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RAF Horsham
Miles walked into the lounge and looked around. Spotting Rob and Chris sitting in the corner with their ties undone and cigarettes in their mouths, he started towards them. He’d just returned from a sweep over France and his mood was less than cheerful. Not only had they not seen hide nor hair of the enemy, but his engine had begun acting up on the way back. With each sputter, he became more convinced that he would have to put her down in a field somewhere. Lady Luck was with him, however, and she’d made it back in the end, but barely. When he touched down on the landing strip, the Spit had given one more cough before cutting out altogether. Talk about cutting it close.
“Lacey! Come over and meet our new number five!”
Miles turned, raising an eyebrow as Marcus Hampton, also known as Mother, motioned him over to a long counter on the far wall that doubled as a makeshift bar for the pilots. The flight leader was standing next to a much younger man dressed impeccably in uniform with nary a hair out of place.
“Good Lord, we have another one?” he drawled, walking over to join them.
Mother clapped his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “This is Perry Ainsley. He’s joining us fresh from the training school.”
“Yes, Mr. Lacey and I have met,” Perry said with a hesitant smile. “We met last night as I arrived. You were coming back from Dispersal. Do you remember?”
“Yes, of course.” Miles motioned to the porter behind the counter for a pint. “Perry, is it? Well, you can call me Miles.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, Miles.”
“Miles is one of our better fliers in the group,” Mother said, lowering his voice. “He bagged himself a 109 over Belgium a few days ago. Watch and learn from him, and me, of course.”
“It wouldn’t do any harm to learn from any of us,” Miles said. “The Yank is an expert in landing without wheels. Ask him about it sometime. How many hours do you have in Spits?”
“Fifteen, sir—Miles.”
Miles blinked and looked at Mother. “Imagine that. Fifteen whole hours!”
“Don’t listen to him, Perry.” Mother shot Miles an admonishing look. “You’ll have plenty of flying time before you run into any Jerries.”
“Yes, sir.”
Miles took the pint the porter set down before him and nodded in thanks, lifting it to his lips.
“Better keep him this side of the Channel, then,” he muttered under his breath.
“I’m rather keen to see how it’s done,” Perry protested. “I’ll have to get my feet wet sooner or later.”
“Yes, and so you shall,” Mother agreed. “Don’t mind Miles. He’s obviously had a bit of a day.”
Perry nodded and visibly brightened when another new pilot walked into the lounge. After murmuring his excuses, he wandered over to his friend, leaving them alone.
“How was the hop over to France?” Mother asked, turning his attention to him.
“We didn’t see a dickie bird. You weren’t wrong about my day, though. My engine was having trouble on the way back. Didn’t think I would make it, to be honest.”
“What happened?”
“Dunno. The ground crew is looking at it now. It coughed up and died when I landed.”
“That was jolly close.”
“Don’t I know it.” Miles glanced at him. “When did you get back from your flight?”
“About an hour ago. We saw some Dorniers in the distance, but they were gone by the time we got there.” Mother leaned against the counter and tilted his head, looking at Miles. “You know, there was a time when you and I only had 15 hours flying time.”
“Yes, but that was before Hitler decided to storm through Europe.” Miles sipped his beer and glanced at him. “Don’t try to tell me that you have all confidence in young Perry. I’ve known you too long. You can’t be happy having a baby in tow.”
“Perhaps not, but we’ll keep getting them. We need pilots, and the only way to get them up to speed is to throw them up there. As the war goes on, that will mean simply throwing them into the battle.”
“I hope you intend to take him up for a few hours before letting him hop across the Channel with us?”
“Already planned, old boy. I’m taking him up at 5 o’clock in the morning, and we won’t come down until we’re out of fuel.”
Miles nodded his approval and picked up his pint, straightening up. “Good man. While you have him up there, you might come at him from the sun. The bastards like to do that, and if you don’t know to look for it, you’re a sitting duck.”
“Duly noted.”
“Good.” Miles clapped him on his shoulder. “Better you than me. I don’t have the patience for nursery games. I’m off to commiserate with Rob and Chris. Care to join us?”
Mother shook his head. “No thanks. I’m off for a shower and shave.”
Miles nodded and turned to continue on his way to the corner, pint in hand. As he went, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his jacket. He was done for the day, and now was the time to relax.
“Well! Look who finally decided to join us,” Chris said, lifting his eyes from his newspaper as Miles approached. “Fraternizing with the leadership, were we?”
