Goodnight then: sleep to gather strength for the morning. For the morning will come. Brightly will it shine on the brave and true, kindly upon all who suffer for the cause, glorious upon the tombs of heroes. Thus will shine the dawn.

Winston Churchill

- 0 -

6 June 1944
Bletchley Park, England

The day dawned clear but windy and Ruth's stomach knotted. Even before she had switched on her radio, she knew instinctively that the invasion was underway. When she had woken the previous day to stormy skies and strong winds, she had known they would have to postpone. But today the weather was just about good enough. She hurried to Hut Seven and found Connie already at her station. The older woman looked up as Ruth took her seat.
"It's started," she said and gestured at the intercepts piling up on the telex machine.
Ruth took a deep breath. "Any indication on how it's going?"
"No. It'll take a few hours for news to filter through."

Ruth bent to her task, but half of her mind and the whole of her heart were in France. She couldn't help but think of the thousands of young men who would throw themselves at the beaches and the German fortifications, and wondered bleakly what the death toll would be. She fervently hoped that those intense three days in April had not been for nothing, and that it had in some small way helped to save a few lives on this day. Once she had been back in England, and back at her station in Bletchley Park, the whole experience had seemed surreal, and she had moments when she doubted whether those three days had actually happened. But late at night, alone in the darkness of her room, she would remember Harry's hands on her body and the feel of him inside her, and she knew the truth. She hadn't heard from him since her departure and she wondered where he was, whether he was safe. And whether he sometimes thought of her.

- 0 –

25 July 1944, early morning
Village near Bletchley Park

Ruth was woken by a loud knock on her door.
"Ruth!" It was old Mrs Collins.
Ruth groaned and pulled the blanket over her head. The doorknob rattled as Mrs Collins refused to be discouraged by her silence. The thin, reedy voice raised another notch and Ruth wondered whether she was talking through the keyhole, a thought which rather amused her.
"There is a messenger with an urgent message for you. From London," she whispered theatrically, as though London was someplace terribly exotic.
Ruth's thoughts immediately went to Harry and she threw off the covers. She yanked open the door and found herself nose-to-nose with Mrs Collins, who blinked like a startled penguin.
"Thank you," Ruth said, and snatched the message out of the other woman's hand.
She opened the brown envelope as Mrs Collins looked on. Inside was another envelope. It was white and of good quality, and it was embossed with the seal of the Prime Minister. Mrs Collins' eyes nearly popped out and she looked at her lodger with newly gained respect. Ruth withdrew the card inside, which invited her cordially to a small ceremony at 10 Downing St later that morning. The messenger would wait and would drive her there if she was free to attend.
"Er..." She was speechless and the two women stood gawping at each other.
"Right... Well, I suppose you'd better tell him I'll be down in half an hour."
She slammed the door in Mrs Collins' face, who was still rooted to the same spot.

- 0 –

Three hours later
10 Downing St, London

Ruth was shown into an elegant drawing room on the first floor. She perched nervously on the edge of a chair, repeatedly smoothing her skirt over her knees. She had put on her best dress; one that she liked to think accentuated her figure in a restrained manner and complemented her eyes. A friendly woman came in and offered her tea and sandwiches, but she was too nervous to accept. She still had no idea why she had been summoned here. It could only be something to do with Operation Royal Flush, that much was obvious to her, but what? She had not told a living soul about the real intent behind the operation, not even Malcolm. Harry had trusted her with this secret and she would not let him down. Another thought, too dark to contemplate, lurked at the edges of her consciousness: What if this was about Harry? What if something had happened to him? She couldn't bear it.

