Chapter 21: Crown Justice 30th November 1939

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

Only the noise of the clock in Kurt's bedroom could be heard. The icy morning air nipped away at the duvet on the bed, where his arms were around hers, tucked safely into her side. It was the sort of morning that made getting up very difficult, almost impossible in fact. Nobody would want to get up no matter where they were around the world with such a cold front gripping at them. Motivation was hard to draw when simply positioning a hand outside of one's covers could almost freeze one to death. As much as she had to put on her best acting skills to stomach staying in bed for long periods of time with him, Lyla could appreciate the warmth of a man on a morning such as the one they were experiencing. Even Kurt.

Awake next to her, Kurt lightly began to stroke her back, comforting her in the cold. He was a monster in her eyes, with his work on the secretive mass exterminations project disgusting her completely. Some mornings when she washed, she could feel herself having to scrub the stain of his evil from her skin. But he could be kind too and treated her like a queen on a good day. A queen that was betraying him constantly for the greater good.

"Wir müssen reden, Lyla."
("We need to talk, Lyla".)

His unusually soft voice slightly unnerved her. With him behind her, he couldn't see the look on her face at his words. Whenever he would usually speak to her in bed, it would be in his normal more commanding tone, not in the soft manner that he'd just used. She might have been a fantastic actress, but even Lyla Walsh couldn't hide every single feeling and thought that passed through her.

"Müssen wir?" She tentatively enquired with him.
("We… do?")

"Ja, das müssen wir". He confirmed. "Dringend".
("We need to. Urgently".)

His voice suddenly changed back to the more serious one which she knew him by. He was being deadly serious with her all of a sudden. Remembering her training, she stayed as calm as she could, hoping that the ruse wasn't all suddenly blown, with no way of defending herself under the sheets against him. Keeping a gun at the offices was far too risky despite knowing how to use one, with the knives in the kitchen her only hope of any weapon.

They sat up together, Lyla turning to Kurt with a face that deftly hid her apprehension from hearing whatever he felt the need to say to her.

"Du erschreckst mich noch mal, Kurt." She admitted, though not as honestly as she felt. "Worum geht es?"
("You are scaring me again, Kurt. What is it?")

His immediate sigh only concerned her more. Kurt's behaviour was becoming more and more out of place, Lyla's heartrate rising whilst it did. She'd always envisaged of an ending more fitting, at least an execution rather than dying at his hands whilst in his bed. Her features were trained but inside, she was screaming.

"Der Führer hat mich einem Lager in Polen zugeordnet, um meine Forschung abzuschließen und weiter zu den Live-Experimenten voranzukommen."
("The Führer has assigned me to a camp in Poland. To complete my research and move onto the live experimenting phase".)

Exhaling slightly, enough for the fear he assumed she had to be genuine but not genuine enough to give away just how fearful she was, the news stopped any thoughts of her mask being ripped off. She was not going to found out to be the traitor to him that she was, loyally serving the British Crown to gain his trust and more importantly, Nazi secrets. Yet she couldn't help but feel selfish in feeling relived. For whilst she might have been safe from Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden, many others were about to find themselves a victim of him. From all that she'd gathered before and after the order to stop investigating the mass exterminations project, she knew that it would be the Jewish people who would suffer the most. They already had done greatly at the hands of their Nazi overlords, who in her mind, were fearful of the Jews. A threat to the Nazi culture, they needed to be eliminated, with Kurt being delegated the task of doing so the most efficiently. The exterminations were to begin with the live trials. Powerless to stop them, her own conscience was already being haunted, guilty that she could do no more.

"Ah. Du meinst...auf Menschen?"
("Oh. You mean… on people?")

She asked the perilously difficult question, watching as his face began to light up as if he were proud of butchering innocents. It sickened her.

"Ja. Auf Menschen. Feinde unseres Landes!"
("Yes. On people. Enemies of our country".)

They were not enemies of the country as he made them out be, she knew. Honest people would be being sent to their deaths at Kurt's hands, who only wished to live peaceful lives within the confounds of the German border. That border though was growing, and as it grew, there were more poor unfortunate Jews waiting to fall in front of the exterminating steamroller that the Doctor was developing.

"Ich verstehe."
("I understand".)

"Ich wusste, du würdest verstehen. Es heißt, ich werde eine lange Weile weg sein, vielleicht sogar ein Jahr."
("I knew you would. It means that I am going to be away for a long time, perhaps even a year".)

She understood that he was a disgusting bastard who had no respect for his fellow human beings. But she couldn't dwell on that because he'd hit her with a true bombshell. He was going to be away for over a year. A year where he wouldn't be in Berlin to divulge the German High Command's secrets to her, to unwittingly arm the British Government with more intelligence on their enemy.

"Ich kann nicht mit?"
("I cannot go with you?")

She already knew the answer before she asked the question, but to maintain her appearances, she asked it anyway. She didn't want to relocate to Poland and really, she couldn't do, with other operatives than just her in Berlin. They needed her there to oversee everything but with Kurt away, the link to the German High Command was broken. Her value as an individual would be significantly lower, only saved by her value to the group of spies as a whole.

"Es ist kein Ort für dich, mein Liebling. Ich muss alleine gehen."
("It is not a place for you, my dear. I must go alone".)

