This chapter is dedicated to all the women and men who fought to resist tyranny. It's a sentiment that never goes out of style and it's sorely needed now.
July 1940, near the South-East Coast of England
"Carter, don't look so green. You've had your training, you have proved to be a formidable force, why so nervous?" Vera Atkins, asked Peggy, as they were being driven to a dock near Dover. Vera was an assistant to Col. Buckmaster, section head of the SOE and one of the people responsible for sending covert operatives into German Occupied territory in France.
"I don't know, I guess I'd never thought I'd be in the fight physically," she said, a little worriedly.
"Thought you'd be a code-breaker in Bletchley for the duration, eh?"
"Until I married, yes."
"Well, I know quality when I see it, young lady, and you have that certain something in spades."
"Butterflies?" Peggy asked, cheekily.
"No," Vera had to laugh in spite of herself. "For lack of a better word, you have determination. You're not going to just sit on the sidelines and watch as the world crumbles. I can see it in your eyes."
"I'm glad you do…" Peggy trailed off as the Land Rover slowed to their destination.
"Right, ready?"
"No, but I guess that doesn't matter?"
"Never. You'll be in good hands," Vera said, as she gave Peggy's knee an encouraging squeeze, then got out of the vehicle and implored her to follow her to the dock where two men were waiting. "This is Jean and this other miscreant is Sébastien. Bonjour, ça va?" she asked, with a lighthearted laugh as she kissed each of them on both cheeks. "Messieurs, this is Peggy Carter, one of the SOE's newest recruits."
"Mais oui, ça va bien, as a matter of fact," Jean said, as he looked wolfishly at Peggy, then gave a playful smile as he shook her hand. "Don't listen to her, Mademoiselle Carter. We're the best of the best, and we'll have you as one of us in no time."
"They're going to take you to your rendezvous point, there you'll meet someone who will take you to meet-"
"La Joconde," Jean finished for her, with an irreverent glint in his eyes. "And her band of merry idiots."
Vera pushed him back indignantly, "He means, Geneviève Boucher. I call her Gen." The name was pronounced in the English style 'Jen'.
"Does she resemble the Mona Lisa?" Peggy asked.
"The opposite, in fact, but these two enfoirés love their little nicknames."
"It's better than the real one," Sébastien pouted.
Peggy looked at him inquisitively.
"The butcher," he shuddered.
"She's one…how you say…'tough cookie'?" Jean added.
Vera continued when Peggy cocked an eyebrow at her, "She's severe looking, ice cubes stay solid in her mouth, always frightfully serious and she may be small, but she's said to have killed five Nazis with her bare hands."
Peggy gaped at Vera, "Not at one time, surely?"
"I wouldn't get on her bad side, Carter," Vera laughed and pulled her into a hug. "You'll be just fine. Now," she said, as she ended the hug and looked at her seriously, while Jean and Sébastien got in the skiff that would be their transportation to their rendezvous spot near Calais. "Trust no one; seriously, don't let Gen intimidate you, and report back every five days unless it's critical. You understand?"
"Yes, absolutely."
"Good," she said, and gave Peggy another short hug. "Alright, you wannabe devil dogs of the sea, Churchill is expecting us to strike while the iron is hot; let's get cracking!" she said forcefully, without shouting too loud and helped Peggy into the boat. She gave a short wave as it pulled away and melted into the blackness. "God help them."
Going into the German occupied territory of France through the coast was extremely risky, but they had intelligence that one of the areas near Calais was infiltrated by the resistance, and their landing would be as safe as it could get. The boat jumped and jostled as it sped towards the coast. Peggy tried not to show her nerves.
"Ça va, Carter?"
"Ça va bien, Jean," She smiled reassuringly. "Just a bit cold."
"Do you have your frog suit on under your coat?"
She nodded.
"Bon," he smiled and it made her relax and smile back. "Eh…it is you who we should call 'La Joconde'. "Mais no, Sébastien?"
"Oui, I can see the resemblance," Sébastien agreed.
"Thank you," Peggy said quietly, as she cast her eyes downward and tried not to smile wider. She was grateful it was dark out so they couldn't see her blush.
Jean regarded her silently for a while, then asked, "Did Vera give you the 'trust no one' speech?"
She nodded.
"This is good," he said, with a serious look. "It's a really scary time in our operation. Our chief operative was betrayed and arrested a few days ago, along with more than twenty of his people. We managed to stay under their radar, but we're small in number."
"Yes, Vera filled me in. We're trying to liberate them from the jail they're in."
"And Geneviève is trying to find the betrayer so she can behead them," he laughed.
"Is she really that tough? Killed five Nazis with her bare hands?"
He nodded, "She is as Vera said, small but deadly. Her surname is Boucher 'The Butcher'," he translated into English again for effect, in case Peggy hadn't caught the reference from Sébastien earlier. "But only as an alias, it's not her real name, which no one knows. She gained it because of all she is said to have killed."
Peggy couldn't help but be impressed and terrified all at once. She had a picture of some short, severe looking woman with a shaved head and tattoos all over, who barked out orders and killed people for the slightest infraction.
Therefore, she was completely not prepared for what she saw when she actually met Geneviève after they had landed at their rendezvous point and she was smuggled away to her destination.
Once the introductions were all done, and toasts were made to their health with a good enough wine over dinner, she found herself alone with the woman in question and suddenly she felt more nervous than when she was in the truck speeding towards the Dover coast.
The first thing she had noticed about Geneviève was her stature. The reports had been correct, she'd put her at about 5'4" at the most, and she was slight. But the thing she was most surprised over was the fact that she was beautiful. Not the severe looking mad dog of a woman that she had envisioned, but young, vibrant and classically beautiful. Her golden-brown hair, had soft curls flowing down to her shoulders, she had red plump lips that most girls she knew at school would have killed for, and eyes that were strikingly clear and alive.
"Why do you stare at me?" Geneviève said, breaking Peggy from her thoughts. A glass of something that smelled like elderflower had been shoved into her hand.
"I uh…" Peggy looked down at the glass before speaking again, "I thought you'd look different."
"Those buffoons in the boat have been filling your head with lies about me, çais vrais?"
"I don't know, they…"
"They are…comment dites-vous en anglais? Jack-asses?"
Peggy smiled and looked at Geneviève who to her surprise was smiling as well. Besides the warm smile, she was drawn to her eyes again. They were piercing, and she couldn't tell if they were blue, grey, hazel or all three at once.
"Drink up…now, what should I call you?"
"Peggy will do."
