Passing through

Chapter 1. Crashed down in the unknown

Gregory doesn't remember how it happened. He remembered flying over a dark forest, on his way through France to Paris, and then he remembered that the plane was diving down in a speed he couldn't imagine. His heart had beaten fast and hard, and now he had woken up by the heat of fire. But he was being dragged. Someone dragged him away from the fire.

He coughed because of the smoke. The one who was dragging him shushed him.

Soon they were hidden in the dark forest, with a dark night sky above them. Gregory got some water the drink. He gladly drank the cold liquid from the bottle. It felt like his throat was burning. It stung when he water hit the inner walls. While he drank he looked at his savior.

It was a man, about his own age or maybe older, who had a shovel on his back. He seemed to have dark brown hair and dirty clothes. The most of him was covered by the shadows.

Gregory was still sitting on the ground, he couldn't feel his legs. But when he hit them with his fists he could feel it, and when he moved them a thousand nails was biting him. He bit his own lip to not scream in pain.

His savior was standing with his back pressed against a tree, looking out over the field they just had left. The airplane Gregory had flew was being eaten my flames out there. He lifted a small flashlight and started it, and then turned it off again, like a sign. Then he sat down beside Gregory to see if he was ok.

He grabbed Gregory's chin and turned his head, first right, then left. Then he pulled his arm to make him stand up. Gregory did so, and the man studied him from top to the bottom, turning him around. He smiled when he was done.

" 'ow do you feel?" He asked with a French accent.

"Terrible, I must say." Gregory answered, making his own British accent very clear. I felt dazed. "Who are you? And where am I?"

"Christophe," He reached out his hand, which Gregory grabbed. "-leader of the Resistance 'ere in Nouvion."

"Nouvion?" Gregory looked around. He had never heard of that place before.

"You are not in ze village yet." Christophe grabbed Gregory's arm. "Follow me. And do not say a word."

Gregory did as he was told. He knew that if he didn't he would regret it sooner or later. They half-ran through the woods, a few other people from the Resistance followed them from behind Gregory saw when he looked behind his back a few times. They entered the village quietly and found their way through the streets without anyone noticing. It was way past curfew and the only thing that was heard was a cat chasing a mouse, and hard footsteps from the patrolling Germans somewhere in the distance.

Gregory had no idea where Christophe was taking him, and he had no idea what he was going to do now. He was supposed to be in the air, on his way to Paris trying to takeout the Germans from there. But he had gotten shot down, he realized now. Luckily he wasn't hurt, and he wasn't so shocked, so it must have worked out pretty well. He knew that if Christophe hadn't taking him away from the burning plane he would be dead by now or maybe even prisoner to the Germans.

They ended up in a backyard, of what Gregory could see, and they entered a house from the back door, locking it behind them. Christophe said to Gregory to stay where he was until he got back. So Gregory waited with the others from the Resistance.

Gregory studied the room, but without light it was hard to see anything. There was a table in the middle, he could see, and cupboards on the wall, and a big clock standing on the floor, reaching up almost two meters of the wall, but it seemed that it had stopped.

When Christophe got back a few minutes later, he was not alone. A small group of people had followed them into the room. Whispering things in French that Gregory didn't understand. Two of them held a lantern in their hands.

Christophe seemed to explain something for them, he didn't even look at Gregory when he came inside. The small group glared at Gregory at times, nodded to Christophe, and asked something. To Gregory it seemed like they were trying to find out what to do.

After a time, Christophe finally turned to Gregory again.

" 'ow many of you was eet?"

"Excuse me?" Gregory didn't understand what he meant and gave him a confused glare.

"W'ere you ze only airman?"

Gregory needed to think if he were the only one that had left England. But then he remembered that they had flown in small groups of two. He shook his head slowly.

"No, there was three more."

"Sheet." Christophe turned around and talked to the others again. Some of them seemed worried, others seemed pretty much emotionless. It felt like they never stopped talking, until one of the other Resistance members told Christophe something that made him look a little worried, he said something more to the group and then turned to Gregory again.

"You must stay 'ere. I weel be back later."

The others from the Resistance opened the door and went outside, very careful to not make any noise, or be seen. Christophe was about to go after them, but Gregory stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"Wait, what about me?"

"Zese guys will take care of you." Christophe answered, ready to go through the door again, but Gregory held him back.

