Author's note: One thing I noticed in Volume 3 is it took some time to get the actual plot started. So I'm introducing the plot right off the bat here. Renton didn't just travel to Russia in his youth; he traveled throughout Europe. And he made friends elsewhere as well, as you'll see here. The real plot kicks off now. Hope you enjoy the new characters. Also, if ever there was a time to review, it'd be now. The first three chapters were just a prelude, and now we're getting into the thick of it. Enjoy, and until next Monday.
Chapter Four
September 4th, 1943
Somewhere in Normandy, France
In the basement of a dark and depressing farmhouse on the edge of a dark and depressing town in an occupied country, a partisan was being hunted.
The basement was flooded, and the water sloshed with each step the partisan took. Why the hell didn't he think to wear boots today? It was bad enough he had to escape from what must have been an entire company of Germans just to retrieve some "intelligence." What was so important about a bunch of maps and dispatches anyway? All he knew was some British officer in the SAS1 was dying to get his hands on it. One task of a Resistance member was to gather intelligence on the enemy; so was their mission here.
He checked his ammunition, and saw his "liberated" Kar98k was empty. He feared for sure he had spent a clip in a firefight getting here, and forgot to reload. There would be time before the next encounter with the Germans, he thought. There had to be. Nothing was worse than going into battle with an empty rifle.
A loud metallic clatter from outside caused him to dart to the wall, clinging to it like glue. Voices followed. Deep voices. As a silhouette passed by a window leading to the outside, he was reminded yet again of who was hunting him.
"Es ist du, Klutz, Schumann2!"
"Es tut mir leid. Ich habe es nicht dort zu gesehen, und es fiel3."
The brief conversation gave way to heavy footsteps. It sounded like at least a squad of Germans was searching the place. He had to rejoin his comrades and reach the safe house quickly. The partisan wasted no time in heading around the basement until he found a rickety staircase. Each step creaked ominously as he made his way up, searching for his comrades. They had to be in here. They just had to.
Missions like this were all too common for him and the others, as it was not long after the German occupation began that people cried for resistance. The call soon reached those in his small village, and a small band of warriors began to form. Many of his brothers and sisters-in-arms were childhood friends and neighbors he had known all his life. People who grew up with him and had come to love him, just as he loved all of them. Yet even amongst their merry band of rogues and outlaws, there was one face missing.
Long ago, before war plighted the continent and plunged his country into darkness, a young American and his father came from across the sea, desiring to see the world. He stayed in their small farming village for four weeks, and forging friendships that none of them had forgotten. To be sure, the American had not forgotten them either, as he wrote to them constantly, and with only increased frequency after the defeat of France. In every letter he expressed his willingness to come across and fight with them to take back their stolen homeland. But always and every time, he and the others wrote back the same message:
Wait.
The time will come.
It is not yet that time.
As he turned a corner, the partisan reached into his jacket pocket, searching for something. Crumpled in his hand and torn around the edges was the latest letter from the American he and the others remembered so fondly.
31st August, 1943
Dear Charles,
I write to you again with only a few days left in my summer vacation, before I have to return to school for another year. How is everyone in your motley crew? Jacques has kept me in the dark about most of your endeavors, understandably so, but I still wish to know what may be happening with you all. Is it possible you can give me at least a small clue of what is happening? Do you at least have some new faces in your town? How I wish to see it again.
Things are quiet here in my town, with the Zoot Suit riots finally past. All eyes now are in a newspaper, and all ears close to a radio for the latest news in this war. Hopefully there will come an opportunity to bring a speedy victory. However, my friends and family are in agreement that such an event may not come to pass in what remains of this year. The Russians are only starting to drive back the Germans. Your country and much of Europe is still conquered. Japan still fights on tenaciously.
My friend, if there is anything that I can do to help you and your comrades in your cause, even if it is only in the slightest, I will not hesitate. Please write me back with anything and everything that can be of assistance to you. One of my friends works as a volunteer with the U.S. Army. If you give me some information, I can pass it on to him, and maybe something will happen to benefit you. All it takes is one person to make a difference, as I have learned from you, Jacques, Ray, and the others.
Please keep safe, and always be well, Charles.
Your friend in this life and the next,
Renton
The partisan, Charles, smiled and laughed quietly at the letter. Time had not changed Renton's unbridled commitment to his friends. Normally one would see a boy forget his past connections as he grew into a man, and put away so-called "childish things." Yet now, after more than five years, he still remembered them all with such fondness. He would have to write him once this battle was over. There may still be a time when his band of partisans will have need of him, but not yet. After this operation, maybe the time will not be far off.