"You haven't been given an alias?"
"I have a code name," she said, not really wanting to say what it was.
"It's not the same, you need an alias."
"I wasn't told I needed one."
"Oh, you need one. Unless you want to be hunted like a dog for the rest of your life."
"Ummm…" Peggy said, as she looked away and thought.
"What is your full name?"
"Margaret Elizabeth Carter," Peggy offered up without question.
Geneviève smirked and regarded her with a sideways glance, "Vera didn't give you the talk, eh?"
Peggy blushed and realized she had made a mistake, and then she thought of Vera's words, "Don't let Gen intimidate you."
"Well, she did, I just thought maybe you were the one trustworthy person here."
Geneviève smiled at that, "Good answer, Margaret Elizabeth Carter. But now…the alias. Hmmm," The French woman narrowed her eyes at Peggy and took a couple of steps back and forth in front of her as she thought. "Marguerite…Marguerite…Rita…Rita…Rita Hayworth is taken," she smiled at Peggy who smiled back. "How about…Caro? Rita Caro." She said with some satisfaction as she thought. "With your complexion and dark hair, you'd pass for Italian, maybe Spanish nobility, mais oui?'
"If you think so," Peggy was skeptical but she was impressed with how quickly Genevieve came to a decision on a pretty solid alias.
"I think so," she smirked at Peggy. "Bon, let's drink to your new name. Rita," Geneviève lifted her glass for a toast and it caused her shirtsleeve, which was rolled up a little, to reveal a tattoo on her forearm. Peggy's eyes immediately were drawn to it but she quickly recovered and completed the toast.
"Cheers," she said, as she took a swig of the elderflower schnapps. "Ohhhh…"
Geneviève gulped hers in one shot and banged the glass down on the table.
"That 'puts the hair on the chest', as they say, non?"
"Yes…it does…"
"I thought you were made of stronger stuff, Marguerite. Your brother used to tell me stories of his sister who could drink him under the table."
Michael.
"He-he was exaggerating, Geneviève."
"Please call me, Gen," She pronounced it in the English way that Vera had.
"Gen." she said correcting herself. "I could never really keep up and he'd have to carry me upstairs to my bed."
"Somehow I doubt that," Gen said, as she topped up Peggy's glass. "Although, I wouldn't mind…" She trailed off, stopping herself from finishing with 'having to carry you to your bed'.
"I'm sorry?"
"Ce n'est rien. Drink!"
"Last one, I'd like to keep a clear head, I know we have a very hard road ahead."
"But of course, Rita. And we're going to get started soon enough. Now, first things first," she said, authoritatively, as she stoppered the bottle of the clear liquid with a deft punch of her palm to the cork. "What did they tell you about me?"
"Well…"
"And don't try to save their stinking hides."
"They said you've killed at least five Nazis with your bare hands."
"Six," she said quickly correcting her, then she turned her hand from side to side as she thought more about it, "Mmmm, but I guess we don't count the sixth as a Nazi, more of a fascist. Never mind. What else?"
"Vera said that ice wouldn't melt in your mouth."
She laughed out loud at that, "My mouth can be quite hot, I assure you…" The way she said that and looked at Peggy made her think of one of those cartoons they play before a feature film, where the dog looks at the cat like it's a big juicy chop. "But she's right, when I am all business, I can be as cold and as calculating as the rest of those Nazi scum," she said, disgustedly and punctuated it with a pretend spit on the floor. "That's how you beat them at their own game. Anything else?"
"Uhhhmm," Peggy tried to think, she was still trying to process the look Geneviève had given her. "They-they said you were severe."
Geneviève let out a chuckle, "Oh, bless them. I am severe to a point, to get the job done. But don't worry, Rita," she smiled and wiggled her eyebrows. "I know to have fun, eh?" Peggy believed her. "Now, anything else you want to know about me?"
Peggy hesitated, then said finally, "The tattoo on your forearm."
Gen looked at it and downed the drink in her glass in one shot again.
"That's my little souvenir, eh? From my time in the camps."
"You were at Auschwitz?" Peggy had read the reports of the concentration camps, and that the one they called Auschwitz, which was also an extermination camp, was tattooing their prisoners with numbers to identify them.
"Yes," came the austere voice after a while.
'Cold and severe' thought Peggy. She immediately understood what well Gen pulled from when she had to get tough.
"What does the triangle mean next to the numbers?"
Geneviève smiled and thought before pulling the stopper out of the bottle and pouring herself another drink; she again downed it in one shot and then pointed the glass at Peggy.
"Something for me to know and for you to find out," she said with a devilish glint in her eyes. Then more seriously, "I'm glad the clothes fit you."
"I'm glad you had them waiting for me. I didn't get a chance to pack."
"Well, it's not as if you were going on the Empress of Britain for a pleasure cruise. It's good," Gen regarded her and Peggy got that feeling again that she was a big succulent chop. "That sweater suits you."
"Thank you," Peggy said, blushing.
After that, Gen declared the pleasantries over, and they talked strategy with the other resistance fighters for the rest of the night.
As Peggy lay on her bed later, she thought about the tattoo on Gen's arm and what the symbol might mean, she also thought of the look Gen had given her and how it made her feel. It was a little confusing, but she nodded off to a not-so-unpleasant feeling that night.
Much later, she awoke with a start to a woman's voice speaking in very low toned French, and she could tell she was angry.
"Don't give me that bullshit, Leon! If I ask you to go back out there and find that piece of shit, you'll do it, because it's all we have! If that bastard has the slightest inclination of me or you, or anyone in our group, he'll give us up as fast as you can blink!"
"But ma petite…I'm tired, my men are tired, we just need a few hours…"
"We're ALL tired, Leon," she sighed. "I don't ask anything of you or them that I wouldn't do myself. You had a good lead on him, I know you can follow that up and find him. It's not as if I'm asking you to drink the sea!"
"Not in one day, no…just in a week, eh?"
She laughed softly, clearly frustrated but trying to calm herself.
"Mon chèr, I'm sorry. I know I ask too much. I'm too jumpy these days. I look into a mouse hole and I see the enemy standing on my throat. I see…the camps…their faces…staring back at me, pleading for me to do something for them, as they die," her voice had waivered, but then towards the end of the sentence had some of that steely ice to it, and then she went silent.
"You've been going for days, now, mon cœur," Leon said. "Days. You can't keep that pace up. No one can."
"The Germans seem to be able to do it just fine," she laughed, incredulously.
