Chapter One
Welcome To Fortress Europe
April 30, 1943
02:00 hours GMT
Somewhere over the South of France
A lone American C-47 transport aircraft bearing the markings of the United States Army Air Corps flew in the dark of night just under the German Radar ceiling. It had followed a squadron of British Lancaster Bombers out of England to mask its departure then dropped to the deck while the German radar was concentrating on the bomber formation. Thus far it had remained undetected as the Luftwaffe night fighters were more interested in the British night bombing raids in Northern France.
Other than the pilot, copilot, and warrant officer, the plane was carrying only cargo packaged for air drop and three men. Captain Richard Castle United States Army Air Corps, (and an agent of the O.S.S.) Lieutenant Javier Esposito and Lieutenant Kevin Ryan, both Paratroopers with the newly formed 82nd Airborne division.
When they reached their scheduled air drop zone for the cargo, the warrant officer opened the side hatch and dispensed the cargo pods out into the night. Now came the hazardous part, the slow climb to the minimum safe parachute drop ceiling which would, unfortunately place them in the cross hairs of enemy radar.
When the green light came on, the warrant officer stood and shouted over the noise of the engines.
"Stand up!"
Castle and his two men stood and grasped the hooks for their chutes.
"Hook Up!"
They affixed the hooks to the static line and made a final check of each others gear in preparation for the next command.
"Go...go...go!"
All three men jumped out the door of the aircraft one at a time, the static line pulling their chutes open as they headed for the drop zone. Almost immediately, the pilot banked hard, away from the drop zone, sending the signal to the British Royal Navy Cruiser in the Channel that the drop had been successfully made before descending for the deck to get back below German Radar.
They were too late.
A German BF110 G night fighter had detected them and went in for the kill. Opening up from the transport's six o'clock with it's two 20 mm cannon the slow, poorly maneuverable unarmed transport never stood a chance. Castle noted the explosion in the night sky as he drifted toward the ground.
He'd known the man in the pilot seat, Captain Damien Westlake since boarding school, they had joined the Army Air Corps together on Dec 9th 1941 and had only caught up with each other again recently. Castle had actually recommended him for this assignment and now he wished he hadn't.
If he survived the mission and made it home, he knew he would need to go and visit his mother and his wife to deliver his condolences. Until then there was no time for his sorrows, he and his men had a mission to complete, and French resistance fighters to train. Not to mention the ground was closing in on him. In his last act among the living, his Damien had dropped them and their cargo precisely on their intended drop zone. A perfect, textbook drop, just as they had rehearsed it in training three weeks ago. As soon as they had collected and buried their parachutes and drop gear the three of them set about collecting weapons containers holding M-1 Garand rifles and Browning automatic rifles and their assorted ammunition and depositing them in the agreed upon location.
Half an hour later a woman's voice quietly sang out through the darkness in French.
"Voulez-vous danser avec moi?" (would you like to dance with me?)
Castle gave the coded response.
"J'aimerais danser avec vous, madame." (I would love to dance with you, madam)
A tall woman of slender build, dressed in dark clothing emerged from the shadows, A German MP-40 in her hands, four Frenchmen carrying various German and military and civilian hunting rifles behind her. She whispered something to one of them in rapid fire French and the man melted back into the forest, presumably to fetch a truck for the munitions.
Castle once again turned toward the woman and asked her the question he had been dying to since she first announced herself.
"I assume you're the resistance leader named Yvette? You don't sound French."
"How did you..." she started to ask, but he had anticipated the question.
"Your dialect is more South of France by way of New York City, but with no trace of bridge and tunnel, that means Manhattan."
She was irritated that he had found her out so quickly, but with the cat out of the bag she may as well be honest with him. When the truck returned and the men with her set to work, she told him the truth.
"Kate Beckett, welcome to 'Fortress Europe'" she whispered.
"Captain Richard Castle, OSS, at your service." he whispered obligingly. Offering his hand, and kissed hers when she took it.
Kate rolled her eyes at him, chewing on her lower lip over his overly romantic gesture in the middle of the woods in German occupied France, but there was something about the man's boyish charm she liked, something that set him apart from the angry, bitter Frenchmen she had been associated with since joining the Maquis. Several of whom had tried to woo her and take her to bed, but none had managed it. She was fixated on the goal of a free France.
The Nazis had murdered her mother, shot her in the middle of the street...and she was going to make them pay.