn up looking like this and you have the gall to say that I’ve changed?”

“I never said I was entirely without blame.” Maria conceded with a grin.

“Right!” Anna announced grasping her sister’s hand. “You boys get to know each other better. I’m stealing this lady for some much-needed catching up.”

Without further ado, the young woman dragged her sister from the ward before anyone had time to protest.

When the dust had settled, Chris turned to the Navy Officer on the bed and shrugged apologetically. “You’ll get used to that old bean. Once her mind is made up, there’s no stopping Anna; she’s a force of nature.”

Matheson smirked. “I hate to tell you this, but the other one is no different either.”

 

 

The hospital grounds were a refuge of peace compared to the oppressive tide of humanity contained within its walls. As she walked beside her younger sister, Maria’s mind flashed back to a very similar garden where she had first been confronted with the news that her life would change forever.

“It’s amazing to see you again Anna. You can’t believe how many times I thought about you while I was over there; you, the boys, and our parents.”

Anna glanced over and smiled. “When they informed us you were missing I cried for days. I didn’t think I could go on without you in the world.”

“I guess I’m not what you imagined when you got the news that I’d made it home.”

Anna stopped beside a wooden bench and pulled her sister down until they were seated facing one another. “No, you’re not, but I want to tell you the truth, so bear with me, okay?”

The young nurse tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and gazed out across the garden. “When we were little and it was just the two of us, I always imagined you as my big sister. You were never like Chris or Ricky, never a boisterous boy. You had this, feminine energy about you.”

Maria made to say something but Anna held her hand up and continued, “I’m not saying that you were terribly girly or anything of the sort, but you just seemed more sensitive, more in touch with your feelings than the other boys. When we used to play, you’d always come up with such wonderful stories for our games.”

Maria smiled at the recollection. “I really enjoyed those times together.”

“Me too,” Anna smiled. “It was always my favorite time.”

“And here I am, I suppose.”

“Here you are… and I must say darling; wow.” Anna enthused with a grin. “You are beautiful, my sister!”

“It feels amazing to hear you say that,” Maria admitted, choking on her emotions. “I never really understood how I felt until the accident left me changing. At first, I was so embarrassed that I really didn’t think about how I felt; all that mattered was I felt shame. I was mostly frustrated that I’d waited that long to feel like a man, and all of a sudden, it would never ever happen. I never stopped to think that I didn’t feel like one for a reason.

Eventually, with the help of a kind doctor, I began to accept that this was the path my body was taking. That with or without the accident, this likely would have happened. My path was never destined to be like theirs and I didn’t need to feel shame at being different. Only then did I realize that I was far happier.”

“You were never like them, not one bit.” Anna opined. I’m sure they’ll work out the why one day, but I can’t help but feel like it was your destiny.”

“That’s one way to put it,” she agreed.

Squeezing her sister’s hand, Maria looked out across the garden’s bushes and trees, their true glory still awaiting the coming of spring. “When I first accepted that this was my path, my truth, I had one hope beyond all others; that you might understand.”

Anna smiled and nodded. “This war, it brings so much pain and suffering. Death and destruction. The Germans; they bomb our cities by night and they torpedo our ships. It is truly the darkest of times. Despite all that horror, I am grateful.

I am grateful because while it took my sweet, sensitive kind brother. it returned to me a wonderful, beautiful, and fearce sister.”

 

 

Maria sat impatiently outside the committee room at RAF Cranfield. She had been called back to speak to a special panel convened to go over the events of what the group now referred to as their Grand European Holiday. For most prisoners of war, they received a pat on the back and got sent back to their squadrons with nothing further to concern them; after all, there was a war on. In their particular case, command was quite keen to hear the true ungilded facts behind their exploits on the continent. It wasn’t often that a prison breakout caused as much damage as theirs had.