A door opened and the Prime Minister walked in. He was followed by a man in dress uniform, the insignia of a Colonel and a row of medals pinned to his chest, including the Victoria Cross. Ruth's gaze eventually reached his face and met a pair of very familiar brown eyes and a soft smile, and her heart soared.
"Miss Evershed, it is my great pleasure to make your acquaintance, and indeed my great honour," Churchill said.
Ruth tore her eyes away from Harry and shook the Prime Minister's hand.
"The honour is mine, Prime Minister," she managed, and was relieved that she at least sounded like an intelligent person.
"Unfortunately I do not have much time," Churchill said, "but I wanted to do this in person. Sir Harry."
Harry stepped forward and Ruth noticed the velvet box in his hand for the first time. He opened it and held it out to the Prime Minister.
"Ruth Evershed," Churchill said as he removed the medal from the box, "it is my privilege to award you the George Cross for heroism shown in circumstances of extreme danger during Operation Royal Flush. It played a significant role in allowing us to establish a beach-head during the invasion, and as a result we are now on the cusp of breaking the back of the German resistance and to march for the Rhine. Let me also add my personal gratitude for saving the life of a man whose council and friendship I value highly."
He pinned the medal to her breast and shook her hand solemnly. "You are by all accounts an extraordinary woman, and we salute you."
Harry saluted smartly, as did the Prime Minister, and Ruth had to blink back tears. Churchill saw that she was lost for words and kindly patted her on the arm. "I have to go, but I'll leave you in the capable hands of Sir Harry. Your country, and indeed the free world, owes you a great debt. Congratulations."
At the door he turned, eyes twinkling mischievously, and said, "You know, Harry, I've always thought that my most brilliant achievement was to persuade my wife to marry me."
With that, he left them alone, staring after him in astonishment.

Harry was first to recover. "Congratulations, Ruth," he echoed, smiling.
"You're back," she blurted inanely, too overwhelmed to say anything more intelligent.
"Indeed. Since late last night," he added, worried that she might get the wrong idea.
When she continued to stare at him, he cleared his throat nervously.
"I wondered whether you would allow me to call on you. I thought I could take you to dinner. If you'd like to, of course."
"Dinner?" she repeated, seemingly unable to manage more than a few words at a time.
"Yes, dinner. If you'd like to." He trailed off, and then added, "I want to court you. Properly, like a gentleman should."
Her thoughts went back to their last night together and she suppressed a smirk. It seemed a little late for gentlemanly behaviour, but she appreciated the gesture and understood it for what it was – proof that she was more than just a shag to him.
"I would love to be courted properly, Sir Harry. Or should I call you Colonel?" She reached out and touched his insignia, a joyful and impish smile spreading across her face. He stepped towards her.
"With you, I would very much like to be just Harry," he murmured and kissed her tenderly.
He pulled away before the heat between them had a chance to build to dangerous levels. "Would you like to go for a walk along the Thames?" he asked, and she nodded happily.

Harry held out his arm and she placed hers through it, and they wandered out into the street and to the river, chatting leisurely. His heart was light and full in his chest and he felt the hardships of the last few months begin to fade away. The memory of the scores of young men killed, maimed or wounded during Operation Overlord and the fighting in the forests of Dieppe would always stay with him, as well as the faces of the demoralised German officers that had passed through his hands, for him to apply the straw that would break them. It had been arduous, unsettling but necessary work, and he was glad to have a respite from it. Through it all the memory of Kent's undulating green fields and a woman with dark brown hair and eyes the colour of a stormy ocean had sustained him. She had seen his dark side but had not been repelled by it; instead she had stood by his side resolutely, and he had vowed not to let her slip through his fingers. He planned to offer her a job at the SOE as an analyst, but that could wait. For now he would enjoy the fact that he was still alive, that the fortunes of the war had turned in their favour, and that he had the woman he was smitten with on his arm. And who knew; in a few months' time he might even get a chance to follow the Prime Minister's cheeky advice, and persuade her to marry him. He looked into her sparkling eyes and suspected that, like the great man, he might just consider it his greatest achievement as well.

- 0 –

All the great things are simple, and many can be expressed in a single word: freedom, justice, honour, duty, mercy, hope.

Winston Churchill

Fin

A/N: A German spy really did steal the plans for Operation Overlord from the British Ambassador in Ankara in January 1944, but Hitler was convinced that they were false and that it was disinformation spread by the Allied Forces. The Germans, therefore, continued to prepare for an invasion at Calais and thus allowed the Normandy landings to succeed. I could see someone like Harry come up with a plan like the one described here, and decided to write it. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Thank you for all the kind reviews.