Appearances continuing to be kept up, it was Lyla's turn to sigh, Kurt moving his hand up her back at the sound. Believing he'd upset her, he pulled her in closely to him and a few errant tears went a long way in convincing him that he had. In reality, she was crying for the poor souls that she couldn't save from his wicked contraptions. For a few moments they sat up in bed together, saying nothing, Kurt drawing circles on her back with his hand. Her thoughts eventually turned elsewhere though and to the other person who would be affected by him leaving for Poland.

Lieutenant Hartmann.

"Geht Hans nicht mit?"
("Is Hans not going with you?")

"Nein. Ihn kann ich auch nicht mitnehmen. Es tut weh."
("No. I cannot take him either. It pains me".)

"Es tut uns beiden weh, ohne dich zu sein."
("It will pain us both to be without you".)

Lying for herself, she wasn't for Hans. She knew how much he looked to Kurt for guidance, and though he might have been monstrous in his beliefs, Kurt was adept at advising the young man. He would be missed.

"Möchtest du, dass er hier bei dir bleibt? Ich will nicht, dass du fühlst, als ob ich dich verlasse. Wäre Hans hier, dann könnte er dir mindestens Gesellschaft leisten."
("Would you like him to stay here with you? I do not want you to feel as if I am abandoning you. At least if Hans were here, he could keep you company".)

Then he went and asked. Feelings that had been locked away for weeks, suddenly rose to the fore again inside her mind. She'd seen Hans since that day, it was impossible for them not to see each other due to their individual relationships with Kurt, but they very rarely spoke. If they were speaking to each other, then it was out of necessity or to not give Kurt the impression that there was any tension between them. Certainly none of a sexual nature… Definitely not the sexual tension that lingered like the chill in the air that morning, whenever she found herself stood close to the Lieutenant…

"Das würde mir gefallen." She answered.
("I would like that".)

She really… really would…

"Ich werde möglichst bald mit ihm reden."
("I will speak to him as soon as I can".)

"Vielen Dank, Kurt."
("Thank you, Kurt".)

Beaming a feigned smile at him, she leant over to kiss him on the cheek. It was the least that she could do for him to thank him for such a wonderful idea. Allowing her to keep the young Lieutenant where she wanted him… or perhaps even needed him. Cupping her cheek, he kissed her back with ferocious passion, his other hand working its way up to the strap of her bra, where he began to slowly unfasten it.

"Da ich weggehe, gibt es sonst noch etwas, was ich vermissen werde."
("With me going away, there is something else I will miss too".)

Kurt's voice, thickly laced with desire, indicated exactly what he had in mind to warm them up that morning. A sickness immediately entered her stomach as he began to remove her bra, both hands now working around her sides to front, gently cupping her breasts.

"Was wäre das denn?"
("What would that be?")

For the second time she asked a question that did not need an answer. He did not provide one on the second time however, instead beginning to kiss her neck and collarbone, trying to coax out her own passion from within. She could not bring that passion to the surface for a man like Kurt, but faking it was well within her acting repertoire.

In a time of war, it was a sad sacrifice that was required. She would again give her body up for the Crown and would continue to do so for as long as it was required.

For the greater good…

Six thirty in the morning was not a time when any of the girls would consider themselves at their best. In a change to the usual morning routine, Michelle and Clare arrived at the Quinn house, waiting for their serving of toast from Mary. It wasn't the first time that she'd treated the two of them to breakfast, though she always made sure to claim favours from Deirdre and Geraldine in return. Though after Erin's wee illness, she was in fact in debt to the latter for bringing them supplies of food and essentials until she deemed it safe to open up the house again. A day of rejoicing for Anna and Gerry, who despised being locked down in their own house.

"I'm telling ye girls, he's a massive ride!"

"He's a protestant Michelle!" Clare argued with her friend's latest choice of fella. "He can't be a ride!"

"He can be a ride Clare!"

Mary rolled her eyes to the side of them. Michelle Mallon's brand of conversation was never the most flattering coming from a young lady, though Michelle's qualities were hardly ones that could be described as ladylike. Then again, Kathy Maguire was a lady now, her aunt no less, so it wasn't entirely impossible for her to ascend to the title. Not on merit though.

"Yer not allowed to like a wee proddy. It's wrong, so it is!"

"Why do you care anyway!?" Michelle bit back at Clare. "Ye've never even been with a fella".

She never had been and she never would. The constrains of her great secret were briefly threatened, the colour disappearing from her face for a moment before she wisely shook the grievance off. An inquisitive Michelle was a hard nemesis to put down and over breakfast ahead of a long day at work, there was no need for them start arguing.

"I… I don't!"

"Then ye'll let me call him a ride won't ye".

Knowing she'd won, Michelle rubbed it in Clare's face, cheekily grinning at her to acknowledge that she was the victor of their brief clash of opinions.

"A ride's a ride, isn't that right Erin?"

In her own home, Erin was drowned out over breakfast. In truth, she didn't have much to add to the conversation, sitting on the fence if anything. A ride was a ride, that much was true and opportunities shouldn't be scoffed at when they arrived, she thought to herself. Although, whilst Clare might not have approached her argument in the right way, a logic rang true to the young Quinn in what she was saying. Quite how smart it was of Michelle to be riding a Protestant fella was debatable. Albeit, not over a bacon sandwich before seven o'clock in the morning.