"But I don't understand a word of their language!"

"Stan knows a little English." With that said, Christophe disappeared into the night.

Gregory turned to the group of people he had been left with. They were three men and one woman. All of them seemed unsure about what to do, like someone had giving them a mission without instructions.

One of them stepped forward to greet Gregory. His mouth opened without any words at first, but then, when he inhaled and exhaled slowly, he introduced himself.

"I am Stan Artois." He whispered, almost the same accent as Christophe had. Gregory grabbed his hand.

"Gregory Thorne."

"Zis is Kenneth Dubois." Stan's hand pointed at a tall, blonde man, who lifted his hand in a friendly gesture, but his face didn't seem too happy. But in times like this you have a reason to not show happiness.

"And zis is Wendy Carte-Blanche." He pointed at the only girl, who at least smiled a little when Gregory looked at her. She was looked much younger than the other two men. "And zat's Leopold Labonq. But we, eh…"

Stan searched for the worlds, not used to talk in English. "Ehm, call him Butters."

Gregory just nodded. He didn't know what to say. He had no idea who these people were, if they also were a part of the Resistance, or if they were even willing to help him. And how could they help him? His plane had crashed, his companion was missing, Germans were after him and he didn't know who to trust in this for him unknown country. Well, he thought he could trust Christophe at least. He had saved him from the fire and seemed to want to help him. But he needed to get back to England. He couldn't stay in France, not for long. If he could secretly get in some sort of contact with London he maybe could get saved without having too much trouble. But how could he get in contact with London?

"Come with me." Stan said suddenly to Gregory. Gregory, who woke up from his thinking, did as he was told, he followed Stan pass the others and out through the door the group had come from. They now came out in a bar, behind the disk, Stan showed Gregory they way to another door next to the disk, he opened his and turned the lights on. He waved to show Gregory to follow him down the stairs that were hidden behind that door.

Downstairs they found a storage room, but Stan moved further into the room, where there was a big wardrobe. He grabbed one side of it and pushed with all his strength. The wardrobe moved slowly out of the way, and behind it another door was hidden. Stan knocked four times on it and then opened slowly. He began to talk in French again, with someone that was inside of the small room. Soon Stan gave Gregory a sign to come to the door. And so when Gregory did, he saw another man inside of the room with dark red, curly hair.

"Zis is Kyle Recamier." Gregory and Kyle nodded a small gesture. "He speaks better English than I. He will take care of you in here. I will come back soon. Inside now."

Stan turned around and headed upstairs again. Gregory looked after him as he turned the lights off and closed the door. The whole cellar was now covered in darkness; there was no sign of light anywhere.

Gregory felt a hand grasp around his wrist.

"Come inside." Kyle pulled him inside the small room. The door closed and if possible, even more darkness surrounded them. And then, suddenly Kyle lit a lantern and the small room was bathing in a gloomy light. Kyle put the lantern on the floor, close to the door, and then begun to pick up pillows and blankets that was lying in a corner. Gregory noticed that there a mattress in one corner, with messy covers and hard pillows.

"It isn't much, and it isn't comfortable, but it works in times like these." Kyle said and picked up the last sheets. "Sit or lay down, I'm going to turn the lantern off."

Gregory made his way to sit down in the lonely corner, where there was no mattress. It was cold and hard, like sitting in an empty bathtub. But he couldn't complain, he had no right to.

Kyle moved the lantern, and the turned it off. He moved so he was lying on his mattress in the opposite corner in the small, cold room.

"Who are you?" Gregory asked after a few minutes of thinking.

"I'm someone who needs to be hidden away, just like you." Kyle answered quietly without moving himself.

"You are French."

"I'm Jewish."

"Oh." Gregory felt stupid. He didn't know what to say. Sorry? If that, what was he sorry about? Sorry for Kyle for being Jewish? Sorry that he didn't know he was Jewish? Instead of saying anything he lay leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, and felt how tired his whole body was. But it was hard to relax when you felt like you were somewhere you didn't belong.

Gregory felt a weird feeling in his stomach, almost like vomiting. Maybe he even shed a few tears without noticing. He was young, far away from home, hiding in a cellar with an unknown Jew with Germans searching for him outside. This was not what he was used to, this was a whole new world.

He dragged his knees up to his chin and hugged them tightly.

What could he do now?