"And they will pay the price for it. Just give us three hours. Three. I will be back out there with my men…"
"What do you need done?" Peggy said, in French, her heart beating in her throat.
"My champion," Gen said, as she regarded Peggy standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Then she clicked her tongue off of her teeth as she shook her head. "I wouldn't throw you in the fire like that, ma chèrie. Not on your first day."
"You need something done, I've had my rest, now it's time for action. No?"
Gen looked at Leon and he shrugged his shoulders, "Who is your friend?"
"Sorry, where are my manners? Rita Caro, this is Leon Lefebvre. "The head of our little maquis."
"Titular head," he said, as he took off his cap and stood up with an outstretched hand.
Peggy stared at him with awe, he was easily 6'6" and bulky, he had to stoop because of the low ceiling in the farmhouse kitchen. He had dark, longish hair and a dark beard to match.
"This particular band?" she asked, as she shook the proffered hand.
"No, the whole glorious resistance," Gen said, with a flourish and moved to the small stove to heat up a pan for the eggs she had cracked into a bowl.
"As I said, I am the head in name only," he let go of Peggy's hand and waved his cap in Gen's direction. "She's the head of the whole damned thing."
Peggy looked towards Gen with something akin to both puzzlement and pride, "The whole French Resistance?"
"Yes, she's the Jeanne D'Arc of our times," he said, with the same flourish that Gen had used to describe his role. Then he shrugged his shoulders and said, "Maybe not the whole thing, but we are the most important cog in the occupied territory, and she is the one that makes it turn."
Gen snorted at that, "Psssh, and I can't get you to obey an order."
"It will get carried out by Rita," Leon said, with a confident look at Peggy.
"I can do whatever you need me to do," she agreed, with her own confident look.
Leon fixed a smirk at the back of Gen's head.
"Don't you say it, Leon, you horses' ass," she said, without having to look at him.
"I'm sorry?" Peggy asked.
"Nothing, he's just being a pig."
"I was going to say that she's the best leader we've ever had. Smart, tough, and with as big of a heart as she is short in stature," Leon gave an innocent look.
"That makes no sense, you brute," Gen said, as she finished cooking the eggs and plated them for those turning up to eat.
"What is all the yelling about?" A redhaired man they called Fox asked, while lazily rubbing his stomach.
"Leon needs his rest, apparently. I'll need you and the Stooge to sniff out that Alsatian turd. Marty," she said the name, bitterly.
"Right after I have my breakfast."
"Now. We don't have much time, Fox. I'll give you some bread to eat while you put your shoes on and get your weapons."
"Is Rita coming with us?" he asked. Peggy surmised he must have heard the discussion like she did.
Peggy looked at Gen expectantly hoping she had changed her mind.
"Not today," she said, finally, without looking at Peggy and sat down at the long table as the others filed in and took their food. Fox took two portions of bread and went off to get the one they called The Stooge, Édouard. He wasn't really a stooge, he just looked like one.
Their breakfast was eaten in relative quiet. Only small quick conversations were taking place as the food was consumed steadily. Peggy felt relieved and disappointed all at once. Leon looked at her from across the long but narrow table and leaned in closer to whisper, "Don't be disappointed, Rita. You'll get your start soon enough."
"I know, I just hope I didn't give off an untrustworthy vibe."
He shook his head, "Not possible, one only has to look at you and know that you are trustworthy. Besides, your reputation proceeds you through your brother."
She nodded, "So I gathered."
"He was a good fighter," He said, sadly. Then, "You have my sympathies."
Peggy's eyes grew moist at that, "Thank you," she whispered back.
"What's that?" Gen called, from further down the table.
"Nothing, ma petite. We were just conspiring, that's all," he said, and gave Peggy a wink. The rest of the table laughed. Gen's eyes narrowed at him.
"Why are you the titular head of this maquis, Leon?" Peggy asked, feeling the need to change the subject and also to finish the discussion from earlier.
"Because the British couldn't understand how a woman could be the head of a group of guerillas or a Liberation Committee, let alone practically the whole French Resistance."
"Leon, you talk such rot," Gen said, as she got up and put her dish in the sink. "Get some rest, you have to be back out there in three hours."
He sighed at that, "No rest for the wicked, eh?" he asked, as he wiggled his eyebrows at Peggy.
"I guess not," she said, with a smile as she got up from her seat and started to help clear the table.
"Chèrie, you don't have to do that, you weren't brought here to be a maid," Gen said, as she pointed to a piece of paper on the wall. "There's a list, DeCouvier is next in line to clean. Just put your plate in the sink."
The one known as DeCouvier, smiled at Peggy, "I'm the goat today."
"Sorry," she said, quietly as she put her plate in the sink.
"Don't be," he shrugged, as he began to fill the sink with the water from a pot that had been boiling on the stove. "Is it not better to do the washing in the sink, then the dying in the street?"
Peggy smiled and made her way back to her bed. She had smiled at DeCouvier's defeatist attitude, but it unsettled her a little. She was a bit restless and didn't know what to do next, she wanted to be doing something with her training, she wanted action. As she passed by Gen's room, she heard her name.
"Marguerite," Gen whispered and motioned for Peggy to enter. She closed the door behind her. "You are not upset that I didn't let you go out today?"
"Not…" Peggy trailed off, looking into the piercing eyes.
"Tell the truth."
"A little," Peggy said, trying not to look too hurt. Gen took her hand into hers.
"I admire your willingness to throw yourself into the fire. However, you are not yet familiar with all the intricacies of the area. Of who to trust, and who not to."
Peggy looked into the blue eyes that grew dark, like a storm that was brewing in the sky. She spotted a fleck of brown, then searched the other orb to see another fleck, and another.
"I will learn," Peggy said, softly.
"I know you will," Gen put her hand over Peggy's as she gazed into her eyes. Then after a bit, brought the back of her hand to her soft lips. Peggy drew in a sharp breath as she felt the kiss, the lips warm and supple in the cold, early morning. Gen ended the kiss after a few more moments and brought her eyes back up to meet Peggy's. "I have complete faith in you, Marguerite."
"Thank you," Peggy said, sincerely. "I won't let you down."
"I know."
Gen then turned her attention to some papers on her bureau. "Now chèrie, go see, Grenardier, he'll fill you in on your main role."
Peggy left the room in a state of puzzlement. She wasn't completely certain what she was feeling, but it wasn't unlike the joy she felt when she would pledge to her dolls that she would vanquish the dragon and cut off its head for them.
