Chapter 41: Marginal Gains, Seasonal Pain December 1940

Berlin, Thursday 5th December 1940

The streets of Berlin were quiet around the early afternoon of that Thursday. Some of the streets were still partially blocked which aided the quiet, a reminder to the people of Germany that the British were still in the war. More worryingly for some, an explosive reminder of what Britain could retaliate with, even from their seemingly hopeless position at the edge of Western Europe. Many of the young men who were still at home completing their training before being called to the front, had been brainwashed for years to believe that although the British were their ancestral brothers, they were still weaker. For the first time, although not openly, some began to question whether they'd been lied to by the high command. Of course, if they were to do so openly then they would meet the Gestapo's full force. Not many returned alive from a run in with them…

Lyla Walsh was not immune to the reach of those men either. She knew that whenever she was out alone without the young Lieutenant Hartmann, the suited men would watch her all the way home. As far as she knew she'd done nothing to raise their suspicions, suspecting more that she was watched because of the circumstances she'd arrived in. Despite being on good terms with Hitler herself, she naturally assumed he'd ordered the surveillance at a distance, just to be sure that he'd made the correct call on the judgment of her character. He had not of course, but equally he would never discover the truth should she be successful. When her work required her to pass messages to the other men and women working for the British Crown within the city, she would utilise her skills in evasion to slip away from the sights of the Gestapo for a brief time. Quick enough that she did not get caught and remain unsuspicious but long enough to get her messages across, Lyla played the role perfectly.

That afternoon was no different. She noticed their presence as soon as she'd left the final shop that she'd planned to visit, to pick up some thread for some sewing she planned to do later that evening. One of Hans' shirts required stitches as well as a couple of her dresses and it kept her occupied during the usually dull evenings where nothing would happen. Like the rest of the city, they remained on high alert with the RAF threat being present every evening. Luckily, there was a bunker on site at Kurt's offices as they were listed as a key building, as well as the underground area of the laboratory on the ground floor. One way or another, there was a very quick way out to safety should bombs fall. Bombs were not her most pressing concern though. That remained the two men of the Gestapo that decided to follow at a distance. Fortunately, it was a day where she would not be in contact with any of her fellow agents, so the men would soon find that she was merely heading back to the offices. They would not be able to foil her that afternoon.

In her mind, she was happy to not have to be in contact that regularly with the other agents. Attempting to maintain a well-hidden network of spies who reported on every move that the Germans made was incredibly stressful whilst trying to main her own cover. It did not help that many of the agents that were supposed to be working under her were vastly incompetent. They were not poor when it came to maintaining their cover, all of them brilliant at it, but none of them could discover what she could. Having access to Hitler, albeit only when he deemed it right, she did hold an advantage, but none of the others were able to get anywhere near the offices of any of the major Nazi figures that ran the government. Most relied upon those who worked under them or even hearsay from other public figures that did not hold any power whatsoever. There was only Lyla who could give the Crown exactly what it required…

The two Gestapo men were no longer following her as she approached the offices. They were still stood in the distance watching, making sure that she entered the building as she was supposed to before they left for their next assignment. She wasted no time in getting inside either as it was bitterly cold out. There was no snow covering the ground at least, but the ice that the city woke up to would stay where it was during the day to make all journeys out dangerous to those who did not pay attention. Lyla's mind was far too active for her to forget about it and slip over, especially when she was being tailed by the Gestapo.

Returning to the offices, she opened the door to find that the living room was empty. Allowing herself to sigh, her mind moved away from the Gestapo and back to another set of thoughts that refused to leave her. Unlike the young women who'd lost their loved ones to conflict, she could not speak to anyone about her loss without breaking her cover to reveal who she really was. The devastating news from back home filtered through from Smithers in the days that followed his death. Devastated but unable to show it, it was only when both Hans and Elsa were out in the city that she could let her emotions out fully. Bursts of minutes worth of crying was all she could muster though, as her life as a German citizen would continue regardless of what happened back home.

Making herself a cup of tea, Lyla sat at the seat by the window in the kitchen, staring forlornly over the streets of the German capital whilst she thought of him. His death was not something that she expected at all, although given the circumstances it was not unrealistic. She'd hoped to return home to him one day to be able to live their lives properly once more, without the threat of Nazism a stone's throw away. Fate decided that it would not be the case.

Forgetting that she was completely alone in the house given how quiet it was, Lyla was almost taken by surprise when Elsa strolled into the kitchen. Still thinking about him though, it did not stop her from continuing to stare when the shock of the young German woman's presence resided. Since moving in, they'd grown to be good friends with Lyla mothering her out of instinct. It was not planned, nor would it be approved of should Smithers find out, but she did not care at all when the young couple needed her guidance. Hans required it a lot more than Elsa did, although the young blonde would have her own moments where the correct direction needed to be pointed out to her.

Their friendship worked both ways too, which is why the blonde woman was worried about Lyla the second she saw her sat looking out over the city. She did not like the solemn despair that was written across her friend and mentor's face.