Charles came upon an ajar door, and opened it, finding what used to be a bedroom. The wooden bed frame had been chipped and nicked all over, with the main frame rotting away like the flesh from a corpse. Whoever once lived in this house had long removed the mattress along with any bed sheets and pillows. On the opposite side of the room stood a wide chest of drawers and a mirror mounted on the wall. It was a rare moment to glimpse at just how much war had changed him in three years.
He was very athletic in build for someone just entering his twenties, with broad shoulders and muscular arms hidden under his dress shirt and maroon jacket. Across one shoulder he carried his canvas satchel filled with all necessary supplies, and across another his canteen. His matching trousers were buckled by an ammunition belt, scavenged long ago from a dead German. It was always in the best interest of a partisan to use enemy weapons, as they were never in short supply, especially in battle. His light brown hair was all tangled and disheveled, from weeks of camping in the forests to avoid German patrols. Likewise, his face had grown stubbly around his chin and his sideburns had grown longer. His bright blue eyes looked on at his reflection disapprovingly.
When this operation was over, and when they returned home to refit, he needed a good bath and a shave.
Not wanting to waste more time, Charles continued on out of the bedroom and through a door, leading into what he could only guess was a spare room, as there was very little in this small space except for a caved in floor. He took note to skirt around the large hole by sticking to the walls, a choice that proved wise as he heard a small band of Germans come in and search the floor below him.
"Hast du etwas gefunden4?"
"Nein, habe ich nicht. Sie müssen diesen Platz vor langer Zeit verlassen haben5."
"Weiter suchen! Wir können nicht zulassen, dass diese Versendungen in die Hände der Alliierten fallen6."
He could barely understand German, but he knew enough to know that whatever documents he stole must be really important for them to get back. All the more reason for him to get back to his comrades and meet up with the SAS officer. Taking note not to alert the patrol, he found a door leading into the hallway, and conveniently enough, another door right opposite him. Well, he had come this far, he thought. Best check this room as well.
No sooner had he slid the door slightly open when a flock of frightened pigeons flew out of the room, and up through a hole in the ceiling out into the cloudy sky. It had rained earlier that day, and Charles was not keen on getting wet again. He took another step in and suddenly felt something grab his arm.
He thought for sure he was dead. A German must have been waiting for him in the room, and he struggled with the unidentified hand for a moment. The hand forced his Kar98k down, and another hand produced a Luger pistol and aimed at him. However, a voice followed that was immediately familiar to Charles.
"DROP IT!"
Charles looked to his right where the voice came from, and found its owner. A tall and stunningly attractive girl in her late teens with long jet black hair and grass green eyes. Underneath a maroon coat the woman wore a white turtleneck sweater and matching trousers tucked into the black boots. An ammunition belt was strung around the waist of the coat, though her preferred weapon of choice, an MP40, was slung around behind her. On the sleeve of her coat she wore a resistance armband, displaying the flag of France with the Cross of Lorraine superimposed in the center. Her hair was covered on top by a red beret with a white pompom. It was somewhat gaudy, but it proved effective in battle as a means of identification. The girl's green eyes softened at the sight of her comrade.
"Charles…"
"Bonjour, Ray," Charles greeted with a smirk.
"Merde7, Charles," she sighed in relief, "I almost shot you in the face…"
Ray lowered her pistol and holstered it before quickly closing the door behind Charles. Ray was one of Charles' friends from his village, and in the time it took to fight the Germans, their bond became more. Some jokingly called them a "battle couple," although it wasn't uncommon among partisans. They caught their breath for a moment before finally speaking to each other. It felt like ages since they had last seen each other, even though it was only a mere several hours.
"Did you lose your tail?"
"Oui. The Bosches8 are looking around the bottom floor of the house, but they think we left a long time ago."
"Bien, bien…"
Ray leaned against the wall and sighed heavily, sliding down slowly. Charles joined her on the floor, sharing feelings that were in desperately short supply. He pulled out his canteen and offered a drink, which she gladly took. He didn't mind if it was stained by her lips. All that mattered to him was he finally found a comrade, and the closest one of all to him.
"When did you get here?" he asked quietly.
"Couple hours ago. What about you?"
"…Ten minutes ago," he admitted ashamedly. "Sorry for making you wait."
"Not your fault."
"Damn right, it is! I stirred up a hornet's nest at that command center."
"You didn't; the scout did. If you took him down quicker, half the German Army wouldn't be searching for us."
Ray handed Charles back his canteen, which he gladly took. All this running and hiding worked up quite a thirst in him. He wondered, though, just how long they could keep a low profile. Everyone was getting antsy, and no one was wishing to postpone the day of liberation. While the Allies pondered and planned when and where to open the desired "second front," he, Ray, Jacques and many others in their section simply twiddled their thumbs. Securing intelligence. Relaying codes. However with each successive operation, the men grew bolder, anxious to get some action and deliver vengeance upon their hated enemy and occupier.
