I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.

Winston Churchill

- 0 -

Early morning hours
Beach near Dunkirk, France

Against Harry's explicit instructions, Ruth had got out of the truck and scrambled up the nearest dune, the Mauser clutched in her hand. She went unchallenged, as all the German soldiers had converged on the beach as soon as the boat had approached. She was in time to see Harry appear from the water and shoot Hoffhausen, and heard the German command to fire. Harry threw himself to the side as soon as the shout rang out, and she saw the bullets kick up spurts of sand where he'd stood. The spotlight stayed on him, making him a sitting duck as he scrambled for the water. Desperately, she lifted the Mauser and aimed it in the general direction of the spotlight. She squeezed the trigger repeatedly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Harry spin and fall backwards into the water. A cry of anguish escaped her and then, miraculously, the spotlight shattered and the beach was thrown into darkness. She ran back to the truck, knowing that if Harry was able to move, he'd head south.

Back on the beach, Schneider barked angrily, "Get that damned light back on!"
It took nearly a minute to find a new light and get it attached to the battery. As soon as the beach was flooded with light again, he strode towards the prone figure of Tiberius.
"Spread out along the water's edge, see if the English spy washes up anywhere," he ordered. He had seen the man go down and was confident that he was seriously wounded or even dead. He crouched down next to the felled German and checked his pulse. The man was dead, but Schneider did not spare any thought or sympathy for him. The only thing he was interested in was the package that lay next to him. He carefully unwrapped the watertight cover and drew out a sheaf of papers.
"Bring that light closer," he snapped, and a young soldier scurried over with it.
Schneider examined the documents eagerly, his eyes getting brighter at the sight of each one. It was all there – dates, troop strengths, landing sites. He had struck gold. To either side of him, his soldiers had fanned out along the water's edge.
"The English spy?" he enquired of the nearest one.
"Nothing yet, sir," the man answered fearfully, but Schneider merely shrugged. One out of two wasn't bad, especially if the one was of such momentous importance.

- 0 –

Harry swam hard, ignoring the stinging pain in his upper left arm. As soon as he'd felt the bullet rip through his flesh, he'd spun with it and gone down in the water as though he had been injured severely. He'd heard the shots from the dune and knew that it must have been Ruth. The moment the light went out he had begun to swim south as fast as he could with his injured arm. The current was with him and had borne him out of the immediate area faster than they would expect, and it was his saving grace. He emerged into a reed-infested stream about a mile south, breathing hard and shivering from the cold. As he fought his way through the reeds, he slipped on a patch of algae, wrenching his knee and going down hard. When he tried to get up, it buckled under him and he lay on the ground panting. He had finally reached the end of his physical endurance and he stared up at the stars, wondering if Ruth had got away safely. The rumble of an engine disturbed the silence and he briefly contemplated staying where he was and allowing them to take him, but in the end his stubborn refusal to give up kicked in and he moved, slithering backwards into the reeds. He pulled a knife from his belt and pressed himself down into the mud, and waited.

Ruth got out of the truck and jogged along the edge of the reeds. This little stream was one of only a few places where Harry would be able to get out of the water unseen. She shone her torch along the ground, her heart thumping in her ears. She could hear German voices being carried to her on the wind, but she had no idea how close they were. And then she saw it, a patch of fresh blood on the ground.
"Harry," she called softly. She carefully parted the reeds and there he was, the knife held out in front of him. He was a mess, covered in mud and blood, but gloriously still alive. However, he appeared to be on the verge of collapse.
"Oh, Harry," she said, and helped him to his feet. He grunted in pain as she slung his left arm across her shoulders and half-dragged, half-supported him back to the truck.
"They're coming, we have to move," she urged and he found his feet and moved faster, leaning heavily on her.
She got him into the truck, and ran around and jumped into the driver's seat. The wheels spun as she gunned the engine, then found traction and the vehicle leaped forward.
"South," Harry instructed through chattering teeth, "go south," before he promptly passed out.
"Stupid man," Ruth mumbled in half-terror, half-admonishment as she shrugged off her coat and covered him with it. Her one hand found his wrist to reassure herself that he was still alive, before she turned her attention back to the road and got them as far away as quickly as she could.