Over the next few weeks, Peggy learned more than she thought she could of what it took to run an underground resistance unit. She saw the clever tactics they were using to disrupt the Nazi operation: cutting of their tele-communications, working as double agents to peddle misinformation, operating printing presses to spread propaganda that would help their cause and making clever bombs that resembled cow pats. She mostly worked side by side with Geneviève and learned what made her a capable leader. She could reduce men, almost double her size, to bumbling idiots with her interrogation techniques that, surprisingly, didn't involve violence.
As she got to know her more and more each day, she was completely in awe of her smarts, her decisiveness and her warmth.
Her warmth.
That was something she didn't think was possible, that this woman who was in charge of a large and important group in the resistance, would be able to give orders like she did, and also comfort with real empathy. There were many nights that the reports from the towns around them would be smuggled to her through the network of people helping them gather intel, and there would be someone who was reported to be dead or missing. Geneviève would say something about them, and hold a moment of silence. If anyone knew them and were upset, they would be taken to the little drawing room, given a glass of whatever liquor was available and they would talk or cry to Gen for however long it took them to get it out. Peggy admired that capacity in her. It's something she'd hope she was able to do for people when the time came. Each day she learned a little more about Gen, and enjoyed the playful banter and flirting that they shared.
Everyone had agreed that since Peggy had arrived, Gen's mood was worlds better from what it had been, and were grateful to her that she was able to lift the severe mask that she had fitted herself with the past few years. She was still mostly business during the day, but when they were weary or things had been particularly tense, Peggy would tell a joke, or give Gen a gentle squeeze of the arm, and a glorious smile would break out on her lips. Leon had remarked more than once, that Peggy had saved them all from Gen's self-destruction. That gave her not only increased confidence in herself, but of a sense of duty to administer comfort, clear-headed decision making and counsel to Gen and the others when needed.
They all had taken Peggy in as one of their own so completely that it also gave her a sense of belonging and camaraderie that she had only ever really felt with her brother.
When she was alone in her bed at night, she would think back over the little endearments and compliments Gen had given her that day, accompanied by a smile that Peggy thought could light up a moonless night. It was clear that she was falling in love, and at first it had scared her, but then as the days passed, it intrigued her more and more. And it started to give her comfort. If she was going to die, better that it was doing something noble, and alongside someone of whom she could be proud, and could love. More and more each day she let herself think of the word love when it came to Gen, especially in the quietude of her bed at night.
If only she could be so bold as to tell Gen how she was feeling, she could see if maybe she felt the same, or at least to see where it would go. After that first week of wolfish looks and heavy flirting, Gen had eased up and treated her more like a best friend, and although Peggy wasn't complaining, because Gen's favor was really a great thing, she was worried that maybe she had only been playing with Peggy initially to see if she could intimidate her. After a long while thinking of things like this, she would scold herself to stop acting like a child with her head in the clouds and told herself to get good rest to be able to do the important work that never ended. She would sleep soundly and dream of piercing blue eyes with flecks of green and brown, honey kissed brown flowing hair and a smile that lit up the room.
It had been ten weeks since Rousseau and the others had been captured by the Gestapo, and they were no closer to finding them. Everyone was tense and operating on little sleep, working non-stop to not only sabotage the Nazi's but also to find any information they could to help find those who had betrayed their fellow resisters. Peggy had lately been tasked with mapping out routes that they could use to carry out their sabotage of the telecommunications plants, and electrical power grids across the west of the occupied territory that fed to Paris.
After one particularly hard day, she found herself next on the list for the cleaning and sighed.
"What's the matter, ma petite?" Came the gentle voice from the doorway. Gen was standing there, leaned up against the doorframe.
Peggy smiled and slowly rolled her head over her shoulders to look at Gen. "I'm on cleaning duty," she said, with a pout.
"Oui, you are on cleaning duty," Gen shrugged. "And this is such a bad thing that you ruin your skin with the frown lines?"
"I know, I just wasn't prepared for it. I'm tired and…"
"And it's been such a hard day that your back feels like breaking, your neck aches and you think if you look at another map your eyeballs will roll out of their sockets and plop on the floor," Gen moved towards Peggy and accentuated her visual description with two popping sounds that were just like eyeballs plopping on the ground.
That made Peggy laugh, but then she groaned as she rolled her head around on her shoulders and felt the tension.
"Ooh, Chèrie, you must have been looking at those maps for hours."
Peggy realized she had been bending over the maps on the table for quite a while and cursed herself for being such a child again.
"Come here," Gen said, softly and motioned for Peggy to sit on the chair that was just in front of her.
"No, Gen. I'll be okay, I've got to get the dishes done and then…"
"Then nothing," Gen said, this time adding a little authority to her voice. "You'll come over here and sit your ass in this chair because your boss said so, Rita."
Peggy decided not to protest further and did as she was told. When she felt the two strong hands on her shoulders, she stiffened.
"Oh no, ma petite, don't worry. These bare hands are going to do no harm," Gen said, in a soothing tone. "They're only going to work those nasty little kinks out of your shoulders and neck."
Peggy tried harder to relax, but that's the thing about trying to do something when you tell yourself to do it, it almost never works out. Besides, after her feelings about Gen in the last few weeks, her body trembled from her touch and even though she wanted to be bold and brave, she still wasn't ready to reveal what she felt.
As Gen worked her incredibly strong hands over Peggy's shoulders, she finally started to relax in spite of herself.
"There you go, ma petite," Gen said, encouragingly. "I can feel the tension melting away."
Peggy chuckled and then let out a low groan as Gen hit a particularly tender spot in her shoulder.
"What is funny, Chèrie?"
"Nothing…"
"No, please, I like funny things," Gen softly pleaded.
"It's just that, well, you call people 'ma petite' and you are…"
"Shorter than them, I know, this irony is not lost on myself," Gen chuckled. "It's why I do it. One of my ways to get even at the gods for making me so small. I blame Leon for stealing all of my food when we were children."
Peggy groaned again as Gen moved her hands to knead the base of her neck.
"You've known Leon since childhood?" Peggy asked, after a while.
"I should, we are brother and sister."
Peggy was shocked at that, they looked nothing alike, except maybe the look in the eyes, come to think of it. They had the same devilish manner when the mood struck them. But Leon's eyes were almost black, and Gen's were piercingly blue, most days anyway. When she was stressed or angry, the color seemed to change.
"I wouldn't have guessed," Peggy said, in amazement.
"I know, it's because he's a giant, clumsy, ugly oaf, and I am small, graceful, and deadly beautiful."