"I screwed up royally this time," Charles lamented.
"Maybe, but you're still my screw up."
Charles laughed.
"Merci, chérie9."
The two partisans shared a soft, passionate kiss. Something he had not had from her in a while. Her lips tasted slightly of fine Parisian wine. Ray had a reputation of constantly "liberating" wine cellars to share with her fellow partisans. Both suddenly felt hot even though the last vestiges of summer were fading. Charles' hands reached for her coat, seeking to relieve her of her fever while her hands likewise went for his jacket. Before the kiss could turn into something more, the two heard footsteps.
It was soft at first, but hurried. They emanated from behind a door leading down a small corridor to the outside, and grew closer and louder with each passing minute. Fearing the Germans may have found them, Charles and Ray broke apart from their kiss and gathered their weapons. Charles remembered to load a new clip into the chamber this time, and readied to meet whatever was behind the door. The door eased open, and both partisans aimed their weapons, but the man who stepped out was another familiar face.
He was young for a partisan, only in his late teens with an average build. He had a full head of black hair that almost looked indigo in the early morning light. Brown eyes cut through the dim room, eyeing them both with expectancy. The boy wore a navy blue jacket over a white dress shirt and matching pants, around which was wrapped a leather brown ammunition belt. On his back was a radio, vital for communication with others in his section. His weapon of choice was a Lee-Enfield bolt-action rifle, a British model oft-dropped to resistance forces all over Europe. They all knew each other; the boy was their de facto commander, and another long-time friend from their home village.
"Ease up, you two!" the commander said sternly. "Where the hell have you been?"
"I could ask you the same, Jacques," Ray spoke. "I've been here for more than two hours!"
The commander, Jacques, sighed tiredly, hinting at some dastardly business that had kept him.
"I ran into some trouble on the way here. Had to make a detour. How could you have been here for so long?"
"After the firefight at the command center went sideways, I came straight here."
"The Germans were hounding me so it took some time for me to lose them. I only just got here."
"They were SS10, right?" Ray asked, somewhat frantically. "One second they're there, the next they're not?"
"Deep breaths, Ray," Jacques told her calmingly before turning to Charles. "Tell me you still have the documents."
Charles checked his satchel, as that was where he last remembered placing it. His hand searched through the various contents of the bag, and felt a folder with papers still inside.
"Yes, I've got it."
"Nicely done, Charles."
Jacques made his way across the room and looked out the windows. The once dark clouds that covered the sky were breaking, allowing the morning sun to shine through. How much time had passed since the raid on the command center? They needed to move.
"Merde," Jacques cursed, "it's already daylight. We need to link up with Captain Doyle. Do either of you know where Sakuya is?"
Charles and Ray looked at each other uncertainly. Sakuya was another member of their band, but unlike all of them, she was not a native of the village (or of the country for that matter) and had only been a Resistance member for little over six months. She was prone to getting trapped in messy situations, and it seemed her lot, as she was caught studying abroad in Paris when the Germans first invaded. Despite her Japanese origin, she found acceptance amongst the men and women of the partisans.
"I thought she was with you," Ray replied.
A moment of silence passed, and all knew what would come next. Jacques grabbed the radio and spoke into the handset.
"Sakuya, this is Jacques. What's your status? Over."
A brief intermission of static followed, and what sounded like fumbling was heard on the other end. Soon the static was replaced with a feminine voice, speaking in hesitant, frantic French.
"I'm inbound to the safe house from the west…but the Germans are all over me…need cover fire…on my retreat, over."
"Understood, Sakuya. We got you, over."
Jacques spun his head around to his two comrades.
"Both of you, ready your weapons! Sakuya needs cover fire!"
Charles and Ray quickly got up to the windows, removing some of the plywood boarded up. The windows revealed what was outside: a small town lane leading outward and north to the coast. Across from the farmhouse were two small stores, barely two stories tall, looking better placed on a small model train layout than in an actual town. A German Opel Blitz transport truck was parked on the side of the road opposite a bakery with two more cars parked in front of it. To a civilian, it was a normal scene of a country under occupation. To the trained eyes of the partisans, they provided cover and hiding places. From what direction would Sakuya come from? One had to be unpredictable and surprising if one was to survive being gunned down by German soldiers.
"Hold your fire!" Sakuya called over the radio. "I'm coming out!"