"W… Y…".

"Ach, yer too busy thinkin' about ridin' James!"

For once, she wasn't, but that didn't stop the profuse blushing that followed. Thinking of James was not always so rosy though. After months away, months of their life that he'd missed, there was a palpable sadness around her thoughts of the Englishman. She loved him, that was for certain, but not having him there to be able to talk to was beginning to kill her very slowly. She really needed to talk to him too, but like their life together, it would have to wait.

"I wasn't…". She tamely argued.

"Yes ye were". Michelle and Clare, now joining forces, replied in unison.

Scowling, Erin looked away from her friends. It was yet another conversation with her that turned sour, a recurring theme since James left for England. Erin's moods were becoming the thing of legend between family and friends, spoken about in hushed voices as if she were able to hear them even from miles away. Upsetting Erin was almost akin to being sentenced to death itself, yet execution via beheading or firing squad would be preferrable than having to put up with a foul Erin. Her tongue was also starting to develop a tendency to become more vicious when speaking with even her parents, who were regularly having to remind her of her place. They understood of course, the teenager even right towards the end of their teen years could be difficult to control, but her spur of the moment anger could really grind their gears.

"Anyway, we shouldn't be talkin' about that at breakfast".

"Aye I second that". Mary came to her daughter's aid. "Here girls, yer toast's done. Don't say I don't spoil you's".

"Thanks Mary". Michelle said, reaching over, whilst Clare merely nodded her own gratitude.

They were soon merrily chomping away, though Erin had already finished, instead opting to sit in silence without saying anything. Her friends were accepting that it was going to be another of those mornings, which would mean a tremendous lack of conversation at work. If she was going to be in a mood all day, then there was absolutely no point in talking to her at all. Clare at least went by that principle, but as the toast began to settle in her stomach, Michelle's patience abruptly ran out.

She was sick and tired of Erin's moods. Something was going to have to give.

"Thank ye again for the toast Mary…". She started.

"Ach that's alright Michelle love, plenty of fuel for another long day".

"Aye. Hopefully it has the same effect on Miss moody over here".

The dig was not subtle at all, staring directly at Erin, who reacted to it by scowling even more intensely than she had been doing so before. She didn't appreciate Michelle describing her in that way. Not at all.

"Shove off Michelle!"

"I beg ye pardon, young lady!".

Mary reacted before the dark-haired Mallon could, rounding on her own daughter. The girls were supposed to be friends. While timing was never Michelle's strong point, Erin's continued cold shouldering of everyone in her life was always going to rub someone up the wrong way. Sadly for her, she picked the one person who wasn't going to back off immediately and then faced the ignominy of having her own mother team up with her.

"Just leave me alone". She asked them quietly, trying to be diplomatic.

"No chance". Michelle scoffed. "We're all gettin' fed up with yer moods".

Taking a look to her mother, Erin's face was almost a picture of horror. If Mary agreed with Michelle, then it would be an act of betrayal. They'd spoken, privately of course, about her moods and she thought they'd come to an agreement on the matter. Mary, knowing that it would be a betrayal of her own flesh and blood, wisely backed out of the argument. It left just the yapping dog of Michelle and the nodding dog of Clare to pacify.

"FINE!" She shouted. "I miss James, alright!"

"I knew it".

"Ye well, it's alright for you isn't it, Michelle?"

Her eyes closing in a wince, Mary prepared to train her ears to the bombardment that her Erin was about to give her friend. She would step in at some point, but not before they'd had a good set to.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on girls…". Ever the mediator, Clare tried to stop anything untoward proceeding. "… let's just calm down and have another cup of tea".

"Shut up Clare!" Erin angrily turned on her.

"Hey!" Michelle came to the diminutive blonde's defence. "You leave her alone. She's trying to be fair with ye, which is a lot more than I'm doin by the way! I'm sick of yer shit Erin, ye need to pull yerself together".

If Joe was present, he'd have warned Michelle about the use of such foul language, but Mary was willing to let it slide for now. Anna was safely upstairs with Gerry, far out of earshot of the words she was not allowed to hear.

"WHAT I MEANT!" Erin yelled to gain control of the room, before returning to a plainer voice. "What I meant, is that ye just ride whoever ye want Michelle. Ye have nothin' to lose… I have everything to lose!"

"Ye, I know, I ride fellas and there are no strings attached. But look at Orla. She has a baby, the daddy of that baby being in the same position as James. She was feckin' pregnant and she moaned less than you!"

"She didn't have to put with you everyday!"

As Erin slammed her fist onto the kitchen table, Mary decided that her time to intervene had come. The two girls were not backing down, Clare was having no joy in separating them and Erin looked ready to throttle Michelle… she couldn't let any further escalation occur without risking their finest china from being smashed.

"ERIN JOSEPHINE QUINN!" She came down sternly on her daughter. "You will calm yourself down, right now, do you hear me!?"

"Aye, that's right Mary, you tell her!". Michelle foolishly tried camaraderie with her.

"AS FOR YOU!" Mary bellowed, Michelle's camaraderie having backfired spectacularly. "The next time ye come to this house, ye better come with an improved attitude and a cleaner mouth, or I swear you'll be out on yer ear! Understood?"