Peggy groaned again as the strong hands worked their magic on all the spots she needed. She wasn't sure, but she thought she heard Gen draw breath in shakily and it made her feel something she hadn't felt in a long while. It started low in her stomach, a delicious feeling that spread quickly to other parts of her body. Parts she didn't think much of these days, given the type of work they were doing and how busy they were.
"Chèrie," Gen said, breathily and moved her hands to knead Peggy's back. "I didn't realize I was working you so hard."
"Mmmmmmm," was all Peggy could reply.
"Mon dieu," Gen breathed and whispered. "This massage is going to kill me."
Peggy worried she was hurting Gen's hands.
"Oh, please, don't hurt yourself on my account…"
"Don't think of it, Chèrie, I'm only hurting in the good way."
That delicious feeling intensified at those words. She couldn't believe she could make this beautiful woman feel that way. Peggy's breath hitched as she thought about what Gen might be feeling and she heard a beautiful sound behind her. Gen had let out her own low groan.
The massage went on, Gen moving lower on Peggy's back, masterfully working her fingers over her shoulder blades and chasing any tension and tenderness that had been there away.
At this point, Peggy couldn't keep track of how many times she moaned, it was all so good and she started to feel a little guilty.
"Gen," Peggy said, with a moan.
"Chèrie?" Gen pretended she didn't hear the need in Peggy's voice.
"Your hands…"
"What about them?"
"They're…" Peggy stopped to groan again.
"Tell me, Marguerite," Gen implored, after a few moments.
"…heavenly…I feel…" Another pause for a moan.
"Dis moi, comment tu te sens…"
"I feel…loved," Peggy breathed out, she couldn't really stop what she was saying before she said it, but once she did, she really didn't care. Her whole body was buzzing with something she hadn't felt since she was engaged to Fred and she didn't want it to stop.
"You are so sweet, Chèrie," Gen shifted herself until she was standing beside Peggy, and moved her hands in her hair to massage her scalp. "But it's just the massage."
Peggy's heart clenched at that. She was suddenly worried she had said too much. This usually wasn't like her, she wasn't so free with telling people how she felt, maybe it was the war, maybe it was the danger they were in, or maybe she was starved for human contact, no matter who it was.
But it wasn't just that, it was everything she had thought while she was laying in her bed at night. She also knew now that she had felt something for Gen the first night they met. Oddly enough at first, she had felt because of Gen's size, she needed to protect her; even though she was told stories of her ruthlessness, when she saw her, she surmised they had been pulling her leg. She had been drawn to both her beauty and her strength equally. She was smitten and she didn't care if she told her now, she'd have to take whatever reaction she got, because she wanted the truth out in the open between them.
"It's not just that," Peggy said, trying hard to control her voice. The scalp massage was ramping up her libido to heights she didn't think were possible and it made it extremely hard to think.
"It should be," Gen said, after a few more moments, and stopped the massage, causing Peggy to turn her head and look up at her.
Gen held Peggy's face in her hands, "You don't know what you are saying, Marguerite."
"I do know," Peggy said firmly, staring into what were now dark pools of blue.
"No, you just think you do. You are tired, we've been working you too hard and now you are-"
"Stop it, Gen. I know what I'm talking about, please don't mock me when I'm trying to tell you how I feel. If you don't feel the same, that's fine, but I don't like to be ridiculed." Peggy started to get up from the chair, and Geneviève firmly held her seated by putting her hands on both shoulders.
"Don't, ma chèrie, I am sorry. Stay, I want to explain."
Peggy sat back and waited while Gen gathered her thoughts.
"You surprised me, Marguerite. I'm sorry for…" Gen stopped herself as a million things raced through her mind. She didn't want to hurt Peggy, so she had to quickly replay what she was wanting to say in her head. "It's true, I do like you." She looked into Peggy's eyes. "I thought my shameless wolf like looks at you and even this massage were not harming you, just torturing myself."
"What do you mean?"
Gen sighed, "I didn't think you'd actually feel the same, I had hoped, but I thought that maybe I would get some thrill out of flirting with you…and then your friendship was so invaluable, I didn't want to ruin that with my…condition," She framed Peggy's face with her hands and looked deeply into her brown eyes. "And now…"
"And now?" Peggy said, after a short while.
"Now, I don't know…"
Peggy's heart sunk, she was afraid it was all a game to Gen and she would be the punchline in a big joke.
"Oh, I see," Peggy said and turned to face the table.
"No, you don't," Gen said quickly, "but I somehow can't explain it right, the words they're getting scrambled in my brain. Talking in English doesn't really help that and I don't want to make you hurt or mad."
"No, I understand, I got it wrong. It's okay, Gen," Peggy said, trying to sound convincing. "Thank you for the massage. I'll be able to do the dishes and then get back to the plans." She said with a firm nod and pushed her chair back from the table to stand. Gen slipped in the space in front of her and stopped her from standing again. This time she took one of Peggy's hands into hers.
"Ma chèrie, please," she said, softly. "Please just sit and let me explain. It's hard."
"You don't have to…"
"Shhh, please, I promise. I'll get it out," Gen said, and swallowed. Peggy was surprised to see the nervousness in this strong woman's face. "You didn't get it wrong, Chèrie. You saw…the looks I gave, the kiss to your hand that first night in my room. A blind bat would have been able to sniff out my thoughts," she said, with a small chuckle and looked at Peggy's hand in hers. "At first I thought Vera was doing this to torture me…"
"Doing what?"
"Sending you to me…"
"I don't understand," Peggy said, trying not to jump to conclusions, but quickly many conclusions were popping into her head and all of them were making her blood pressure rise.
"But then I saw how you were. How you are. I would have had to bring in five, no ten more people by now if it wasn't for your skill at codebreaking, your tactics for communications sabotage and organization. You are a treasure, Chèrie. That is why I trust you implicitly and why I don't want to hurt you."
"Why would you think you'd hurt me?"
Geneviève looked into Peggy's eyes with a wry smile, "Are you really into being with girls, Peggy Carter?"
Peggy looked at her with an unblinking, serious face, "It's true I haven't been with a woman in that way, but I don't see why I shouldn't want to if I found one that I fell in love with."
Geneviève snorted at that, "Thousands of years of religious oppression hasn't given you enough reasons?"
Peggy set her jaw and narrowed her eyes before responding with a question, "Why would Vera want to torture you?" She didn't want to let that part go before setting Gen straight on her beliefs.
"We kind of had…a little…"
"You were…lovers?"
"Not exactly, I think she liked me, but I was with a different girl and I suspect she's always tried to get even with me in clever ways."