From a corner building where the lane intersected a wide alleyway, a young woman with black hair tied back in a double bun in a white dress with green accents jumped out of a window, and onto the street. Unfortunately for her, she landed right near a German shepherd, commonly used by the enemy to sniff out bombs and partisans. The dog leapt out at her as a few civilians near her scattered and ran away in panic, but Sakuya was quick and shot the dog point blank with a pistol. Once the dog was dead, Sakuya rushed to take cover behind the abandoned truck. Jacques called out targets approaching.
"German troops coming in! Target the corner building across the way!"
Sure enough, all three saw the field grey uniforms of the Wehrmacht darting through the corner building to engage their retreating foe. Charles quickly picked a target as he darted to the window, and fired. The shot broke a window, but didn't connect with the target, who returned fire at Sakuya, still hiding behind the truck. Charles shifted the bolt while Ray, now armed with her MP40, leaned out from behind the windowpane and took her chances.
She fired off four rounds, which succeeded in wounding one German, standing near the corner window, but did not kill him. Charles finished the job with one single shot from his Kar98k, blasting a hole through the German's helmet, knocking him dead. Both now shifted fire to the last German in the building, peeking out through a window facing the lane. Ray waited for the right moment when his body was exposed, and fired. It only took five rounds to bring down the enemy in a dying cry of pain.
It seemed like the worst was over, but then Charles spotted two Germans, clad in camouflage uniforms, charging down the alleyway towards the truck. He acted quickly and put down one as he was making for a metal barrel with a shot to the chest. The German fell face-first onto the pavement while the other detoured to the left, heading for a side door leading to the bakery. Ray stopped whatever hopes he had with the last rounds of her magazine, knocking him on his back and blood slowly staining the alleyway.
Jacques spotted movement on the other side of the bakery, where a small park with two large cypresses stood. He brought his Lee-Enfield up to his shoulder and aimed it, seeing there were three more enemies hoping to flank around and finish Sakuya. A quick rifle shot followed from a camouflage-wearing German at the rear of the pack, and almost grazed his cheek before quickly ducking behind the windowpane.
"Base of fire, shift left! Got three more coming in; cut them down!"
Ray was busy reloading her MP40, but it did not mean Charles would stop. He swung the muzzle of his rifle around, and saw a trio of Germans rushing out from the park, heading towards two cars parked in front of the truck. Following the rear German with his rifle, he watched as he darted behind a clay wall at the edge of the park, covering his two comrades as they made for the cars. He squeezed the trigger slowly just as he poked his head out from behind the wall, and killed him, his helmet flying off his head in a haphazard spin. Ray picked up the slack as she fired at the two cars, intending to suppress the remaining Germans and give Sakuya an avenue of escape.
Sakuya was not slow to make her way for the farmhouse, and sprinted from the truck across the street. However, even the threat of suppressive fire was not enough to deter one soldier from taking his chances and leaning out from behind the car's front hood to fire at Sakuya. Jacques took that opportunity to score his first kill in the firefight, as the round connected with the German through the stomach, and sent him careening over sideways in a fit of agony. Another German tried to make a break for it, hoping to catch Sakuya before she reached the house. Thankfully for her, however, Charles was quick on his finger and landed the final kill just as Sakuya hit the other end of the street.
"Sakuya, get up here now!" Jacques commanded.
"See any more Bosches?" Ray asked.
"I think we got them all. We're clear."
Their saved comrade jumped up on a stack of crates, hoping to reach the row of windows on the second floor and join her fellow partisans. Charles and Ray were quick to give Sakuya a helping hand, pulling her up the wall and in through the windows.
"Sakuya, ça va11?" Charles asked.
"Ça va bien," Sakuya breathed, relieved to be reunited and alive. "Merci à vous12."
"We have to go now," Jacques reminded them all. "Let's not keep Captain Doyle waiting."
"I sure hope these documents are worth it."
"If it means we get a cross-channel invasion, Sakuya, it's worth everything in the world."
That knowledge was enough for all of them, as they quickly left for the building, and made for the coast. There they would meet up with the SAS officer, and present him with the documents the Allies so desperately needed. It would be some time yet before deliverance came to them all. Soon the greatest invasion in history would be set in motion. And everyone, even their dear friend from across the oceans, would have their part to play.
4th September, 1943
Dear Renton,
If Jacques found out that I was writing you this, he'd tear my head off. I am trusting you to keep this information quiet, and tell as few people as you can. Today, we raided a German command center in a town south of our village, and found some crucial documents, containing information about the defense of the French coast. Fritz always likes to boast about how his Atlantic Wall is impenetrable. Well, we may have finally got one over on him.