Originally Maria and the others had been debriefed by intelligence bods at Biggin Hill. Maria’s personal circumstances had played center stage in the proceedings. They had initially been highly skeptical of her story and had insisted on medical verification. As such, Doctors performed tests, psychiatrists drove her potty and her parents had come to terms with the fact that they had in fact, two daughters.

Seeing her family again had been everything she might have hoped for. Her sister Anna had been with her when she returned to the family home in Cambridge to face the music. Her mother had been wonderful about everything and even her stuffy old man had begrudgingly accepted that he had a second daughter. Both girls decided that he had actually given up hope that she would become a masculine sports prodigy many years before she had actually grown breasts.

The doctors had an opinion on that subject as well. She had been poked, prodded, cut open, and analyzed until the cows came home. As far as they could tell, her body’s natural Oestrogen level was significantly higher than the average male. It was slightly low for the female average but within acceptable ranges. The little Testosterone she had produced had masked and overpowered their own oestrogen until its supply had been abruptly cut off, if one pardoned the pun. Without its interference, she had developed rapidly, her body finally getting a straight answer for once.

She was comfortable now; life was as it was meant to be. Maria Lucy Campbell was going to live the life that little Brian never had, and she would live it well. In the weeks since their return, she had found her stride in a world that had once seemed to be so shallow and lifeless.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Maria glanced over at Andrew. He was wearing his full Naval Officer’s uniform and looked incredibly dashing. He was a long way removed from the goofy stubble cheeked ruffian she had met in the Regensburg camp.

“Hoping they don’t find a way to ground me after all we did,” she sighed. “I might be happier this way but I still want to fight.”

“Whatever may come, I know you will do your best.”

Maria rolled her eyes. “It won’t really be the same.”

“You’ll have me and your family.”

Maria smiled, “At least they seem to like you. Father might get his dream son after all.”

The door to the committee room opened and a Corporal stepped through. “Pilot Officer Campbell? They’ll see you now.”

Standing, she ran her hands down her uniform to ensure it was smooth. She was proud to be wearing RAF blue once again. The skirt and jacket were WAAF issue but presently carried the Insignia and rank of an RAF Pilot Officer. Looking over at Andrew she smiled nervously. “Wish me luck I suppose.”

Matheson stood and gave her a brief hug before pointing her at the committee room. “You won’t need it.”

Maria marched into the room and came to attention before the panel of senior officers who had listened to her testimony.

The committee chair cleared his throat before speaking. “Pilot Officer Campbell, thank you for joining us again. The panel has reached its conclusions regarding your situation.”

She had explained every moment of her journey to these men over the last several days in excruciating detail. They had questioned her about the camp, their escape, and activities along the way. They had questioned her about her very being; her injuries and her changes. No matter what they decided, she was proud to be here.

There were no more secrets to reveal, there was no stone left unturned. The Royal Air Force had been most disgruntled to discover one of their young pilots was suddenly and inexplicably now female. It seemed to bother them more than the documents they had recovered had pleased them. Somehow, Maria got the impression that they blamed her for making their lives difficult.

Air Commodore Michaels shuffled his papers and fixed Maria with a look that reminded her of one of her tutors back in school; a look of dissatisfied expectation.

“Your testimony lines up with that given by Flight Sergeant Hamley, Lieutenant Commander Matheson, Lieutenant Maddox, and Mister Down. This panel finds your conduct in keeping with the highest standards of Royal Air Force traditions and wishes to thank you for your dedication to your country and efforts to continue the fight despite your circumstances. The documents and material collected by you and your colleagues from the German SS Police will prove material to the ongoing war effort. With this in mind, congratulations are in order; you are to receive the Distinguished Flying Cross.”

Maria smiled but sighed internally. While the man waffled, she could sense a significant ‘but’ coming amid his praise.

“Now, with regards to your… ah, change of personal circumstances,” Michaels continued with mild unease. “You shall be transferred from the Royal Air Force to the Women's Auxiliary Air Force. You will however be promoted to the rank of Flight Lieutenant, pay retroactively applied.”