"Aye Mary". Michelle mumbled quietly. "Sorry Erin".

Erin couldn't quite believe that she'd drawn an apology out of Michelle, especially when she was as much, if not more to blame. Without thinking, they both got up from their chairs and hugged each other tightly. They didn't need to have any more arguments about Erin's moods or any other arguments about anything. Friends might argue, but not to the extent that they had that morning, and the two retained tears in their eyes as they embraced.

"What the hell was in that cup of tea…".

Clare's whisper wasn't picked up by any of them, but she did have to wonder whether Mary laced it with something. Erin and Michelle tearfully hugging and apologising to each other was a sight to behold, but not one that she could honestly believe was happening. Looking into the empty cup, she didn't feel as if she'd been drugged and quickly glanced up to see her two friends still locked together. There really wasn't anything untoward with her drink; Michelle and Erin were putting aside their differences for once. It was the happiest, despite the tears, that Erin looked in weeks, Clare thought to herself.

As the two girls came apart and sat down, the front door opened. The sound of a crying baby soon filled the air of the Quinn house, the girls knowing exactly who'd come to see them.

Orla and little Marie.

Marie could be compared to James, when he first arrived in Derry. Everyone wanted to flock round him, get a good look at him… it was the same with Marie. The difference for the baby was she was not creating deviant thoughts in any of their heads, rather her intense cuteness being the reason for such a crowd being drawn to her. The day she came back from the Hospital with Orla, the house next door was full to the brim with family and friends. Colm somehow managed to bring a crowd of his own friends to see the wain too, friends that Joe could give no explanation for Colm having. Everyone thought he was such a boring old bastard; where he found the friends from was a mystery. It also helped her that she was a gorgeous little baby, much like her Mammy was when she was born. After the initial scare, she'd been as good as gold, crying only every so often and not having to make her Mammy work too hard. Orla quickly recovered from the exertions of childbirth and was back to floating around in her upbeat fashion within a few days. It would take a lot more than giving birth to change her outlook.

"If it isn't my favourite wain!" Michelle declared.

"Ach morning everyone". Orla replied. "Aye she's here Michelle".

The bundle of fun in her arms wriggled a little, adjusting to the sudden crowd of overjoyed faces that rushed around her. Her ardent protectors, those who cared for her and would give their life for her should the need arise. Michelle and Clare were stroking her tiny little face, whilst Mary looked into the little child's eyes adoringly. Memories of holding Erin in her arms many years before and Anna only a couple of years before, drowned her mind. They were adored over just as much as Marie was, with the faces of Sarah and Joe replacing those of Michelle and Clare.

"God, she's so cute!" Clare screeched.

"She's a right little cute one". Michelle cooed. "Yes ye are, aren't ya Marie?".

"Don't bother askin' her Michelle, I've tried. She can't speak yet!"

If they could have one thing in the world that could not change, it would be Orla. Michelle and Clare were rolling their eyes in perfect synchronisation at her statement to the former, one of the complete obvious to everyone other than her. They'd all had their initial worries, though did not vocalise them, about her ability to be able to look after a child. There were some days where she'd show the maturity of a baby herself, with some of her comments ranging from the bizarre to the downright worrying. But in the couple of weeks since the birth, she'd proven herself to be a very capable mother, tending to Marie's every need perfectly.

"She still sleepin' well?" Michelle asked.

"Very". Orla replied, smiling. "She reminds me of her daddy when she's asleep".

Michelle went to make a very inappropriate comment, but Mary read her mind and the look on her face stopped the young Mallon from saying what she was going to. It would have been quite vulgar to say in the presence of a baby, but would have been typical of her had she done so.

"She does look healthy". Mary commented.

"She is Aunt Mary. She is".

"Well, it's a family trait, so it is…". Mary explained. "I remember you were very healthy when ye were young and Erin was too, despite kicking me to death!"

"My ma always said I was healthy too". Clare added.

That was the truth too. Mary remembered seeing Clare as a baby, even holding her in her arms on a number of occasions. Geraldine's glee in having such a healthy child was only surpassed by Sean's, who thanked god devoutly for weeks after her birth, for allowing the child safe passage into their life. Nearly twenty years later, he would still say the odd prayer to the Lord for the same thing. He was immensely proud of his little Clare.

"Not coming to join the fun, Erin?"

A pleasant enough question came her way. Michelle enquired out of intrigue, noticing that her friend that she'd made up with only a couple of minutes before, was hanging back out of the way. Normally being someone who led from the front, it was most odd to find her skulking in the rear, not actively taking part in fussing around little Marie.

"She doesn't want us all crowdin' around her". She fairly argued.

"I suppose not. Let me get out ye way then".

Wanting to tell Michelle not to worry about, that she didn't need to shift herself on her behalf, Erin found the words stuck, unable to rise to the surface. She saw plenty of little Marie, as Orla came to the house most mornings with her, just as Erin left with Mary and Sarah for work. Orla herself would not have to go back to work for some time, though Joe had offered to look after Marie so that she could. As much as she wanted to do her bit for the war effort, and for David, she'd decided that she would use the time to bond with her daughter instead. Her Daddy was going to be away from her for months potentially already. She didn't want Marie to be without her Mammy too.