“Meeting the new pilot fresh from the training school,” Miles retorted, dropping into a chair. “Is it just me, or are they getting younger every day?”
“They’re not getting younger. We’re getting older,” Rob said, closing his newspaper and folding it in half.
“Do you know he only has fifteen hours in a Spit?” Miles demanded. “I’m surprised he can land the bloody thing.”
“Fifteen?” He looked startled. “Are you sure?”
“He’s just told me himself.”
“Well, there was a time when we all only had fifteen hours in a Spit,” Chris pointed out thoughtfully. “Look at us now.”
“The Jerries will have him for breakfast,” Rob said, shaking his head. “What’s the RAF thinking?”
“They’re thinking we need pilots,” Chris replied. “And they’re right. I overheard Ashmore talking to the ground exec earlier. We have more planes coming, but not enough pilots to fly them. That could be a problem if we’re expected to defeat the Luftwaffe.”
“More planes?”
“Yes, and they’re the new model. They’ve made some improvements. Apparently we’re already flying dinosaurs.”
“I can attest to that,” Miles muttered. “My engine went on the blink over the Channel. Nearly didn’t make it back.”
“Oh? Did you run into some Krauts?” Chris asked. “I swear you have all the luck. The only time I see the bastards is when I’m up with you.”
“No such luck, I’m afraid. We didn’t see a damn thing.”
“Then what happened to your engine?” Rob asked.
“Not the faintest, dear boy. It began acting up over the Channel, and got worse over land. I don’t mind telling you, there were a few times I was convinced I’d end up in a hedgerow. It held on until I came in to land, then it just gave up. Cut out completely as my wheels touched the grass.”
“Well at least it hung on until then,” Rob said cheerfully. “All’s well, and all that.”
“Maybe you’ll get one of the new planes,” Chris said. “In fact, now that I think about it, we should all sabotage our engines, then we’ll all get the new Spit.”
“I wonder what the difference is,” Rob said.
“I’m sure old Bertie could tell us,” Miles said with a grin, glancing across the room to where the intelligence officer was in deep conversation with one of the pilots. “He’s the intelligence officer, after all.”
“You’d think they’d let us know,” Chris said. “After all, we’re the poor saps who have to fly them.”
“I’m sure we’ll have a briefing when they arrive. At least, I hope we have a briefing when they arrive.” Rob leaned forward to drop his newspaper on the table between them. “Although, it is the RAF.”
“Anything happen today that I should know about?” Miles asked, nodding towards the newspaper.
“You know, for a peer of the realm, you’re distressingly uninformed on current events,” he drawled. “Don’t you read the newspaper?”
“Hard to read a newspaper at 20,000 feet.”
“Well Hitler had a banner day,” Chris said, tossing his newspaper on top of Rob’s. “They’ve taken over a bunch of French towns that I can’t pronounce, and it looks like they’ve reached the coast. Old Adolf is right over the Channel.”
Miles raised an eyebrow and turned his head to look questioningly at Rob.
Rob grinned. “For the benefit of our illiterate American friend, I’ll elaborate. German armies captured Amiens, Abbeville, and Noyelles-Sur-Mer.” The grin faded. “The BEF has been ordered to retreat to the port cities. It looks like Calais and Dunkirk will be where they’re headed.”
Miles drained his pint and set the empty glass down on the floor beside his chair.
“So they’re surrounded,” he stated. “If they’ve captured Noyelles-Sur-Mer, the Germans have cut off every means of retreat south of Le Touquet.”
Rob nodded grimly. “And I’ll tell you this much,” he said, “they won’t stop there. Hitler isn’t about to let the entire British Army escape. They’ll take Calais next.”
Chris looked from one to the other, his eyebrows pulled together. “I know where Calais is,” he said, “but I have no clue where the others are. How do the two of you know France so well?”
“I practically grew up there,” Rob said with a shrug. “M’mother’s French, y’know.”
“Anyone who’s anyone knows France,” Miles added. “My family has a nice little château not far from Pau.”
Chris laughed. “Of course you do.”
“You mean to tell me your family doesn’t have a house somewhere other than wherever you’re from?”
“Boston,” Chris said with a grin. “How many times do I have to tell you people? I’m from Boston.”
“Of course you are,” Miles said patronizingly. “And that’s somewhere south, right?”
Chris choked, missing the gleam of unholy amusement in Miles’ eyes.
