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Hans Voss pulled his car to the side of the curb and shut off the engine, glancing at his watch. As he had driven through the city, streams of traffic clogged the road heading in the opposite direction. Mass panic had taken hold, and people were fleeing in droves.
He opened the door and got out of the car, setting his hat on his head firmly. He’d known the Führer was going to invade the Lowlands soon. Everyone knew it. They just hadn’t known when. The Führer had been inordinately quiet about his plans for the Western advance, and Hans doubted whether even the senior generals and Hitler’s own advisors had known when it would begin. Certainly, he had no idea when the might of the German army would move towards France.
Turning, Hans strode down the street towards the hotel located a few yards away. The invasion did cause some serious complications for him. Not only was the city going to be absolute chaos, but with people fleeing in such numbers, it would be almost impossible to find one mystery woman. Even if he did manage to track down the hotel where she was staying, the odds of her still being there were nonexistent. She would flee with all the others if she had any sense. She would know the SS was coming with the army, and she would try to get the package to France, if she hadn’t already. The thought made his lips tighten unpleasantly. This was very likely a waste of time. The woman was probably long gone, if she’d ever been here at all.
Voss entered the lobby of the hotel and looked around at the swarming guests rushing to leave. He shook his head and silently cursed the fates that had ordained the invasion to happen today, of all days. Amidst such chaos, he would be lucky to find an employee to speak with, let alone find out if a specific woman had been staying here. Yet he had to try. There was no other alternative. He had to do whatever was in his power to find the mysterious Marie Fournier.
He made his way to the desk and waited until a harried employee saw him standing there.
“Yes? Can I help?” the man asked, glancing over as he filled out a card for a couple standing before him.
“I’m looking for a friend,” Hans said easily. “We were supposed to meet here in the lobby, but with all of this going on, I don’t even know if she’s still here.”
“What’s the name?”
“Marie Fournier. I’m afraid I don’t know much more than that. We just met last night at a dinner party.” Hans smiled sheepishly. “I’m visiting from Zurich and she very kindly offered to show me the city.”
“I doubt that will happen now,” the man said with a grunt. “If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll look to see if she’s here.”
“Thank you.”
Hans turned to watch the chaos unfolding in the lobby and once again silently cursed the rotten luck that had led Hitler to invade Belgium today. It would take twice as long to check the hotels in this mess, and time was not something that was on his side now. If she was here, the woman would be trying to make her way out of the city even as he searched for her. The only hope he had was that she would also be delayed in making her way out of Brussels, and that just might work in his favor. They were bombing the bridges, trains, airports and roads. The gridlock would only get worse. If she was caught in it as well then he just might have a chance of catching up with her. It wasn’t much of a chance, he admitted, but it might be a chance.
“Fournier, you said?”
Hans turned back to the man behind the desk and saw him flipping through a stack of registration cards.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I don’t see anyone with that name here. Let me check if she’s already paid and left.” The man turned away and went to a stack of cards a few feet away, going through them quickly. When he turned back, Hans knew the answer. She wasn’t here. “I’m sorry. There’s no one here by that name. Are you sure it was this hotel?”
“I thought so, but perhaps I was mistaken. Thank you for your time.”
The man nodded in acknowledgment before turning to help another guest. Hans strode across the lobby, setting his hat back on his head as soon as he stepped outside. One hotel down, about a hundred to go. He turned back toward the car, pulling out his travel guidebook and crossing off the hotel as he walked. Pursing his lips, he ran his eye over the list of likely hotels that he had made the night before after checking several yesterday. He had to narrow this down somehow. There wasn’t enough time to cover all of them. After staring at the list thoughtfully for a second, he closed the book and tucked it back into his coat pocket. He would start with the most expensive hotels. They were fewer in number and he could eliminate them quickly. There was absolutely no reason to think that Marie Fournier would be staying in any of them, but one thing stuck in his mind. Frau Lutz said the woman had been staying at one of the more expensive hotels in Antwerp. As unlikely as it seemed, perhaps that was where he would have the most luck.
And so that was where he would start.
RAF Duxford
Miles strode into the lounge and nodded to one of the new pilots. “Good morning, Sawyer. Are you coming in or going out?”
“I’ve just come down, sir,” the young man said. “The CO took me up.”
“Did he indeed?” Miles clapped him on the shoulder. “Moving up in the world, are you? Before you know it, you’ll be one of us.”
“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!”
Miles chuckled to himself as he walked over to join Rob and Chris in the armchairs near the fireplace.
“Poor sod. He’s that bad?” he asked, seating himself next to Rob.
“He overshot the landing strip last night,” Rob replied with a grin. “When Ashmore heard, he nearly burst a blood vessel. I heard him yelling all the way in here.”
“Good Lord. Is the plane all right?”
“I think so.” Rob went back to his newspaper. “Must be if he took it up again this morning.”