After raiding the command center, we handed off the defense plans to a British special agent. All he could say to us was the hour of deliverance is coming. There may be a day when the Allies finally liberate Europe. Until then, we are to be patient, and continue to gather and pass on any intelligence we may find. Between you and me, however, my friends and comrades are all getting antsy. Is it any surprise? We've been under occupation for more than three years. The people yearn for freedom. To say we should be cautious and patient does little to snuff out the fire in people's hearts. I always say to Jacques that caution is nothing without charisma.
The raid also provided ample training ground for a newly inducted member of our group. Unlike us, who all grew up together and know each other, this girl is completely foreign to us and to our country. Her name is Sakuya Kobayashi. Strange that a Japanese woman is fighting with French, isn't it? Truth is she is as much a misfit as any of us; she has lived in France for more than three years now, as she was studying abroad in Paris the day of the German invasion. She's been with us for half a year now, after travelling the countryside and trying to find a way out, only to know there was none.
Mon ami, there will come a day when we may have need of you, but that day is not here yet. I will not say more about when, but all I can say is keep a close ear to your radio, and always listen. A great Allied operation may soon come. The chance for deliverance is approaching. Until that happens, however, leave us to do our work. You will know for yourself when the time is right to come back. And when you do, come look for us in our old village. You can't have forgotten it, surely? The same place where you, I, Ray, Jacques and many others played in happier, sunnier days.
Best wishes to you and your family,
Charles
»»»»»
July 3rd, 1938
St. Come-du-Mont, France
To Renton, there was something refreshingly nostalgic about the village. Most of the houses were barely three stories tall, and there was not a single factory for miles. Practically all the inhabitants were farmers, much like he and his father were not long ago. Before the downturn. Before his mother's death. Before the farmhouse was lost, and his family moved to better more fortunate places.
It was a warm, sunny day as Renton slowly wandered around the village, looking for his friends. The children had welcomed the little foreigner, as they rarely received travelers from anywhere, much less America. The people greeted him as took their harvests to market, either by hand or by carriage. A baker smiled and offered a free sample of some artisan bread baked only that morning. Renton was all too happy to take it before heading towards a small stone bridge that crossed a gentle stream. It was a popular spot for the children in the summer, as the weather grew devilishly hot and left everyone desperate for a cool swim.
Sure enough, he spotted two children playing near the bridge along the riverbank. One was a boy, slightly older than Renton, holding a large wooden toy boat in his hands while the other, a girl, steadied herself near the edge of the bank. One false move and she could slip and fall into the river. It'd be a shame too, as the girl was wearing a lovely white dress with scarlet accents.
Renton looked on with temptation as the older kids continued playing at the river bank. It had been a while since he spent time playing with other children. It seemed like fun, Renton thought to himself. He walked over, slowly, wishing to get a fun surprise on the two of them. However the boy spotted him out of the corner of his eye.
"Hé, tout-petit13!" shouted the older boy with the toy boat.
"Bonjour, Charles," Renton greeted. "What are you up to today?"
"Just the usual, you know," Charles replied. "Spending time with Ray here. She wanted to come here to play."
"Were you thinking of taking a swim?"
"Perhaps. Why? You thinking of taking a swim, mon ami?"
"Perfect weather for it," Renton noted, wiping some excess sweat from his brow.
"What about me?" Ray protested. "I'd have to go all the way back home to get some decent swimming clothes."
Renton and Charles looked at each other momentarily before they smiled. Charles in particular had a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Or...you could just dive in."
"J-Just...dive in!?" Ray asked, wide eyed as she backed away slowly.
Unfortunately for her, Ray was standing right near the edge of the riverbank. With another step back, Ray slipped and fell over backwards into the river with a loud splash, dress and all. Charles and Renton laughed in spite of themselves as Ray swam up, soaked through to the skin.
"Charles, you owe me a new dress!" Ray shouted as she began to chase after the boys.
Thanks to her speed, Ray was able to push both Renton and Charles down into the river as well. She smiled triumphantly as if she had overcome some great obstacle.
"That's what you get for ruining a woman's clothing."
Now that all three were soaked through in their clothes, Renton desperately called down for Ray to join them, since, as he put it, they were all even. Charles tempted her too, floating his wooden boat along the water, taking care to catch it when the river's current took it too far. With a wide grin, Ray at last relented and joined her friends in the cold wet fun of the river.
For a while, they simply played as any child would. Throwing water at each other, pushing the toy boat along, and occasionally trying to see who could hold their breath underwater the longest. All with a smile on their faces despite not being in the proper attire for swimming. Renton in particular enjoyed the aquatic antics, trying to show off how well he could swim. Each and every time, Charles topped him by swimming faster, farther. Somehow, Renton was able to endure, despite many losses.