“You take the time to learn where every little village in France is, but you don’t even know where Boston is. It’s a major city!”
“Major to whom?” Rob drawled with a straight face. “Certainly not to us.”
Chris stared hard at them both, and then his eyes narrowed suddenly in suspicion.
“You know exactly where Boston is,” he exclaimed suddenly. “I thought we’d moved beyond the teasing-the-Colonial stage in our friendship.”
“My dear boy, we’ll never move beyond it. It’s entirely too much fun!” Miles informed him with a grin.
“What will happen to your château if the Germans occupy France?” Chris asked after a moment.
“I’d rather not consider it, thank you very much. I rather imagine it will be filled with German officers, or something equally horrid. Perish the thought!”
Chris looked at Rob. “And you?”
“I’ve no idea. I’m still trying to find out what my aunt and uncle plan to do. I’m hoping they’ll come to England. If they do, then I suppose the same fate will befall their homes. They have one in Paris and one in the south of France, near Toulouse.”
“For two men contemplating the German occupation of their homes in France, you’re both being absurdly pragmatic about it all.”
“We’ve told you before, Yank; there is absolutely no use in getting all worked up and crying over soon-to-be spilled milk,” Miles said with a shrug. “When will you learn that we aren’t as emotional as you Americans?”
Chris snorted. “Like hell you aren’t. I’ve seen you fight, old boy, and I’ll tell you this: you don’t back down. Either of you. That takes emotion, and guts. I can’t think of anything more American than that.”
“Good Lord, did he just call us Americans?” Rob demanded, rolling his eyes over to Miles. “I think he’s a bit touched, don’t you?”
“I believe he was trying to pay us a compliment,” Miles said thoughtfully, his aristocratic nose inching higher into the air. “Although, I’m not sure what our intestines have to do with anything.”
Chris burst out laughing. “I was, and they don’t. Just nod and smile and thank me.”
“Thank you for what?” Rob asked, mystified.
“For seeing past this ridiculous mask you both wear.”
“Oh, you’re quite wrong there,” Miles said, crossing his legs complacently. “These are very much our own faces. After all, just because one is being asked to fight and defend the King and Country, it by no means requires discarding generations of breeding. This is who we are, more’s the pity. I’m afraid you’ve fallen into the company of the British elite, my dear rebel, and we will do whatever it takes to preserve our way of life.”
“Especially if it means going toe to toe with Hitler’s thugs,” Rob agreed. “Or wing to wing, as it were.”
“Then God help anyone who tries to invade jolly old England,” Chris said. “That’s one show I wouldn’t want to miss.”
“That’s just as well,” Miles said. “If Hitler tries to invade England, you’ll be in it with us, don’t worry.”
Evelyn lifted her head from the contemplation of the hefty volume in her hands when the sound of footsteps echoed through the empty section of the library. When she’d arrived ten minutes before, she’d been greeted with a mix of astonishment and enthusiasm by the librarian at the front desk. When she asked the woman if the library was still open, she’d been assured that it was. Then, in a hushed whisper that was more from habit than out of respect to patrons, the woman had advised her that they would be closing an hour early. When Evelyn nodded, she’d taken that as a sign of encouragement and added that it was nice to see another person. With the mass exodus of people fleeing the city ahead of the Germans, all the businesses were suffering. It was a dark, sad time. Evelyn had nodded and agreed, then asked for direction to the medieval literature section. The woman had positively beamed, pointed her in the right direction, and then gone back to her work.
Evelyn had felt a heavy feeling of melancholy as she walked through the vacant library. With the exception of a lone elderly gentleman in the corner of the main reading room, she had the entire building to herself. She knew the library well. It was located not far from her aunt and uncle’s house, and she and Gisele had been known to spend many a rainy afternoon here when they were younger. The wooden staircases, banisters, and the polished floors, were familiar, and the rows and rows of aged books carried a scent that was as comforting as it was poignant.
Would this be the last time she stepped foot in the old building?
The thought popped into her head as she slid the thick tome back onto the shelf and pulled another down. Opening it, she swallowed. If it was, it seemed fitting that her last visit wouldn’t be a visit to the library at all, but a meeting. It seemed that her new job was replacing memories everywhere she went, and libraries were quickly becoming much more than buildings that housed a collection of books. They were becoming clandestine meeting places where she could speak without fear of being overheard. Especially today. There was no one to overhear anything.
“I thought you had returned to England.”