“How exactly does one do that?” Chris wondered, blowing cigarette smoke up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “I don’t think I could overshoot the landing if I tried.”
“No, you just land without wheels,” Rob retorted from behind his paper. “Typical of the Americans. Always wanting to do things the hard way.”
Chris laughed and leaned forward to offer Miles a light as he patted his jacket looking for a lighter.
“Thanks,” he murmured, leaning forward to light his cigarette. “Must’ve left mine in my room.”
“How did we luck out and get the late flight this morning?” Chris asked, sitting back in his chair again. “Not that I’m complaining. It was nice to eat breakfast and then mosey on in here and not have to rush out to the ready.”
Rob lowered his paper slightly and peered over the edge at Chris.
“Mosey?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “When on earth have I ever mosied, Yank? Do I look like a cowboy?”
“Not in the slightest. Have it your way. I mosied. You paraded. Better?”
Miles laughed as Rob sputtered behind his newspaper. “Much better, young Colonial,” he approved. “And I have no idea how we “lucked out,” as you put it. Perhaps Ashmore wanted to give the new chicks a taste of real life.”
“More like he wanted to get them up and down before the fun starts,” Rob said, lowering the newspaper with a rustle and tossing it aside. “What a lot of blasted nonsense. We still don’t know what’s happening with Chamberlain. According to that rag, he’s still hanging on.”
Miles opened his mouth to respond but never got the chance. Slippy rushed into the room, looking around frantically. Spotting them, he barreled across the room to the trio by the fireplace.
“My God!” he gasped, skidding to a stop beside Miles. “They’ve invaded Belgium!”
“What?!” Miles sat straight up, staring at him. “When?”
“Today. This morning. Now.” Slippy looked around, trying to catch his breath. “I ran all the way from the Mess. One of the flight crew sergeants heard it. Where’s the bloody radio?”
“Over there,” Chris said, motioning to the back corner. “For reasons known only to himself, the porter moved it.”
Slippy spun around and strode across the large room to turn on the radio. Miles glanced at Rob and stood up, sliding one hand into his pocket and following, his cigarette between the long fingers of his other hand. Chris jumped up and looked at Rob.
“Aren’t you coming?” he asked.
“And join the parade? I can hear just as well right here, thank you.”
Chris shrugged and followed Miles to where Slippy was already tuning the large, standup radio.
“Where’s Rob?” Miles asked, looking behind him.
“He says he doesn’t want to be part of the circus and he can hear just fine where he is.”
Miles snorted. “He’ll be along soon enough,” he predicted.
“Aha!” Slippy crowed as the static disappeared and the BBC news came through the speaker. “Here it is.”
“This is BBC home service, interrupting with an update to the news. At four o’clock this morning, German forces crossed the borders into Holland, Belgium and Luxembourg, beginning an invasion that is undoubtedly meant to lead them into France. The attack came without warning. The German Luftwaffe led the charge, dropping bombs on bridges, roads, and railway tracks throughout Holland and Belgium. Brussels was hit, as well as airfields and communication centers.” The announcer was solemn and his voice captured the attention of everyone in the room. “German paratroopers were deployed and a fierce battle is underway for Fort Eben-Emael after enemy troops landed inside the Belgian fort. The fort is the most heavily fortified on the Belgian border and its possible capture will deal a huge blow to the Belgian defenses. In Holland, Rotterdam is under attack from both the Luftwaffe and the German Army. The enemy has penetrated as far south as Luxembourg. With the royal family and most of the advisors already in France, Luxembourg is showing little resistance and it is expected that German forces will soon be approaching the French border. As the Luftwaffe bombs Holland and Belgium relentlessly, the Allied forces, led by the British Expeditionary Force, are moving through Belgium to meet the main thrust of the German invasion. Now here is a word from our sponsors.”
Miles stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray sitting on top of the radio and glanced at Chris and Slippy. They were silent for a minute.
“So it’s finally begun.” Rob was the first to break the silence from across the room. He got up and walked over to join the group near the radio. “The little corporal is finally moving to take France.”
“You don’t really think he’ll get there, do you?” Chris demanded. “Your entire army is over there with the French. They’ll hold him back, won’t they?”
“Not our entire Army, Chris,” Miles said quietly. “A chunk of it is still tied up in Norway.”
“So much for the military wisdom of the people who said Hitler didn’t have the resources to fight a war on two fronts,” Rob said. “Apparently he does.”
“If they’ve already taken Eben-Emael, Belgium is in a bad spot.” Slippy patted his pockets, looking for his cigarettes. “Isn’t that their prize defense? Didn’t they say that could never be breached?”
“I don’t think they counted on paratroopers.” Chris held out his cigarette case and Slippy took one with a nod of thanks. “They actually landed inside? Has that ever been done?”