"Would those ways put us or the operation in jeopardy at all?"
"Oh, no, no Chèrie, I she's not like that. She wants the destruction of the Reich as much as I do, and she would never jeopardize this operation." Gen nodded her head and looked sincerely into Peggy's eyes. "Honestly, I realized that she didn't send you for spite at all. I had been burning the candle at both ends before you came here, I was getting punch drunk and paranoid. I know now she sent the best person for the job. It's just a coincidence that you looked like someone I know."
"Your girlfriend?" the thought had just sprung into Peggy's mind.
Gen sighed, "Yes. Tatiana."
"I see, and is this why you don't want to hurt me? You're still with her?"
"I wish," Gen said, quietly. "I don't know where she is. Or if she's even alive and…" she trailed off.
Peggy squeezed her hand a little to encourage her to keep talking. "It's okay," she said, "I understand."
Gen looked at her for a few moments, "I believe you, and I don't want to be the type of person to play with anyone's feelings." Looking into Peggy's sweet, innocent face, she suddenly felt the need to tell all that she kept bottled inside. "You want to know why you shouldn't want to get involved with someone like me? To be someone like me? Eh?" She rolled up her shirtsleeve, "You wanted to know what that black symbol next to the numbers means?"
Peggy nodded, "If you want to tell me."
"It means that I'm asocial, officially. Unofficially, I'm a Kesser Vater."
"And what does that mean?" Peggy wasn't completely sure why words 'saucy' and 'father' would be used to describe Gen.
"Because when I put my hair up, put on a tux and wear a top hat, I look just like the spitting image of Dietrich." Gen sat back on the table, cocked her head to the side and gave a proud, defiant smile.
Peggy smiled too, she could picture it and it definitely was not an unpleasant sight to her, "I would have liked to have seen that."
It grew quiet while Gen tried to think of what to say next, and Peggy waited patiently for her to get out what she hadn't shared with anyone in a very long time. When the silence stretched a little too long Peggy decided to break it with a question that had been on her mind since the first night they met.
"Can you…will you tell me how you got to the camp?"
Gen looked down at Peggy's hand again and took in a deep breath.
"I was in Germany, performing in a nightclub. I was quite popular by 1933."
Peggy quickly calculated in her head, "When you were twelve?"
Gen scoffed, "Twelve? Are you mad?! I was twenty!"
"You-you're twenty-seven?" Peggy couldn't really believe that. Gen looked so young, she thought she was at least her age or maybe at most a year older.
"Yes, how old did you think I was?"
"At least my age…"
"Which is?"
Peggy suddenly got nervous. She was never really self-conscious about her age since her parents had brought her up to be a smart and capable person and she had always seemed older than her years.
"Nineteen?"
"You are not sure?"
Peggy laughed at that, "No, I-I'm nineteen."
"Well, Chèrie, I had thought you were young," she put her other hand on Peggy's face. "But not that young, you're just a baby…"
"Please, Gen. You thought me organised, and capable of being a leader before, don't hold my age against me."
"No, no, nothing like that, Marguerite. I just thought you were nearer my age, that's all. You are still all those things. But you are still young. With a life ahead of you, no?"
"Yes, but that doesn't really matter now. Would I have a life if I'm dead in London killed by a bomb? I'll do what I can, whatever I can to help end this war."
"This damned war," Gen moved her hand from Peggy's face to her hair and sifted through it. "It's making us grow up too fast."
"You were saying about how you got to the camp…"
"Oh yes, where was I?"
"The nightclubs."
"Ah yes, the nightclubs in Berlin. As soon as I could, I ran straight there. I told my father I was going to study at the University and I took my inheritance and went. There were many good clubs, so many friends. I was young and free then; I couldn't believe my eyes; the stories had been correct. It was like getting all your favorite candies in the candy store every night. Soon, I came to be a singer in a club called Topkeller. It was wild, and so much fun; we were so jam packed, on Friday you could hardly get in. We'd have to sometimes lift people, that were performing in the shows, over the crowd so that they could get to the stage. I did an homage to La Dietrich, I called it La Dyketrick for the English ladies who mostly bankrolled me. It was a very popular and I had a lot of fans that came to see me." Gen stopped for a while, remembering. "And then I met Tati. She was a German socialite, just a girl, about your age…a year younger than me. After that first night, she would come to see me exclusively. Every. Single. Night."
"And then what happened?"
"We spent many happy months together; it would have been a year in February of '33." Vera looked at Peggy squarely in the face, her eyes grew dark. "And then Hitler and his minions took over and we were shut down. I was arrested on charges that I had kidnapped and corrupted a young girl." Gen looked and sounded like a bitter taste was in her mouth.
"I thought it wasn't illegal for women to be…"
"Homosexual?"
"Yes."
"You are correct, Marguerite. But when you're schtupping the daughter of a high ranking official in the Deutsches Reich, especially of the Justice Department, they're not going to bother with laws. They are going to bend them to their will!"
"Oh my," Peggy said, shocked.
"I didn't even have a chance to pack, they rounded me up at the club, and sent me to prison. At first it was comical, I was in a black tux, white tie, spatz…all of it. The guards called me Fred Astaire and asked for my auto-graph." The smile left her face and her eyes grew even darker. "And then they stripped me to bare skin and made me shower in freezing cold water, while they threw a disinfectant powder on me. They cut my hair in big pieces." She ran a hand through her hair and sighed out. "They also did things…" Gen stopped and stared blankly. "After a few years, they transferred me to Auschwitz and branded me with this." She pulled up her sleeve again, revealing the tattoo.
"I'm sorry," Peggy said, sincerely and took Gen's arm in her hands. She placed a kiss on the tatoo.
That brought Gen back from whatever dark place she was just in. She put both of her hands on Peggy's face again and bent down until their foreheads touched.
"Seeing you that night, brought some of the good times back. I have been such a sourpuss for the past seven years. That's why they jokingly call me La Joconde, because I don't smile." She brought her lips to Peggy's forehead and pressed a kiss onto it. "I started to smile again, thanks to you."
"You're welcome," Peggy said, and placed her hands on Gen's waist. In one quick move she pulled Gen onto her lap.
"Ooh! Chèrie, I did not know you had such strength!" Gen steadied herself by putting her hands on the back of the chair, so she was sitting comfortably and not in danger of toppling them both.
"I trained to fight," Peggy said, with a smile and placed her hand on the back of Gen's head, pulling her lips towards her own. "May I?" she asked, politely.