- 0 –

Helmut Schneider strode into the party at the chateau triumphantly. He held aloft the papers and announced to the gathering, "We have confirmation of the intended landing sites of the Allied Forces."
They all stared at him in amazement and he quickly recounted the whole story – how Tiberius had stolen the plans and reached France before he was killed by an enemy spy.
Juliette, her voice carefully controlled, asked off-handedly, "What happened to the enemy agent?"
"Oh, he was shot," Schneider responded. "His body will wash up somewhere along the coast in a day or two."
"How do we know these plans are real?" It was Field Marshal Rommel who spoke.
Schneider was not going to let anyone rain on his parade. "Would the British send two spies to retrieve the plans if they were fake?"
Standing to the side, Juliette listened with a smile plastered on her face, feeling sick.

- 0 –

Ruth drove for twenty miles before she spotted an isolated farmhouse. She turned towards it and pulled to a stop outside. The sun was beginning to rise and she knew she had to get them off the road. The farmer came out, a look of apprehension on his face. Ruth got out, aware that she must be a sight; mud and Harry's blood all over her. She smiled wearily at the farmer and spoke hurriedly in French.
"Please, I need help. My friend is injured, and we need a place to hide and rest."
She was taking a huge risk; for all she knew this man would sell them out to the Germans at the first opportunity. But she was desperate, exhausted, scared and alone, and out of options. The farmer glanced at Harry's pale face inside the cab, and then back at her.
"You are Resistance?"
She didn't hesitate. "Yes. Please," she said again, and he must have heard the desperation in her voice because his face softened.
"There is a track behind the house. Follow it for two miles and you will find a hut in the woods. No-one ever goes there."
She nodded gratefully and turned away, but he said, "Wait!" and jogged into the house. He came back with home-made bread and cheese, and a few apples and pressed it into her hands.
"Now go. I will send my son to warn you if anyone comes to ask about you."

Ruth drove until she found the hut. She parked the truck out of sight behind it and leaned over Harry.
"Harry, wake up." She slapped him lightly and his eyes fluttered open.
"Ruth?"
"Yes. I need to get you inside that hut. You need to help me."
"Why didn't you leave when you heard shots, like I ordered you to?" he demanded, able to sound authoritative despite his weakened state.
Ruth glared at him. "You want to discuss that now? Come on."
They staggered inside and she lowered him carefully onto the narrow cot against the wall. He started shivering again.
"I need to get out of these wet clothes," he said feebly. "Can you…?"
She helped him strip, and he hissed when she peeled his shirt away from his wounded arm. It started bleeding afresh. He stripped naked and she averted her eyes until he had covered his lower body with the blanket. She examined the wound and said, "It's a through-and-through. We just need to clean it and bind it, and you'll be good as new in a few days."
When she looked up, he was watching her, somewhat amused.
"A 'through-and-through'? Where did you learn that?"
"I, er, heard it in a movie," she said, daring him to laugh at her, but he didn't. He merely smiled indulgently and pressed his wet shirt against the wound to try and stop the bleeding.

There was wood stacked next to the fireplace, and Ruth set about making a fire. Next she found a pot and boiled some water, and fetched the first aid kit. She cut up one of her shirts and used it to bathe the wound gently. Harry sat quietly through her ministrations, his eyes never leaving her. She applied disinfectant and finally bandaged it. Her eyes lifted to his face.
"You have some cuts from the reeds, do you want me to…"
"Yes." His voice was low and hoarse. She pretended not to hear, and cleaned the mud and blood from his face before disinfecting the cuts. When she looked into his eyes, desire burnt deep in their depths, but it was overshadowed by fatigue. She cleared her throat.
"I'm going outside for a while; use the water to wash. Call me when you're done."
She left before he could say anything, and he sighed heavily. He had almost died, and all he could think about was what it would be like to kiss her. He washed, enjoying the warm water, before he covered himself with the blanket once again and called for her. Ruth walked in, the Mauser in her hand.
"We need to discuss what happened back there," Harry said stubbornly, but she shook her head.
"Later. You need to rest, Harry. You're out on your feet."
He knew she was right, and settled down on the cot. As his eyes slid shut, he said, "Don't use the radio here. It will give away our position."
And then he was asleep, leaving Ruth to marvel at his ability to focus on the job, even when he was dead on his feet. She barred the door and sat down at the small table, placing the gun next to her. The fire was crackling at her back and the warmth seeped through her weary limbs. She watched Harry sleep for a while, before she rested her head on her arms and drifted off herself.