“Not that I’ve heard,” Rob said, shaking his head. “If it’s true, then the fort is already lost.”
“And they’re bombing ahead of the army.” Miles rubbed his eyes and turned to go back to his chair by the fireplace. “It’s what they did in Poland. Blitzkrieg, they call it.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Chris demanded. “I don’t speak Kraut.”
“Lightning war,” Rob told him, turning to follow Miles. “Their air force knocks out all communication and transport lines while their army moves in rapidly behind them under cover of the air power.”
“Air power? Well, can’t we just send fighters up to take care of the bombers?” Chris asked, following.
“I’m sure that’s what our squadrons in France are doing right now,” Miles said, dropping into his armchair. “There aren’t nearly enough of them, though.”
“What about the French air force? They’re there.”
“Yes, but they have outdated airplanes.” Rob rubbed his face. “God I wish I was over there! I’ll back a Spitfire against the 109s any day!”
“Agreed. But we’re not there. We’re here.” Miles stared into the empty hearth. “There’s nothing we can do from here except make sure they don’t cross the channel.”
Chris looked startled. “Do you think it will come to that?”
“What? Them crossing the channel?” Rob lowered his hands and glanced at Chris. “Well you don’t think they’ll get to France and just stop for the wine, do you?”
“But no one’s ever crossed the channel successfully!” Chris pointed out. “Why would they think they can?”
“Allow me to give you a brief lesson in our history, Yank,” Rob drawled. “Someone did indeed cross the channel. It was in 1066 and was led by the Duke of Normandy, also known as William the Conqueror, our first Norman King.”
“Yes, but no one has since,” Chris retorted, waving his hand impatiently.
“Not for lack of trying.” Miles looked up as Slippy joined them. “Isn’t that so, Slippy?”
“The last one to try was Napoleon,” Slippy said with a nod. “He nearly sank his entire fleet before they finally turned back.”
“See? It can’t be done,” Chris said triumphantly. “Even Napoleon couldn’t do it.”
“I’m fairly sure that Hitler has command of better ships than he did,” Miles said dryly.
Chris looked around at the somber faces. “You’re all serious, aren’t you? You really think the Krauts will try to invade England if they take France.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Slippy demanded. “He took Poland. He took Norway. If he can take France, he’d be a fool to stop there.”
“And if he does try, I give you one guess how he’ll do it,” Rob said.
“He’ll send over his Luftwaffe first.” Chris dropped into his chair. “Well hell. I guess we’ll finally get to shoot at some planes.”
Miles choked back a laugh. “Are all Americans like you, Chris?”
“Like me how?”
“Itching for a fight.”
“Well, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you’re not looking forward to meeting the 109s because I know it’s a lie. You want to face them as much as I do.”
“That may be so, Yank, but we’re not quite so blunt about it,” Rob said, pulling out his cigarette case. “It’s our duty, you know. Nothing more.”
“Nothing more, my ass.” Chris scoffed. “I fly with you every day, Ainsworth, so you can leave off the airs and graces and laissez-faire. I know you want a scrap just as much as I do. I guess now we’ll get the chance.”
“Laissez-faire?” Miles raised his eyebrows and looked at Rob. “Is that we’re doing?”
“I haven’t the faintest what the Yank’s going on about,” he answered with a grin. “I’m smoking a cigarette. Nothing lazy about it.”
“Idiot!” Chris said, laughing.
“You know, all this talk about an invasion across the channel is all dependent on the Germans getting through to France,” Slippy said, going back to the original subject. “They’re facing the entire BEF in Belgium, not to mention the French army. The Germans don’t have as many soldiers or artillery as we do. It won’t be easy.”
“Says who?” Miles asked, tilting his head back and peering up at him.
“Well...them. The people who say.”
“The same people who said Hitler would never attack Norway,” Rob said, rolling his head sideways to send Miles a knowing look.
“Yes. The same people, I daresay, that said Hitler couldn’t fight a war on two fronts,” Miles agreed with a nod. “Yet here we are. I’m afraid I don’t think much to their general wisdom.”
“To be completely fair, I don’t think you can really call Norway a front anymore,” Chris interjected. “The Germans just about have the whole country now. It’s only the northern pocket that’s holding out.”
“Nonetheless, they have troops tied up there.” Miles shook his head and looked at his watch. Getting to his feet, he stretched. “I’m going back to my room for my lighter before we have to go out to the dispersal hut. Before I do, I’ll just say this. I don’t think the little Corporal would have attacked the West if he didn’t have something up his little sleeve. Hitler is a lot of things, but I don’t think stupid is one of them. If he’s going after France, he knows something we don’t.”
“Like what?”
“Like how to get past our BEF and the French army.” Miles turned to leave. “And we have a Prime Minister who wants to make deals with him and broker peace. God help them, and God help us.”