"Ye know Erin…". Michelle started as she backed away and her friend took her spot. "… ye should be writing down any tips from Orla for when you have wains with James".

As her hand touched Marie's soft little cheek, she froze. Advancing on a subject that she shouldn't have, Michelle could not see Erin's face to see the terrified look upon it, and neither could Clare. But Mary could see it and she understood the expression immediately. Another one of their conversations, the ones shared between an understanding mother and her frightened daughter, centred on children. It was another topic that they held an understanding on, an understanding that they would never revisit it until Erin was comfortable with doing so. She certainly wasn't that morning.

"Ach yea!"

Thankfully, her cousin saved her blushes, as James' name triggered the real reason for her visit that morning into her head.

"I almost forgot! When I went downstairs this morning, there were letters for us".

"At this time of the morning?" Mary frowned. "That is peculiar…".

"I thought that too, but David managed to convince Jesus to bring the letters last time, so I guess Jesus must have been busy and could only walk on the water at night, like".

Nobody decided to take her up on the comment at all. There were some things that came out of Orla's mouth that needed to be challenged but not that one. It was a harmless statement outside of church that really needed no further introspection.

With the letter retrieved from Orla, Erin's hands trembled as she began to unfurl it. She wasn't expecting another letter from James until nearer Christmas.

What could he be writing to tell me?

"Have you read yer's?" She quizzed Orla.

"Aye I have". Orla replied, nodding her head overenthusiastically.

"What did it say?"

"Well…".

The day after…

Five o'clock in the morning.

The skies were still pitch black, the light of the new day not yet having dawned on the shores of Northern Ireland. The night was a freezing one, the ground being rock hard under foot as the frost took hold of it, devilishly unrelenting in its icy grip. Conditions would be treacherous for those heading to work in the hours that proceeded, the risk of slipping over extremely high. Children would have to be careful going to school, though not too careful as not to be late. Poor timekeeping could see a child become better acquainted with the cane if they weren't careful.

Yet no one in the whole of Derry was going to have the same fate as one man knew he was on the first morning of December. Nobody else could have earned the fate that he'd done, nobody deserving of the punishment that he was about to receive. There were precious few people awake at that time of the morning within the city, though some were starting to rise on the outskirts on farms. As well as those at the camps, the ones that the city folk spoke of in hushed terms knowing that they were just a few miles away. One camp in particular that morning had a few members of its staff awake as well as one lonely prisoner, awaiting his destiny.

There wasn't the need for an expensive trial or to bother any of the local judges, for his crimes were ones that didn't need an educated man to put on a wig to read out the sentence. Only one penalty could ever be acceptable for what he'd done. Death was the only option.

Professor Michael Joyce was going to pay the ultimate price for colluding with the Nazi's. Specifically, the infamous Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden. Emerald One's work in Berlin was perfect, finding the key man outside of Germany that was linked closely to one of Adolf Hitler's most trusted advisors. Joyce's involvement compared to those within the German High Command was minimal, but it was all it needed to be when it came to collusion. The moment he wrote to Van Der Heijden with advice of his own, signalled the time where his life was taken out of his hands. He was unlucky that Lyla Walsh just happened to be the partner of his old friend from when he studied the sciences. That was the risk that a man or woman ran when deciding to pass information on to an enemy of the kingdom. An enemy intent on ruining the lives of millions of people with no compassion shown towards them at all. The same lack of compassion would be shown to the Professor. It already had to his family.

He was cruelly told of Jenny's death, the implication that she was killed as an act of vengeance plotted to break his spirit, ignoring the truth of her death. Vengeance was not the motive for her death, it was vigilance. Remaining vigilant when it came to one of the most important people that existed within Great Britain at that moment in time. James Maguire. The same young man who the Professor never shared the details of his friendship with the doctor too, almost always remaining businessman like when talking through his finances. The young man becoming the employee of the bank that would liaise with his family, was inadvertently the reason why it now lay destroyed.

His wife was not informed that Jenny's throat was slit but was treated with much more dignity even without the truth, carefully told that she'd died from a terrible bout of the flu. She'd done nothing wrong of course, her interrogators quickly coming to that conclusion, with respect being shown very quickly afterwards. She didn't need to pay the price that her husband and daughter were paying; she was broken enough without them killing her. That would be the cost in itself. She would have no family to go home to when the war would finally be over, whenever that would be.

The guards didn't allow the Professor breakfast. Not that he needed it anyway, with just a few minutes left on Earth before he would join Jenny wherever she may be. Or not. Or go to hell like most of the city of Derry wanted him to.

"OUT!"

A Guard, fully armed and with the most savage look on his face, ordered the fidgeting Professor out of his cell. Every means of escape was shut to him and had been since the first night he'd spent in there. He was not strong enough or, if he was honest to himself, brave enough to try to get out. After all, he was not a stupid man. His name was one that was mentioned very quietly in conversations between people, condemning him in hushed voices for what he'd done. The walled city was caught off-guard when one of its own's close ties with the Nazi German government were revealed, appalled by Professor Joyce's actions whilst trying to figure out how none of them figured it out earlier. Everyone knew everyone else's business in the city, so how no one was aware of his communications with Berlin was one for minds to ponder.