"You won't get a fight from me," Gen said, and quickly closed the gap between their lips.
Peggy's mind exploded in pleasure, the sensations of Gen's warm soft lips and her own melding with them was creating that delicious feeling to bubble up again and spread throughout the other pleasure points of her body. They were sent even bigger pulses of pleasure when she felt Gen's tongue lick out at her lips, requesting silent permission to enter. Peggy parted her lips and the exquisite pleasure of Gen's warm, velvety mouth and her tongue snaking around her own was almost too much for her. She pulled Gen tighter to her as she plunged the depths of her mouth. Her eager hands wanted to slip beneath clothing, to feel soft warm flesh under her fingers and free the skin from the bonds of the cotton and wool they were in. As she moved her shaking hands beneath Gen's top, the French woman groaned against her mouth and pulled back.
"Not here, Chèrie," She breathed out. "Not here, darling."
Feeling bold, Peggy gripped Gen tighter and stood, after she felt Gen's legs snake around her waist, she started walking towards the hallway where the rooms were, careful not to knock over a chair or bump the wall and alert people to what they were doing.
Gen peppered her face with kisses, and occasionally would stop at Peggy's lips for a moment to get a proper kiss. When that would happen, Peggy would have to prop herself steady by holding an arm out to the wall. They finally made it to Gen's room with no mishaps or being found out.
Gen managed to reach down behind herself and open the door while Peggy attacked her lips with a hungry kiss. As the door swung open, Peggy moved swiftly into the room and set Gen down gently on the bed, giving her a fiercely needy look and silently implored her to stay while she closed the door. Gen was amused with Peggy's dominance of the situation.
After Peggy had closed the door, Gen chuckled and said, "I have to say, Chèrie, it is not a whole lot of times where I'm la femme."
Peggy walked to the bed and sat beside Gen, "I don't have to…"
"You know, I liked it, but I'd rather-" she pushed Peggy down on the bed and gave her another heart stopping kiss.
"You can do what you'd like…" Peggy breathed, as the kiss ended. Her breath hitched in her throat as she felt Gen's shaking hand move up under her skirt and smooth her palm along her thigh.
Just then there was an urgent knock on the door.
"Merde!" Gen cursed under her breath and held Peggy, who had tried to roll away, in place. "What is it?!"
"A message from LaFaye, I think you should see it."
"I'll be right out!" Gen looked down on Peggy who was breathing really hard. She bent down again and captured her lips in a quick, hot, wet kiss that held the promise of more to come. Soon. "Stay, I'll deal with this, and then I'll be right back." Peggy hesitated a moment, if it was a message of urgency, then she really should see it, but the look in Gen's eyes told her she wouldn't be able to protest without a long, drawn out discussion. She nodded her head and sat up. "Two minutes, Chèrie, I promise."
Gen straightened her skirt and her top, and smoothed her hair down. She applied some lipstick and blew Peggy a kiss in the mirror and then she was gone.
Time stretched on for what seemed like ages, when the time on the clock told Peggy she had been sitting there for ten minutes, she got up and started towards the door. Just then it burst open and Gen almost tumbled into her arms.
"Oh, Chèrie, Mon Dieu! I am sorry. I-we have the bastard who helped those scum who captured Rousseau! I have to go," She rummaged around for her crossbody rucksack.
"I'll come with you," Peggy said, looking at herself in the mirror and straightening her hair and clothes.
"No, Chèrie, I can't afford to have you go too. I need you to run things here."
Peggy was devastated, she knew Gen was right, but she didn't want to leave her now. Especially not after what they had just been doing.
"Don't you think you should wait for confirmation?"
"We've had it, a second maquis has sent word. I have to travel to Guînes, they are holding him in Saint-Pierre-ès-Liens."
"In a church?"
"Yes, the priest there is a friend."
Peggy stood impressed for a moment, then started to help Gen pack.
"I just need a few essentials, I should be back by morning, Chèrie."
She watched as Gen took a lipstick from a drawer, it wasn't the one she had used earlier when she got ready.
"Are you sure you'll need your lipstick?"
Gen grinned, "A spy should always be prepared," she said, with a wink. "This is my special blend."
Peggy quirked an eyebrow.
"Lancôme had it specially made for me when I was in Berlin." She held it out for Peggy to see the label.
"102 Bonne Nuit," Peggy read out loud.
"If a man got too 'friendly' with me, I could knock him out without having to throw a fist," she smiled proudly and put the lipstick into her bag. "You'd be surprised how many times I've had to use this. Unfortunately, I wore it a couple of times by accident when Tati and I went out. We would come back, all ready for a night of love, and then she'd be passed out for a couple of hours. You couldn't imagine the pain of waiting."
Peggy's eyes got a faraway look, "No, I guess I couldn't." She bent her head and sat down on the bed, staring at the carpet.
"Ma petite, I'm so sorry," Gen said, and put her hand under Peggy's chin to lift it so she could look her in the eyes. "I wanted nothing more but to be with you tonight."
Peggy nodded and smiled, she felt like crying. Gen bent her head and caught Peggy's lips with her own.
"So sweet," Gen said, breathlessly as the kiss ended. Peggy kept her eyes closed, savoring the feeling for a few beats more. "Until tomorrow, Marguerite," she whispered and kissed the back of Peggy's hand.
When Peggy opened her eyes again, she just caught a glimpse of Gen going out of the door. It took her a long few moments to get up and leave the room.
She made her way to the kitchen, realizing she hadn't finished her duty for the night. Her back definitely felt better, but her heart felt a little broken. Still, she felt that the intimacy between them wasn't finished and she would be patient. As she washed the plates, she thought of what Gen had said to her about the concentration camps and why she was put in them. That was the first thing that Peggy would do if she had the entire army at her disposal. Or even if she didn't. Liberate the camps.
As she was almost completely finished with cleaning up, a voice startled her out of her thoughts, "Has Gen left?" It was Édouard, he was winded and sweaty. It appeared that he had run a long way, and fast.
"She has," Peggy said. "Why?"
"Mon Dieu!"
"What?!" she asked, alarmed.
"I was bringing a message from Doucet," he bent down to get a breath and held the piece of paper out to her. "Telling her not to go to Guînes, it could be a trap."
"Oh, my word," Peggy said, in English after she read the code that would confirm its validity. "How do we stop her?!"
The Stooge was shaking his head, "We don't know what route she would have taken." He threw up his hands, incredulously.