The deep voice came from the next aisle and Evelyn smiled faintly, lifting her head. Her eyes encountered a pair of gray ones through a space in the books and she nodded.
“I know,” she said, closing the book in her hand.
It was his turn to smile faintly and the man motioned for her to go to the back of her aisle. Evelyn replaced the book on the shelf and turned to walk to the far end of the aisle. She rounded the corner and came face to face with Jean-Pierre.
“And yet here you are, in Paris.”
“I did leave,” she assured him with a smile. “Circumstances arose, however, that made it necessary for me to return.”
“Come. We’ll move down a few rows just to be safe. I didn’t see anyone on my way up here, but I’d prefer to be careful.” He touched her elbow lightly, ushering her along the narrow walkway behind the stacks. “What was so urgent that you had to see me? And more urgent than getting your package back to England safely?”
“The package is safe, don’t worry.”
“Has it left France?”
“No.”
“Then it isn’t safe.” He stopped at the end of a row and moved into it, releasing her arm. “Especially now. The Germans are advancing and it’s inevitable that France will fall. That package can’t be here when it does.”
“God-willing it won’t be.”
Jean-Pierre looked down at her for a moment, his gaze pensive. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Evelyn. You need to get out of France. You shouldn’t be in Paris.”
“Rest assured that I am doing everything I can, but right now you have more important things to worry about than me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I came back to Paris to meet a contact whom I’m supposed to bring to England with me,” Evelyn said in a low voice, reaching out and pulling a random book off a shelf. “Josephine was with him. They met me when I arrived.”
“How is she?”
“She’s fine. Or at least, she was.” Evelyn raised her eyes to his. “Marc contacted her this morning. Someone, a member of her network, intercepted a message meant for the advancing German commander near Metz. The Germans have a list of names, all members of the intelligence community here in France.”
Jean-Pierre showed now outward sign of emotion to the statement, but he did reach out to pull a book down and open it, pretending to flip through the pages.
“How many names?”
“Several. I didn’t read the whole list, but what I saw were at least ten.” Evelyn glanced at him under eyelashes. “Marc told Josephine that he thinks the list they intercepted is incomplete. He thinks there are more names than the ones that they have.”
“Why would he think that?”
“Josephine didn’t say.”
Jean-Pierre was silent for a minute, his lips pressed together as he processed that tidbit of information. Then he looked at her.
“Why did you come to tell me this?”
“I wanted to warn you. Your name wasn’t on the portion Josephine received, but I thought you should know you may be compromised. And, of course, Jens’ name was on the list.”
“You need have no fear for young Monsieur Bernard. He is no longer. He has a new name and will be settling in as the new clerk in a small firm in Lyons next week.”
Evelyn looked at him, her eyebrows soaring into her forehead. “Already?”
Jean-Pierre’s lips twisted into smile. “I told you I would take care of him,” he reminded her. “I stand by my word.”
“Yes, but so quickly!”
“After Sedan fell, there was no time to lose. I was lucky that one of the partners in the firm is an associate of mine, and he lost his clerk to the army. Our young friend will be safe enough with him.”
“And if France falls?”
“Don’t you mean when? It’s inevitable, you know. They’re saying the Nazis can be in Paris in a week.” He closed his book and moved further down the row, scanning the bindings absently. “When the government leaves Paris, I shall have to go as well. If there is an armistice, my government will push for an unoccupied zone. If we succeed, our friend will be moved there with all haste.”
Evelyn shook her head. “It’s all a nightmare,” she murmured. “What about you? What if the Germans know about you?”
“It’s highly unlikely, if not impossible,” he replied calmly. “The only name anyone in the field knows is Marcel, and that name doesn’t appear anywhere in Paris.”
Evelyn blinked in confusion. “Nowhere in Paris? Then who does the Deuxième Bureau think you are?”
“Antoine Dubois,” he said with a smile, bowing to her with a flourish. “At your service.”
“I don’t understand. You said your name was Jean-Pierre.”
“And so it is. There are only two men in the Deuxième Bureau who know my true identity. Antoine was created for my position within the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.”
“You’re a spy within your own government?” she asked in disbelief.
“No, not a spy. My identity is protected for other reasons; reasons I cannot divulge even to you.”
“Did you know all this would happen?”
“That Hitler’s armies would get through the Maginot? No. But my superior and I wanted to take every precaution. Now I’m very glad that we did.”