- 0 –

London, England

The Prime Minister looked at the man standing before him, looking ill-at-ease and sick-at-heart. He was one of Harry's men, and he believed he brought bad news.
"Mr Wynn-Jones, isn't it?" Churchill asked as he ushered him into the office.
"Yes, Prime Minister."
"And you bring word about Operation Royal Flush, I understand."
Malcolm swallowed. "Yes."
The Prime Minister lowered himself into his chair. "Well, no use drawing this out. Tell me as succinctly as possible."
Malcolm took a moment to collect his thoughts before he began. "I am afraid the Germans got the invasion plans. Sir Harry managed to shoot Gunther Hoffhausen, but was shot in turn before he could recover the plans."
Churchill closed his eyes and rubbed his brow wearily. "Harry was killed?"
"We don't know. As of this time he is missing, presumed dead."
"And the girl?"
"We don't know. There's been no word as to her whereabouts."
"I see." Churchill stood up. "There is still hope, then. Until the Germans produce a body we must believe that they are still alive. Make sure that the fallback extraction plans are honoured."
Malcolm nodded. Even though he didn't share the Prime Minister's optimism about Harry's prospects, there was still a chance that they could at least get Ruth out. As he left the office, he wondered about the Prime Minister's muted response to the failure of the operation.

- 0 –

Somewhere south of Calais, France

Ruth jerked awake and her hand automatically reached for the gun. She looked around her blearily, but all was quiet. The fire had gone out and when she glanced at her watch, she saw that she had slept for six hours. Harry was still dead to the world, curled on his right side, his injured left arm cradled against him. She got up and quietly rebuilt the fire, feeling the need to have a wash herself. It wasn't easy to clean oneself with a bit of water in a small metal basin, but she managed and hurriedly dressed again. By the time Harry began to stir she'd set out the bread, cheese and apples the farmer had given her.
"What time is it?" His voice was gravelly from sleep as he sat up gingerly.
"Late afternoon. How do you feel?"
He took some time to assess. Stiff all over, his wound throbbed dully and there was a stabbing pain in his knee every time he put weight on it.
"Fine," he lied, but could tell from the look she gave him that she didn't believe him.
Harry reached for the dry clothes Ruth had set out and she turned her back while he dressed. He joined her at the table. She watched as he cut a thick slice of cheese and put it on his bread. As he was about to take a bite, she said, "So you managed to shoot Tiberius."
He hesitated, then put the food down and looked her in the eye. "Yes, but the Germans got the plans."
She smiled tightly. "So the operation was a success, then."