There it was, Maria thought. The final boot dropped. She was female and thus less qualified and competent than her male colleagues. They decided she was female enough to be considered less.

“We believe that with your combat experience, it would be best to transfer you to a training squadron so that you might pass on your experience to new pilots. In addition to this, we would be quite excited to use you to help drive public support for WAAF recruiting.”

While the committee’s decision stung, she had been most certainly expecting it. There was no way they would allow her to remain in a combat role going forwards, it just wasn’t the way. Serving as a flying instructor was still serving, although the idea of being a poster girl for the WAAF felt like a cheap abuse of her change in status.

The Air Commodore stood and saluted her. “Thank you for what you have done Flight Lieutenant, your country appreciates your service.”

Returning the Salute, Maria turned and marched back out of the hall before she shed a tear over the foolish old men. As the doors closed behind her, she let out a breath that she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

“That bad?” Andrew asked walking up.

“Yeah,” she admitted glumly. “Transferred to the WAAF, promoted to Flight Lieutenant and a stupid gong. No more combat for me; training instructor Campbell at your service!”

“I don’t know, I think your limey medals are pretty snazzy.” Mike Down offered from somewhere behind Andrew.

Looking past the Lieutenant Commander properly for the first time, Maria spotted Mike, Arthur Hamley, and Daniel Maddox standing together by the door.

Maria smiled warmly at the men she considered as much family as her own siblings. “Did you all stick around just to commiserate with me or was it to enjoy the carnage?”

“As much as we’d love to head off to a pub and drown our sorrows with you Flight, we got asked to come back after our testimony.”

“Why?” Maria frowned.

“That would be my doing!” a man in a dark pinstripe suit called out as he hurried down the corridor towards them carrying a stack of files. “Sorry I’m late, did I miss anyone?”

“All here, mister…?” Andrew smiled politely.

“Ah, wonderful! My name,” the man began, offering his hand to each in turn while he clumsily juggled the files in his other. “Is Peter Wescot. I was down here to collect some bits and bobs from your intelligence chaps and thought I’d pop over for a quickie whilst I had the lot of you here together. Didn’t want you all vanishing off to the corners of the Empire did we?” the man laughed at his own joke before coughing and straightening up.

“Hold these for me would you?” He asked Down before thrusting the folder stack at him without waiting for an answer.

“As I said; my name is Peter Wescot, and I work for SOE. That is, the Special Operations Executive. We are a… less than conventional branch of the British Government’s war on Mister Hitler’s little scrap.”

“What was that in English?” Hamley asked frowning.

“We fight a rather unconventional and irregular war. Quite ungentlemanly if you really boil it down to the nuts and bolts of the enterprise.” Wescot grinned. He turned to Maria and bowed his head solemnly. “I must commiserate you on your recent promotion and transfer Flight Lieutenant. It is most certainly a waste of your abundant talents.”

Maria frowned. “I just got out of there… how did you?”

“Know?” Wescot asked quickly, bobbing his head like an excited puppy. “Oh, they decided that days ago. They were just flapping around on how many medals to give themselves for your work and how much credit they could manage to take.”

“So what is it that you want?” Maddox asked, stepping up to stand beside his friend.

“Oh, yes, I suppose that does matter doesn’t it?” he asked shaking his head at his own silliness. “Well, I suppose I wanted to meet the group of untrained, inexperienced airmen that became prisoners of war, managed to escape, masqueraded as Germans, blew up and stole German aircraft all the while pulling off a heist on the SS to rescue prisoners and steal vital documents.”

“Oh, thank you for those by the way,” he added, grabbing one of the folders from Mike and waving it at them. “Really was very good reading this.”

“So you met us,” Maria pointed out. “Was that it?”

Wescot smiled and his eyes twinkled devilishly. “How do you fancy doing it again?”

 

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