Peggy went to the map table, "How many can there be?" she asked, as she poured over the routes from Calais to Guînes. "Would she take the Route-de-Guînes?" She quickly ruled that out. "Too obvious, it's the quickest way there, but she wouldn't be that foolish." She followed a road that was more west with her finger. "Rue du Marais, into Saint-"
"Tricat!" The Stooge finished for her. "Yes, then down past Hames-Boucres and into bottom of the town. The church is nearer that way." Peggy smiled at him and he nodded at her. "I can see why Vera sent you, Rita. Besides the obvious…"
"Why is that, Édouard?"
"You're the most level headed in a crisis. And we're always bound to have those here." He smiled at her and looked at his watch. "How long ago did you say she left?"
"About twenty…no more than thirty minutes ago."
"If I run to the next town, I will be able to get off a message to have her truck stopped at Saint-Tricat, if they were too quick I'll get a message to Hames-Boucres, just in case."
"They?"
"The Fox went with her," he said, as he put his hat on and shook her hand. "I'll be quick."
"Good luck!" Peggy shouted after his back and closed her eyes to pray. "Our Father, which art in heaven, I know I don't often pray anymore, or at all really, I guess you would know that, and I certainly have broken a few of your laws in the past few months, tonight alone, I think I broke at least five," she said, cringingly. "But if you bring Gen back safe, I swear I will not break anymore. I'll become a nun…practically. Even though I'm not Catholic. Amen."
As the hours passed into the next morning, she was frantically pacing the floor. The others who had been dozing off took turns pleading with her to rest.
A few minutes later, Leon burst open the door, filling the doorway with his big bulky frame and shouted, "They have taken her!"
Peggy's heart fell to the floor, and she felt like she was going to be sick.
"What happened?!" The Stooge who had been dozing off in a chair was suddenly up and pulling at Leon's lapels.
"It was an ambush, they never even made it to Saint-Tricat, we found the truck blown up on the side of the road."
Peggy had to take some very deep breaths to stop herself from throwing up. She finally was able to speak after a very tense silence, "Were there bodies?"
"No, I think they blew the truck after capturing them."
"They could be on the run!"
"God willing," Leon said, and sat heavily in a chair. He pulled at his hands and Peggy saw some tears welling into his eyes. She went over to him and put a hand on his large shoulder.
"She'll be fine, Leon," Peggy said with confidence. "She's the toughest woman I know and I have a feeling she didn't get caught."
"I really hope that is the case, Rita," his voice started to break, "I would be…to think, I got her into this…"
She put her arms around him and let him cry into her stomach for several minutes.
"There, there, Leon. Shhhhh…" She soothed him. "Let it out, ma petite." She sounded just like Gen, and it did seem funny that she was calling this bear of a man that as she cradled his head in her arms. That thought and the feeling that Gen was in trouble but still with them, brought a tear to her own eyes, and she smiled in spite of the sadness.
The next days were frantic, they knew they were playing on borrowed time. They tried to find out what happened to Fox and Gen, but information was spotty and it seemed some of their contacts had also been captured.
At last the word came.
Fox had been found, shot through the head, but there was no word concrete word on Gen's fate. Someone said she was in the makeshift jail, at Coulogne, others said she had been taken to Paris. Still others said she killed seven Nazis and left ten more maimed before she fled on foot to the water.
Peggy didn't know what to believe, but she felt even more strongly now, that Gen was still with them. At least, that's what she hoped in her heart of hearts.
When that bit about Fox had been read out, Édouard fell to his knees. DeCouvier went to him, put his hand on his head and was speaking soothingly to him in low tones.
Peggy looked at Leon questioningly and he said, "Ils étaient mariés."
She blinked a few times as what that meant sunk in. They had been married. It was curious to her that she didn't see it. She saw them tease each other affectionately, but she had seen her brother do that to some of his school chums, so she didn't think anything of it.
Without another word, she crossed over to the cabinet, took out the bottle of schnapps and then some glasses. She filled the glasses one by one and handed them out to those who wanted it. DeCouvier moved off as Peggy kneeled down to Édouard and held out a glass to him. He gratefully accepted and downed the liquid in one shot, wincing as it burned his throat, then he threw his arms around her and wept uncontrollably and unashamed. He cursed the gods, and Hitler and everyone else in this god damned world that had taken everything from him. Peggy kissed his head gently, and whispered soothing words to him. When, at last he was cried out, Leon carried him limp, to the bedroom he had shared with Fox.
Peggy looked down at the glass still in her hand, and picked up Édouard's off the carpet. DeCouvier stepped in and helped her up.
"Merci," she said, quietly.
"You know, Geneviève saved Édouard from the camps."
"Did she?"
"Yes, they escaped together; he was going to be exterminated the next day."
Peggy's eyes narrowed at her glass as she put Édouard's and hers on the table and poured out two more drinks. She held one out to DeCouvier who held up his glass that showed it was full.
"Oh, sorry," she apologized.
"It would be a shame to waste it."
She shrugged and then proceeded to down both glasses of schnapps one after the other.
"You're a born leader, Rita. Vera knows what she's doing."
She remembered when Édouard gave her the same compliment.
"I'm not so sure sometimes," she said, as she thought about how she could have stopped Gen and Fox from going that night.
"I hope you are not thinking that you are responsible," he said, after he watched her brow nit itself into frightful patterns.
"I could have…"
He shook his head and sighed, "You could have done nothing short of killing her yourself, she wouldn't have listened. If anything of this is to be a lesson, take that. Never let yourself get so blinded to revenge that you lose sight of the bigger picture."
Peggy thought of those words for a while, and then she finally spoke decisively, "Opportunities multiply as they are seized." She got up and put the bottle back in the cabinet and the glasses in the sink.
For the next few hours she scoured the network messages for any word of Gen or what had happened, after those were read through, she looked at all of the papers both from the Vichy presses and the resistance. There was nothing in them except speculation. It was late when she finally let herself have a moment of respite, and then there was a rustling around the back door. She was up like a shot with her gun almost flying into her hand.
It was Jean at the door with a message in his hand. She kissed him on both cheeks and took the message from his hands, tearing it open from the side.
Her eyes went wide and she looked pained.
Her voice sounded hollow as she read it out loud:
"La Boucher has been stopped at Ostend. There will be no more transmissions from this operative."
"La Joconde, what do we do?"
She said with a voice as cold as steel, "We keep going, Jean. We keep going, and we win."
She didn't allow herself to break down in front of anyone, but when she went to Gen's room later that night, after sitting up with Leon and grieving, she lay face down on the bed and cried bitter tears.
She and God would settle up some other time.