The guards, like the set at where Jenny had been held, didn't go easy on him at all. Along with the men sent to interrogate him, they would often use the more physical methods in confronting him. He'd lost a tooth in one such skirmish, getting off lightly when it came to what the guards truly wanted to do to him for being a collaborator.

"Come on you Nazi scum!"

The guard, his gun pointed into the Professor's back, jabbed at him whilst he snarled. They were not the most overly intelligent bunch, but he wouldn't speak back to them either. They would only beat him harder if he did.

It might have been pitch black everywhere else, yet the passage to his final destination was lit with torches so that they could all see where they were going. It felt medieval, being dragged to death before the sun rose on the horizon, without being able to speak to his wife, to be able to profess his love for her one final time. He would at least get to be with Jenny again when it was over, passing on to go to God's side in his own eyes, and the Devil's in everyone else's. The manner of his death was not going to be a glorious one at all, or a peaceful one for that. It was more akin to the death of a wild dog, captured after biting a victim and being given the only punishment that was befitting. He would die like the dog they thought he was.

The firing squad.

Up against the rear wall of the block he was held in, he came to a stop. They'd placed a bag over his head for the journey after leaving his cell, not even giving him the chance to take in the surroundings of the inside of the prison for one final time. The hood did come off eventually though, and when it did, he was greeted by the sight of six soldiers stood before him in the torchlight, their rifles by their sides ready to be trained upon him. A man of great education should never have had to face a death so unbecoming of his social status, yet it was a status that ceased to exist once it became apparent where his loyalties lie. No amount of money in the world could mend the damage of passing information to a hostile government.

Public execution was the fate that the citizens of Derry were keener on, although they were never consulted on what the punishment should be. His death could not be one that even became public knowledge, in the same way that nobody in Derry knew of Jenny's true fate. To the people of the city and beyond, the Joyce's would be held in prison for as long as they were deemed to be enemies of the state. Very few people were permitted to know the fate of father and daughter. Jenny's executioner was not given her name or the reason for why she had to be killed; he just followed his orders and killed the teenager without question. The six men that stood with their guns ready to be trained upon the Professor did not know who he was or what crime he'd committed nor did the officer who would be giving the order to fire. They would follow their orders though; he would die. That was how Menzies and Smithers needed it to be, the two men behind the decision to execute the Professor, who didn't have much more to offer them. He'd become a loose end that needed to be tied up.

"Look at you all!"

Taking advantage of the few moment's silence, the Professor rounded upon the men who were to execute him. Napoleon Bonaparte managed to continually convince soldiers sent to apprehend him to join his side upon his return from exile; surely the smart Professor could talk six men around into sparing his life.

"You are sheep, blindly following orders! The Nazi's… my friends, they understand what needs to be done in the world! They want to make this world a better place, free from the tyranny of the men that command the likes of you!"

Professor Joyce was not Napoleon Bonaparte though. He was Professor Michael Joyce, of a formerly high standing, but now of a very lowly one. And even more tragically for him, to the men sent to kill him, he was just another order that fell from the mouth of their officer. He was not a man; he was an objective. The firing squad's objective in the torchlit early hours of the morning was to kill the Professor and kill him they would.

Standing to attention, the soldiers turned their eyes to a further presence that was added to the area by the back wall. The person who arrived came with a ghostly impression, creeping in from the night stealthily like a predator, ready to pounce on their prey. The Professor didn't need to be pounced up though, as he was already caught in a trap that he could not untangle himself from. They were not fully aware of the implications around Jenny's death, and the preservation of James Maguire's reputation over her life. They did know, like everyone else, that he'd colluded with the Nazi's though but unlike everyone else, they also knew he would die for it. Smithers and Menzies might have been the organisers, but on the ground in Northern Ireland, they always turned to Emerald Two to put the finishing touches on every plan. They'd served the Crown more than adequately in the endeavour, like every endeavour they'd served it, being allowed to witness the death of the traitor for themselves as almost a reward. A traitor they'd shared a city with for years, never suspecting that the Professor could so callously betray the principles of the society they lived in to throw in with the Nazi's, the world's nastiest pieces of work in their eyes. They knew that Professor Joyce would recognise them too, allowing him one last shock before six bullets would find their mark in the man's body.

"Y… You!" The Professor shouted. "B… but h-how…".

Lost for words, Professor Joyce could not believe who he saw in front of him. There were some people he could have perhaps expected to see put the boot in from within Derry, but not the person now stood in the gap between him and the soldiers. He still retained his smarts, even if he did not retain his reputation and suddenly the pieces began to fall into place. The out of the way prison, the torchlit execution with barely a soul to witness it, the incredibly torturous interrogations and even his Jenny's death. Something was being covered up that nobody could know about. Information that he must have given them, despite saying very little of interest out of loyalty to Kurt, meant that he had to die. Just association alone was surely not enough, for he could have rotted away in a cell for the rest of his life for that. No, he was going to die because he knew too much about something or… someone. But what or who eluded him.

"Yer workin' for… them!" The Professor snapped. "How could you… you of all people, work for them!"

"Ye made yer bed Michael". The person he knew told him. "Ye knew what would happen if ye got yerself caught and ye went ahead anyway".

"But…".

"NO! There are no but's here. I've done what's right".