"Geht's dir ok, Lyla" Elsa asked, frowning as she did.
("Are you alright, Lyla?")

"Ja, mir geht's". Lyla replied quietly.
("Fine".)

"Bist du dir sicher? Es scheint, als geht's dir nicht gut?"
("Are you sure? You do not seem well?")

Elsa walked over to the table, taking the seat opposite Lyla. The movement stopped the trance like state that the Irishwoman was in from progressing, prompting her to shuffle around to face the young German woman. Eye to eye, she did not want to have to keep lying to Elsa. Unlike Hans, whose head was turned by the brainwashing that was Nazism, she was far more worldly wise. Trusting her to keep the real story a secret was a step too far though, which ensured that the truth remained silent. She did not wish to discuss it all.

"Es tut mir leid, Elsa. Ich konzentriere mich heute nicht." She answered evasively.
("I am sorry, Elsa. My mind is elsewhere today".)

"Möchtest du darüber reden?" Elsa continued to question.
("Do you want to talk about it?")

"Ich...ich bin nicht sicher ob das eine gute Idee wäre."
("I… I am not sure that it would be wise".)

"Warum nicht?" The blonde's brows furrowed. "Ich bin bereit, dir zuzuhören."
("Why not? I am willing to listen to you".)

"Weil ich mich vielleicht aufrege."
("Because I may become upset".)

As talented an actress as she was, Lyla could not hold back the pain of grief. No man or woman should have been forced to have to, though it was not always the best idea to cry in front of others in a hostile country, showing weakness that could be exploited. None more so than in a time of war when strength was sought. However, she still retained her common sense despite the upset. To discuss the actual truth would have to remain a pretty dream, but an answer would still have to be given to the curious young woman. It was well within her repertoire to provide one, the skills of illusion once again being called upon, this time to bamboozle Elsa rather than Hans or Kurt.

"Na ja, vielleicht sollten wir sowieso darüber reden weil ich angefangen habe, zu weinen."
(We may as well discuss it as I have started to cry".)

For a spy, it was odd that she hated lying. Many in her position would have been desensitised to spurting out mistruths given how many they would have to tell at any one time in order for them not to be discovered. Lying to Elsa was exactly what she would do though, without thinking twice about the morality of doing so.

"Gegen diese Zeit vor acht Jahren habe ich meinen Mann Robert verloren."
("Around this time eight years ago, I lost my husband, Robert".)

It was a mistake to have ever mentioned the lie to Kurt in the first place. She'd been pressed early on in her relationship with him to reveal a lot about her past life, lying about the husband that did not exist. There was no Robert in Lyla's life nor was there any other man now that he was gone. Elsa tried to smile at her but did so sadly when she saw the tears that trickled from Lyla's eyes. Little did she know that they were tears that a crocodile would be proud of…

"Manchmal gibt es Momente, in denen ich an ihn denke. Wir haben uns so jung ineinander verliebt dass, als er so plötzlich gestorben ist, war ich todunglücklich." Sniffling, Lyla continued to lie.
("I sometimes have moments when I think about him. We fell in love so young that when he passed away so suddenly, I was heartbroken".)

"Das is furchtbar."
("That is awful".)

Lyla could not help herself as she grinned back through her partly feigned tears. A young woman who definitely had her heart in the right place, it only endeared her to the Irish woman more when she showed her concern. The fact that the concern was unnecessary when she was being lied to mercilessly, remained hidden.

"So ist das Leben, Elsa". She told her firmly in return. "Ich hatte keine große Familie, bei der ich Trost suchen konnte und es war für ein paar Jahre für mich sehr schwierig, bevor ich mich wieder angesiedelt habe."
("That is life, Elsa. I did not have a large family to seek comfort in at the time and I struggled for a couple of years before I settled again".)

"Ich kann mir nicht vorstelle, wie es gewesen sein muss." Elsa replied heartfully.
("I cannot imagine what it must have been like".)

"Versuche das bitte nicht. Es ist kein Bild, das du dir beibehalten wollen wirst."
("Do not try to. It is not an image that you will want to keep".)

It was not an image which she wished to conjure herself, the pain of loss coming too soon since her own. If, like the story she'd been telling, was years down the line then it would have been a very different conversation entirely. She did not have a large family to count on in reality, but unlike in her lie, there were others out there like Elsa and Hans who would seek to comfort her when the pressure became too much.

"Ist niemand anders hervortreten, um dir in diesen Jahren beizustehen?".
("Did nobody else come forward to support you in those years?")

"Nein...und es ist nur schlimmer geworden."
("No… and it only got worse".)

Surprising herself by how far she was willing to go to mask the truth from Elsa, Lyla's lie grew in magnitude. There was more to the life that she'd told Kurt she'd had, meaning that she would have more lies to tell Elsa. It was never part of the plan to have to expand the story of the life she hadn't lived, but when the life she had brought her so much pain, it was easy to transfer the suffering to the falsehoods she created.