"You get any swimming where you live, my friend?" Charles asked.
"Some," Renton replied, panting. "I live near a beach in California. Everyone in my town goes there when they need to swim. What about you lot? Any beaches?"
"There is the Pas de Calais, but it's too far away for me and Ray."
"I prefer the coastline here," Ray spoke, wringing some water from her black hair. "It's quieter, and it's not too long a journey for us. Jacques is taking us there tomorrow. Why don't you come, Renton?"
"Really?" Renton asked, hesitantly, "Is it really okay for me to join? Does Jacques approve of it?"
"Why wouldn't he?" Charles laughed. "You're his friend, too, you know!"
At that, Charles jokingly splashed some water in Renton's face.
"You're right," Renton laughed as he wiped some water off his face. "Once we get there, I will beat you!"
"I'd pay money to see that," Ray joked. "Nobody beats Charles at swimming."
"Well, we'll have to change that soon, won't we, Charles?" Renton asked with a confident smirk in his face.
Charles grinned and slapped Renton on the shoulder as they made their way to the riverbank. He wasn't about to lose a challenge.
"If you beat me in swimming, tomorrow, mon ami, I'll pay for your dinner!"
"I'll hold you to that, Charles. You'll pay for my dinner, and if you win..."
"I go out on a date with Ray!"
Ray's eyes bulged out of her head in utter shock at that statement. Of course she and Charles were friends, but to contemplate something like a date was a whole other ball game. Ray tried her best to dissuade the two boys from agreeing on the bet.
"What?!" Ray exclaimed in shock.
"Deal," Renton confirmed. "The winner goes out with Ray."
"A d-date!?" she stuttered. "Now, wait a minute! Don't I get a say in this?!"
Alas, it was too late, and the pact was made. Not that she was terribly averse to the idea, but still she was soaked in shock as well as in water. After much playtime and as their hands shriveled up like prunes from the water, the three youngsters finally climbed out of the river, taking care to leave nothing behind. They had a lot of explaining to do to their parents, and their clothes may take hours to dry, but none of that mattered in the moment. They were all just happy and free. For a first time in what felt like a long time, Renton finally felt happy and free.
»»»»»
December 31st, 1943
While winter had come, the weather was surprisingly mild. It wasn't unusual in Normandy, especially the lower part of Normandy, for the rain and wind to accompany winters rather than snow and ice. It made for good weather to hide in, as the grounds proved difficult for German tanks to traverse and allowed for easier camping. It wasn't uncommon for partisans to spend months away from their homes, if not years, simply to avoid detection. The life of an outlaw had its drawbacks, but the potential rewards that would come from ultimate victory were more than worth any hardship endured.
The partisans camped out in a small woodlot, some distance from the village they all hailed from. It was a favored hiding spot for its distance and its inaccessibility. The only way to enter the forest from the village was through a swampy river runoff, making movement difficult. For more than three years they had escaped German detection and planned their various attacks unmolested in this forest. With the coming of the New Year, spirits were high amongst the men and women, and rumors were circulating fast of a possible second front at last being opened.
In the east, the Soviets beat back the German offensive at Kursk, and since then the Germans were in headlong retreat, unable to hold back the tide of the Red Army. One city after another was reclaimed for the Soviet Union. On October 2nd, Smolensk was liberated and on November 13th, Kiev. The Crimean Peninsula and all of southern Ukraine was next, with the Soviets racing towards the Sevastopol and Odessa.
In the West, Italy was collapsing under the weight of an Anglo-Allied invasion. Italy had formally surrendered in early September, but had caused a civil war between supporters of the monarchy and the supporters of Mussolini. Even now, the Germans were digging in a defensive line north of Naples, commonly called the Gustav Line, to stop the Allied advance towards Rome. It would be a long time in coming before Rome would see liberation.
For many, it was at last a sign of hope after years of darkness and despair. Perhaps now the moment of the cross-channel invasion was not far off. Perhaps 1944 would see the final blow wrought upon Germany, and…God willing…an end to the war that had cost so many so much.
It was a hauntingly quiet night out for a campfire in the woods. However, it was such a peaceful night out as well. At least it seemed like it to Ray as her light green eyes sparkled with the light of the flames. Watching the flames with her were two other comrades, Charles and Jacques. Sakuya, the Japanese expatriate, was subject to a bombardment of questions from younger partisans about her life in Japan before the war, and was quick to join the trio.
With a heaving sigh, she plopped down onto a log, releasing her black hair from the double bun she had kept it in, spilling over her shoulders like some great landslide. Her brown eyes were lost in the flames as Jacques, resting one foot on the log, looked over to her and offered a cigarette.