With that, the figure stepped back behind the torchlight, into the darkness where they'd came from. Emerald Two would watch on from the darkness, their job complete, whilst the six men and their Captain completed theirs. It was a task that many would hate to do, more so when involving their fellow soldiers, but it was their duty. Not everyone would have the honour of going out onto the frontline to fight. Some men would have to stay behind to perform the dirty jobs. Early morning executions being one of them.

"Captain".

Emerald Two nodded to the officer. The time came to send Professor Joyce to his final resting place.

"MAKE READY!"

The six men readied their rifles on the target a few feet away from them. Despite only being lit by torches, they could see the figure of the Professor very well, his hands tied together behind his back. Defenceless against the oncoming storm of bullets that would be heading towards him.

"PRESENT!"

Opting for silence, Professor Joyce's thoughts turned to his wife and fallen daughter. If only the British Government would have seen the light and allied themselves with Hitler's Germany, then they could have been prosperous, life being never better than before… but they were too stubborn to see the perfect world that the Nazi's could offer.

"FIRE!"

Six bullets found their mark on the Professor's body. Not one of the soldiers missed or only grazed him, all six shots driving home to end the man's life where he stood. A life that advocated the hatred prophesised by the Nazi's was cut short just after five o'clock on the first day of December, his body staggering as he took his last breath, crumpling back against the wall where he slumped into eternal silence. Emerald Two left without another word, to inform Menzies and Smithers of the success of the execution and their loose end being tied up. Another threat to James and the secrets of yesteryear was also removed, an additional but ultimately more important bonus than simply executing a collaborator.

The Professor's body was moved from the back wall, thrown into a pit around the corner that was dug in preparation the night before. There would be no grave to mark where his body lay.

The traitor did not deserve the honour.

A week earlier…

A final reformation looked set to be completed for the 815 Naval Air Squadron. This time, there would be no disbanding after the initial formation, the officers and airmen set in stone for the future.

Their schedule mostly consisted of convoy escort duty up and down the English Channel, a task that James and David were beginning to get used to, even though they'd only flown a couple of escort missions. David was as vital as James was on those, keeping his eye on any potential enemy activity, ready to report to James for anything that required closer inspection. It was not the exciting, high-flying life that many expected it to be, but the two young men could live with it. After all, their steady presence in the skies above the precious supply ships that made their way into the ports was doing their bit for the country's war effort.

Relishing the chance to talk together in the air, the two were also beginning to understand the limitations of being assigned to a proper squadron. They were no longer sharing the same room, James having his own, more spacious room in the officer's block whereas David was packed into a room with three other men, smaller than the one he'd shared with James at Hendon. There was very little in the way of comfort for David, whereas James could sit at a desk within his room to write up reports or write letters back home. There was no jealousy from the Irishman though. The arrangements they found themselves in was how he'd expected it to be the moment he found out James was commissioned as an officer. Any opportunity they had to mix they would take, though around the other men in the squadron, he followed his training, treating David no differently to any of the others at his command. The rest of the squadron all knew that the two were friends, constantly badgering David for more information on their young second in command. Being the good friend he was, he told the others very little.

One task that, thankfully in James' opinion, David didn't have to perform, was attending meetings of senior officers. Lieutenant Commander Borrett met with his three most senior officers every day before breakfast, discussing the day ahead. It was timed to allow the officer on duty at night a chance to report on anything that required his attention. James had performed the night duty the first three nights upon arrival, and then again twice since, on a rota that they determined between them. That morning, he was not coming off of the night watch, the honour falling to the Junior Lieutenant Allen. He was not junior in terms of age to James, being five years older than him, but was outranked on seniority of command. A cheery Welshman, he would often annoy all of the men at his command with his oppressively loud singing. It was not only the men; his fellow officers didn't think too much of it either. The other Junior Lieutenant, Barnes, did not sing loudly like the Welshman and was roundly more liked by the rest of the men. He didn't say too much though, which made meetings with him difficult as he struggled to contribute anything worthwhile to them.

"Good morning Gentleman". Borrett addressed them.

"Good morning Sir". They all replied.

Taking their seats, the meeting began. Allen reported nothing of interest from the night watch, with no convoys on duty that evening which therefore made it a quiet one. They were not called upon to conduct any further patrols either, the task falling to other squadrons to protect the shipping lanes of the English Channel that night. Barnes didn't have anything to say either, which left James to raise a query with his commanding officer from a conversation he'd had with one of the men.

As an officer, James was untested, which caused some unease within the uncommission men, but as a man he was well liked. David did his best, without revealing much of James' life, to talk him up to them and in turn, James showed his caring nature. An officer of old would not have been so open with the airmen at his command but James was different. He could still be stern with them, as one man found out when he decided to test the patience of the young Lieutenant, but on the whole he made himself approachable. The manuals didn't tell him to do that, the skill being learnt from Flight Lieutenant Bentley back at Hendon. Bentley was the very embodiment of approachable, seamlessly interacting with the regular men as he would do with his fellow officers. That approach to command was the reason why the men went to James rather than any of the other officers. He would listen.

"Sir, a few of the men are anxious to find out when we will be assigned to a carrier. They are worried about the adjustment to life at sea".