Evelyn was quiet for a moment, her mind spinning. Then she looked at him, her eyes meeting his.
“What will you do if there is no armistice?”
“There must be. We cannot go on like this. Everyone knows it.” He smiled sadly. “And I will continue either way, until I can continue no longer. Just as we all will.”
“I wish I could do more than I am,” she said suddenly, her voice shaking. “I seem to constantly be running away from the fighting, leaving others, you, to struggle alone.”
Jean-Pierre turned to face her, taking both her hands in his.
“Not alone,” he said fiercely, his eyes capturing hers. “There are others, including yourself. You aren’t running away. You’re finishing your mission. You have done what you came here to do. The package you carry back to your government will help continue the fight. It must get out of France, and safely out of reach of the Nazis who want it back. That is your job. Staying here and organizing a resistance is mine.”
Evelyn stared into his eyes and swallowed, nodding. He was right, of course. But it didn’t make it feel any better. She’d left too many people already to their fate. Peder was dead, Anna and Erik were incommunicado in the mountains of Norway, Jens was disappearing into Lyons, Josephine was going to try to create a new identity and life in Marseilles, Marc and Luc were God-knew where doing the same, and now Jean-Pierre would hide in plain sight. All while she went on her merry way back to the relative safety of England.
“You don’t believe me.” He shook his head and tightened his fingers around hers. “I can see it in your eyes. You blame yourself for leaving. Don’t. This is our fight to fight. Yours will come soon enough, but you must be alive to face it.”
“Paris is like a second home to me,” Evelyn whispered. “To see this happen, to know that I should be here...”
“Being in Paris when the Nazis march in will do no good to anyone,” he said bluntly. “You will do more for us by getting that package to London, and then finding a way to help us get information out.”
He broke off suddenly, an arrested look taking over his face.
“What? What is it?”
“I’ve just realized, you’re the answer.”
Evelyn raised her eyebrows. “Answer to what?”
“To how we can get intelligence out of France.”
“Me?”
“Yes. I can set up a resistance network, and gather information in the process, but there is no way to get it out of France. I don’t have a direct link to England and MI6, or so I thought.”
“You want to pass me any information you gather? Well, I certainly don’t mind, but how on earth will we manage that if France is occupied and I can’t get here?”
Jean-Pierre smiled slowly. “You’ll find a way to get here. That’s why you’re here now. Your government will need you here, and once you’re in, you contact me. We’ll make the arrangements then.”
Evelyn pulled her hands away from him and rubbed her forehead, shaking her head as if to clear it.
“It’s true that there has been talk of France being a semi-permanent theatre of operations for me, but once it falls, I can’t guarantee that I will be sent back.”
“They’ll have to send you back. They have no other way of knowing what’s happening, or gaining intelligence to help them win this war. Think about it, Evelyn. It won’t just be you; they’ll send others as well. You’ll be sent to gather intelligence, and I’ll have intelligence that needs to be moved on. I’d rather give it to someone I trust.”
“Me?” She dropped her hand and stared at him. “Why do you trust me?”
He smiled. “Because you’re here now to warn me that I might have been exposed to the Germans on a list being distributed among the advancing commanders.”
She shrugged and rolled her eyes. “All right. There’s that.”
They were silent while she wrestled with the idea of acting as a courier between Jean-Pierre and London. If she was sent back into France after the Germans had taken control, there was no reason not to take information from Jean-Pierre. That wasn’t what had her suddenly feeling as if her world was crumbling around her. The problem was the sudden realization that the next time she was here, France would undoubtedly be under Nazi occupation.
And that thought terrified her.
“How will I contact you? How will I find you?”
She heard herself ask the questions steadily and was inwardly amazed. She felt as if she was shaking like a leaf, but her voice revealed none of her fear or uncertainty. The smile that curved Jean-Pierre’s lips confirmed that he had no idea how petrified she was.
“You can send a message to me at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Use the name Claudette. I’ll know it’s you.”
Evelyn exhaled and nodded. “Very well. If I don’t come back, I’ll arrange something. We’ll find a way to get whatever information you gather to MI6.”
“I know, but I have every confidence that you will be sent back.”
“Why?”
“Because your government would be fools if they didn’t. If I didn’t know, I would never have believed you weren’t a Frenchwoman. Your authenticity will never be questioned by a Frenchman, and if we don’t question you, there is no reason for the Germans to think you’re anything other than French. You, my dear Evelyn, are the perfect spy.”