"No, thank you," Sakuya refused politely in her hesitant French. "I don't smoke. Terrible for the skin, you know."
Jacques shrugged and simply lit the cigarette for himself while Sakuya recounted what felt like a trauma with the other, younger recruits.
"The children never have any shortage of questions. It's a shame, though."
"Por quoi?" asked Charles.
"They still think of my country as 'the enemy.'"
"Why is that?" Ray asked, her voice colored with curiosity.
"Do you so easily forget about the war, Ray?" Jacques asked with some note of scorn.
Ray glared at Jacques and said,
"I'm very well aware of the war. Why don't you ask my younger sister and mother who were slaughtered by those damned hooligans?"
Ray softened, coming to realize that she was still on edge. She looked down at the flames again, trying to calm herself. This was not a place nor a time to quarrel, especially with her commanding officer.
"Je suis désolé14."
"I think what Jacques means, mon cher," Charles spoke in an attempt to brighten Ray's spirits, "is it's not just Germany we're fighting. It's Japan as well."
"I know.""
It had been a very long time since Ray had ever raised her voice at anyone before. She cursed at herself, as she had promised Charles that, for as long as this war lasted, she would try and stay positive. She was suppose to enjoy this camping spot for as long as she could.
"So, Sakuya," Ray asked, "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
Sakuya looked into the flames for a moment, as if the answer weighed heavily on her heart. Perhaps hinting at some greater woe for her across the vast oceans and on the other side of the world.
"One brother," she whispered. "He's a soldier serving in China."
"How old is he?"
"He'll be 22, come next year."
"So you're the family's baby?" Ray said with a giggle. "How old are you now, Sakuya?"
"17."
"Then you really are a baby!"
Jacques rustled Sakuya's hair the way a father would his son's, as he took another puff from his cigarette.
"She's certainly the baby in our family!"
Ray and Charles laughed at that remark. It was touching and amusing, because it was so true. Out of everyone in their band of outlaws, Sakuya was the youngest to join in their ranks, and joined the earliest, having been a member for only less than a year. How she came to join them all was a feat in itself. Charles spoke next, asking something that had bothered him greatly about her.
"How did you manage to find us anyway and join our struggle?"
"I came here originally to study in Paris," Sakuya recounted. "War in Europe was not on my parents' list of concerns, so we were all caught off-guard when the Germans came. I fled the city like many others…but I couldn't find a port to take me home. Japan had invaded French Indochina, and now I was lost in a country that was supposed to be my enemy."
"You are not Japanese, Sakuya," Jacques reassured her. "Not to us, anyway. Here, we are all brothers and sisters. France will always be your home."
Sakuya smiled fondly at Jacques, to whom she was indebted to. Had it not been for him, she would not even be with them all, and probably still wandering the countryside looking for a way out.
"Merci."
"I really miss these kinds of moments with you all," Ray said quietly. "I wish the war was over already."
"If we get a second front, Ray," Jacques replied with another puff on his cigarette, "it'll be over soon enough."
"I know it won't be easy. I've just…had enough of the bloodshed."
"Victory is never achieved without sacrifice, mon cher," Charles consoled, resting a heavy hand on her shoulder. "And speaking of, I have another letter from our Yankee friend."
"Renton?" Ray asked, surprised to hear such news.
Charles produced from the lining of his coat a small folded paper, and expanded it to show the hesitant stopping handwriting of their friend from across the oceans. Ray looked over Charles' shoulder at the text while he read aloud to the others around the bonfire.
26th December, 1943
Dear Charles,
I write to you wishing you and all in your company a belated merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. I would have written sooner, but festivities tend to keep me away from pen and paper. I hope your holidays have been filled with joy and love.
My town always celebrates Christmas with many great traditions. The evergreen trees in the town square are strewn with lights, and on Christmas Eve many of the people gather around the tallest one and light candles. Then we bring the candles together to create a ring of light around the tree. It's our way of commemorating the birth of Christ. Of course, we do many of the usual things you would expect around Christmas. Buy and exchange gifts, go caroling, and so forth.
This Christmas has been rather small for me, as have the last two, however, some of the gifts people have given me are remarkable. My friend who volunteers for the Army gave me a soldier's field manual, detailing everything from maintaining weapons to pitching a tent on campaign. Eureka gave me a new wristwatch with a brown leather strap, which looks and functions so much better than my father's old pocket watch. Not much else, though. Besides gift-giving, we spent Christmas Eve with some friends who cooked dinner for us and sang various songs together. It was one small moment where I truly believed there was no war, and peace had at last come to us all.
Some days I get tired of how other people demand we conserve our money and resources to win the war faster. In a time of trouble like this, we all need a little escape in our lives. Is that too much to ask?