The change between having a base in mainland England and one on a mobile Aircraft Carrier would staggering. As men of the Fleet Air Arm, they would be expected to live on a carrier for months at a time, spending their time at sea whilst waiting to engage the enemy or be engaged by them. Not many of the men held experience of life upon a carrier, except some of those who'd survived the sinking of the HMS Courageous, that transferred into the 815 upon its final reformation. James and David didn't have any experience of doing so either, a life at sea being alien to them as much as it was to the rest of the squadron.

"That is understandable Lieutenant Maguire…". Borrett started. "… thank you for taking the time to hear from the men".

"Yes Sir".

"We cannot tell them yet, but I have had it confirmed in writing that once the Illustrious is cleared for operations, the full squadron will be assigned to her".

"If you don't mind me asking…". Allen, who sounded as tired as he looked, butted in. "… but when might that be, Sir?"

Borrett sighed. In times of war, plans could change at the drop of a hat. They might wait another year before they were aboard the Illustrious or they might be aboard by Christmas. Allen's curiosity, like the men's, was justified, but a definitive answer was not one that could be given.

"All being well, I would like to think we would be in a position to board by the start of the New Year".

The start of the new year might have only been just over a month away, but it was still too far in James' opinion. He would not say that to his commanding officer of course, though could not stop himself thinking about where he'd rather be in the New Year. Tucked up in bed with Erin to wrap himself around. Sadly, it would not be.

"Do we have anything else of a pressing matter to discuss Gentlemen?"

"Nothing further from me, Sir". James spoke.

The other two officers shook their heads, indicating that they were happy for the officer's meeting to conclude. Allen especially, as he wanted to go to bed after the night on watch. They all stood, ready to be dismissed by Borrett, who quickly gave the order.

"Except you, Lieutenant Maguire".

Allen and Barnes gave him wide looks as he was asked to stay, standing still whilst watching his fellow officers depart. It left the two officers with the seniority of command alone. James immediately feared he'd done something wrong, as he was never asked to stay behind after the morning meeting. Borrett had congratulated him for bringing the men's questions to his attention earlier, and he could only assume that was why he'd been asked to stay.

"At ease James".

Taking a small sigh of relief, it appeared that the matter was not a serious one as whenever Borrett addressed him by his first name, the conversation that followed was always insignificant. Gesturing to whether or not he should return to his seat, the Lieutenant Commander shook his head, insisting that he stay stood up.

"I've asked you to stay because I don't want to announce this to the men yet and I want it kept between us as the senior officers".

A rush of nervous energy suddenly shot through him. He was being let in on a secret, a privilege earned by him due to his position. An honour he was going to have to get used to.

"As a squadron, we have been granted leave for Christmas…".

Borrett spoke a few further words, but James did not hear any of them. They were going to be able to go home for Christmas and spend it with their loved ones. David was going to be able to meet his child whilst he himself would have the opportunity to ask Erin a very important question. It was music to his ears, a harmonious melody of joyful anticipation already kicking in alongside the ever-present rhythm that was his love for her. The two of them made a promise to the girls that they would be home for Christmas, albeit with the premise that the war would be over, but they would still be at home. Waking up on Christmas morning with Erin's head resting on his chest was the only present he could think of receiving as he became lost in a world within his mind.

"James…".

"Y-Yes… yes, Sorry Sir".

He stammered in his reply, being returned to reality by the Lieutenant Commander, who was not best pleased that his second in-command for zoning out.

"As I was saying…". Borrett raised his voice. "… I intend to gather the men after breakfast tomorrow morning to inform them".

"That sounds like a brilliant idea, Sir".

"Airman Donnelly has a newly born child, does he not?"

Surprised that the Lieutenant Commander knew of Marie's existence, James could only smile, thinking about the little girl that he too would soon get to meet. David was desperate to have some leave and would be delighted to hear that they could go home for Christmas. During their times in the air together, he would often talk of Marie, unable to stop thinking about how beautiful she would be, like her mother. James could not disagree, as the genetic good looks that the child would inherit were ones he told David he was jealous of, though his friend scoffed at him, reminding him that his own good looks were ones that could make anyone jealous. They could certainly make Erin jealous of anyone who wanted to spend more than a few minutes looking at him.

"He does, Sir".

"You may perhaps wish to mention this to him".

Eyes widening in surprise, he stared intently at Borrett, to almost convince himself of the man's sincerity. He couldn't believe that the Commanding Officer would allow him to tell David before the other men, especially as he consistently pointed out to James that he could not favour his friend over any of the other men.

"It would be my honour, Sir!"

Stating it proudly, James meant every word. It would indeed be his honour to be able to inform David that in a month's time, he would be holding his little girl in his arms for the very first time. Lieutenant Commander Borrett didn't need to tell him to go, James sprinting out of the officer's block to try to find David within the Airman's accommodation. Luckily for him, David was already outside, enjoying the morning air before heading back inside for his breakfast. Catching sight of the Lieutenant, and his remarkable pace, David could only grin at him, even if he was supposed to be showing the officer respect. The officer was a massive eejit though…

"What's got you so happy". He sniggered.

"David! David!" He cried in a whisper. "Come with me to my room".

Frowning at the bizarre order, the non-commissioned men never being allowed into the officer's block usually, David sought an answer from his friend.

"James…".

"David… we need to write to the girls now!"

"Why?"

"We're going home for Christmas!"