They stared at each other. Harry said nothing, simply watched her warily.
"I'm right, aren't I?" Ruth pressed, but still he didn't respond.
"All right, I'll tell you what I think," she said, his silence getting on her nerves. "This whole operation was an elaborate double bluff. You gave Tiberius those documents, which are not real by the way, and told him to bring it here, and you used another turned German agent to make sure they knew about his arrival, and about our presence here. Our attempt to intercept Tiberius is designed to convince the Germans that those documents he brought are real. Why else would we be willing to sacrifice our lives to get them back?"
She glared at him, challenging him to contradict her, but he didn't. He took a bite and chewed slowly, his eyes never leaving her. Her patience snapped, and she shoved her chair back and stood.
"You bastard," she said harshly. "You still don't trust me, even after everything we've been through."
She headed for the door but before she could open it, he grabbed her arm and pinned her to the wall. He crowded her, standing so close that their chests touched when they both breathed in deeply. His eyes bore into hers, filled with admiration, respect and passion.
"It's not a question of trust," he said. "Think about it."
She stared into his eyes and did as he asked, and he saw the realisation dawn.
"So that I couldn't give away anything if I were captured," she said slowly, and he smiled slightly.
"You're a born spy, Ruth."
His mouth was so close, those full lips so enticingly near hers. It would be the easiest thing in the world to pull his head down and kiss him. She knew he wanted it too, could see it in the way his eyes kept flickering to her mouth, but if she gave in now, she wouldn't stop. And her desire for answers was even stronger than her desire to kiss him.
"So you did lie to me," she accused, instinctively knowing what approach would make him back off.
Regret flitted across his face. "Yes. For operational reasons."
He guided her back to the table as though he was afraid she would bolt out the door at the first opportunity. They sat down, and as they resumed their meal he told her everything.

"A German spy stole the real plan from our Ambassador in Ankara last month. We became aware of it through the Ultra intercepts a week ago. We'd long feared that there was a chance that they might obtain the invasion plan, so I devised a strategy to muddy the waters, should they do so. I picked one of their best spies that we had captured, and for a year now I've worked on him, winning his trust and turning him into a pawn we could use against his own country."
Harry took a sip of water before he continued.
"You guessed the rest – the aim was always to let the Germans get their hands on the information he carried. It gives the wrong date and landing sites for the invasion, and hopefully they will see our desperate attempt to get the documents back as confirmation that these are the real plans, rather than the set their spy procured in Turkey."
Ruth searched his face. "Is that why you came yourself? Because you knew how imperative it was that Hoffhausen not be captured alive by the Germans?"
Harry was quiet. Eventually he looked up. "A man should always do his own dirty work. Because dirty it certainly was, even though it was for the most noble of causes."
She didn't react to his statement but asked instead, "Who else knows the truth? Malcolm?"
"No. Only the PM and I knew."
And now you, he thought, leaving it unsaid. But already she seemed to be skilled in reading him.
"Thank you."

He gazed at her and suddenly the attraction arced between them once again, as though they were back where they were a while ago, his body pinning her to the wall.
"So what happens now?" she asked, and cursed the slight shake in her voice.
"We stay here for the night. It seems as safe a place as any. There is an extraction scheduled for tomorrow night, and you'll finally get to go home."
Her relief was palpable, until his words fully registered.
"Wait. Only me? What about you?"
"I'm staying in France until the invasion. I'll be needed to interrogate any senior German officers we capture, and it'll be safer to stay here than try to re-enter during the invasion."
Ruth's head dropped as she tried to hide her disappointment and her fear for him. She had no claim on him, she reminded herself sternly.
"Where will you stay?" she asked, thinking of Juliette.
He watched her carefully. "I don't know. Joanna's group will hide me somewhere."
She nodded and turned away so that he could not see her face. "It's getting dark, I'll get the fire going again."
"No, we have to keep the hut dark during the night," Harry instructed, and she stopped in the middle of the floor, uncertain what to do with herself or the emotions flooding her.
And then Harry was next to her, his hand on her arm turning her gently towards him.
"Ruth…"
His gaze was tender and adoring and she lost herself in it.
"You astound and enchant me, and I would very much like to call on you once I'm back in England. If the idea doesn't repel you."
There was a vulnerability to his words and she could read him perfectly; he feared she would think him too old, too damaged, too ruthless, too secretive.
"I look forward to it," she said instantly, her hand finding its way to his chest, and she felt his breath quicken at her touch. She stared at his throat and saw his Adam's apple move as he swallowed hard, and it removed the last vestiges of her shyness. She was acutely aware that he might not come back, that she would never get a chance to show him how much he had come to mean to her in the short time they'd known each other. The thought was unbearable, and she took his hand and said, "Harry… please," and led him to the bed.

tbc