Charles, what do you and your comrades do every Christmas, when you're not hounded by the Germans? Do you resistance folk have any special tradition? I'd like very much to know.
Here's to a better year ahead, my friend. One that will hopefully see the end of this war. Perhaps it will be one that shall at last see us meet again, regardless of the circumstances. I hope that will be the case. Give my best to Ray and Jacques for me, and stay safe.
Your friend,
Renton
Jacques smiled at the closing of the letter, remembering Renton with much fondness. Like Charles and Ray, Renton made a fast friend in Jacques who showed him the town, took him to the pristine Norman coastline, and often taught him the necessities of a farmer. They bonded thanks to their shared agricultural origins, and while Renton had long lost his farm, Jacques still had it in his blood. He was always quick to remind his friend that there would come a day when he could return to his old farm. He would have things the way they were before all the troubles. To this day, Jacques had not forgotten him, and while the time for a cross-channel invasion and the opening of the second front was still a ways off, he knew he would need Renton's help.
"Some days," Charles noted quietly as he tucked away the letter, "I can't help but envy him."
"How long has it been since we met Renton?" Jacques wondered out loud to no one in particular. "Six years now? Merde, how time flies. Do you think he's grown any?"
"Of course he would, mon ami," Charles chuckled at the question. "He'll be almost 18 now, after all."
"I wouldn't be surprised if Renton hasn't grown an inch," Ray joked, giggling. "Back when we first met, he was shorter than me!"
"You only had the advantage of being one year older than him."
Everyone laughed, except for Sakuya who, being the least experienced, hadn't the foggiest idea of who they were referring to. Who was this Renton? And how did they all know this boy despite never seeing him? Surely a relationship that came into being when they were all children would not mean much in the time of adulthood, when it was called upon to put away childish things.
"Renton Thurston?" she wondered aloud to herself. "I wish I could meet him one day. He sounds like a truly remarkable person."
"That he is," Charles confirmed. "He is a good friend from back in the day."
"And still is," Jacques continued. "And if everything goes well, we may even get to have him with us."
"What was he like?" the Japanese girl asked, her curiosity growing.
Jacques took one final drag on his cigarette before tossing it into the flames, trying to recollect. He could almost see the young lad's face in the fire, mouth wide with the brightest laughing smile one could see on a child. His oak brown hair swayed with each crackle in the bonfire and the dark green eyes, piercing and magnetic for one so young, seemed to entrance Jacques, lost in the fire as he spun all his recollected memories together into a verbal string.
"Quiet, but strong. A bit shy when you first meet him, but he'll do anything and everything for a friend…and more. And that, mes amis, is why when the day of deliverance is upon us, we will have even greater need of him."
Sakuya beamed at the statement, already anxious for the day of meeting him to come.
"Here's to the New Year, then," Charles called as he reached for his canteen. "To Renton's return…"
"…to the day of liberation…" Jacques joined, pulling out his as well.
"…to the end of this war…" Ray added, hers now outstretched in her hand.
"and… mort à la Bosch!" Sakuya closed, nothing thinking of anything to say.
The four were consumed with laughter as they toasted their canteens over the fire and shouted together in agreement. Further in the distance, some of the younger recruits broke out into a rendition of "Auld Lang Syne," furthering welcoming in birth of the New Year and the passing of the old. The four looked at each other briefly, and, with smiles on their faces, joined in chorus as the campfire blazed, the sparks flew, and the smoke carrying the myriad prayers of not just this little band of partisans, but of an entire nation yearning for freedom, up through the trees and into the heavens.
1. SAS: Abbreviation for Special Air Service, a special operations regiment in the British Army. First formed in 1941, the SAS was conceived as a commando unit to operate behind enemy lines. The success of the SAS has served as the model for the special forces of many countries in the modern world.
2. German for "You Klutz, Schumann!"
3. I'm sorry. I didn't see it there and it fell over.
4. Did you find anything yet?
5. No. They must have left this place a long time ago.
6. Keep searching! We can't let those dispatches fall into Allied hands.
7. French interjection meaning "damn it!"
8. Bosch: French pejorative for German.
9. Thank you, honey.
10. SS: Abbreviation for Schutzstaffel, a paramilitary organization under Adolf Hitler and the Nazi Party. The SS performed a variety of roles in the Nazi state ranging from Hitler's personal bodyguard and protection of Nazi officials to elite frontline troops, known as the Waffen SS. Most notoriously, the SS administered the concentration camps and were responsible for the much of the Holocaust.
11. Are you okay?
12. Thanks to you.
13. Hey, little one!
14. I'm sorry.