"Robert und ich hatten gemeinsam einen Sohn, John. Er war ein schöner Junge, nach dem Bilde seines Vaters geschaffen."
("Robert and I had a son together, John. He was a beautiful boy, made in the image of his father".)

Elsa looked as if she were to join the older woman in tears in the seconds that proceeded the story of a lost child being added to Lyla's fantasy world. Unaware of the fictious nature of it, Elsa's heart went out to the woman sat opposite her. Reaching out, she grabbed hold of Lyla's hand to squeeze it. A smile tugged at the lips of the Irish woman, although she was not sure whether it was from her genuine thanks to the warmth shown by the blonde or whether it was from being pleased that she'd fallen so easily for the lie. She liked to believe it was the former, but the reality of the situation that day in the kitchen was that it was latter.

"Er ist ein paar Monate nach dem Tod von Robert gestorben." She continued to lie diligently.
("He was taken from me a few months after Robert".)

"Oh Lyla, es tut mir so leid". Elsa spoke affectionately, squeezing her hand once more. "Du hättest nicht seinen Tod so bald nach dem deines Mannes erleben müssen sollen."
("Oh Lyla, I am so sorry. You should not have faced his death soon after your husband's".)

"Hätte ich nicht, aber so hat das Schicksal es gesehen."
("I should not have but that is the way that fate saw it".)

Appearing to reflect bitterly on a life she'd lived long before, she was instead reflecting on a life taken from hers so soon. Hiding behind the lies of the past with a man named Robert and a son called John, it allowed her to be as emotional as she wished to be without the risk of being caught. That was the skill and expertise of Lyla Walsh.

"Wie hast du es alleine geschafft?" A naïve Elsa enquired.
("How did you cope alone?")

"Ehrlich gesagt, Elsa, habe ich nicht.". She lied again. "Ich habe Monate verbracht dabei, mich von meiner Gemeinschaft zu isolieren. Ich hatte wenige Freunde sowie keine Familie."
("The truth is, Elsa, that I did not. I spent months isolating myself from the rest of the community. I did not have many friends to turn to as well as my lack of family".)

"Einen Priester?"
("What about a priest?")

"Der Kirche war es scheißegal. Ich war nur eine Witwe ohne Zukunft."
("The church did not care. I was just a widow with no future".)

"Sollte Haltung dürfen sie nicht haben!" Elsa shouted. "Die Priester hier bei uns wären nicht gemein.
("That is not the attitude that they should have! The priests here would not be so cruel".)

"Im Vergleich zu Deutschland ist Irland ein sehr anderes Land, Elsa." Lyla wryly informed her.
("Ireland is a very different place to Germany, Elsa".)

She was not wrong there. There was a culture clash in many ways between the two. Ireland was a proud nation whether it was the free state or those still under the rule of Britain, as was Germany. Irish pride was built on different grounding than the German pride though, with a culture of hardship cultivating the personalities that gleamed from the Emerald Isle. The same could not be said about Germany, where more pride was to be found in military achievements. At least that is what their High Command told them and only a fool would speak out against their word.

"Im Laufe der Zeit konnte ich mich konzentrieren." Lyla continued. "Ich habe mich auf der Arbeit voll reingehängt und ich hatte Glück, dass der Geschäftsinhaber meine Umstände sehr gut verstanden hat".
("In time I was able to focus. I threw myself into my job and I was lucky that the man who owned the business was very understanding of my circumstances".)

"Aber du hast die nie vergessen?" The intrigued Elsa continued to ask questions.
("But you have never forgotten them?")

"Ich konnte keinen von den beiden vergessen. Ich hatte Glück, jemanden wie Kurt zu finden weil ich dachte, dass ich keinen Mann wie Robert wieder treffen würde."
("I could never forget either of them. I am lucky to have found someone like Kurt because I thought that a man like Robert would never come along again".)

"Liebst du Kurt genauso viel?"
("Do you love Kurt as much?")

Elsa did not spare her when it came to questioning, but the final question silenced the room. For the first time around Elsa, the first time properly at least, Lyla's mind raced with the possibility that the young woman may have been able to see straight through her. The lies were well-crafted, if rushed in their unexpected delivery, yet she could not help but think she'd misjudged the young woman opposite her. Elsa was smart and worldly wise she knew. Having an eye for detail like a criminal investigator was not a trait she'd associated with her. Proven right in the first place, the blonde began to panic when she saw the stricken look on her friend's face.

"Das war eine dumme Frage, Ich..."
("That was a foolish question, I…".)

"Nein". Lyla cut off her floundering. "Du hast jedes Recht, neugierig zu sein. Ich glaube, ich habe niemals daran denken wollen, wie ich Kurt mit ihm vergleichen würde."
("No. You have every right to be curious. I suppose I have never really wanted to think about how I would measure Kurt against him".)

"Ich würde dich nicht anzeigen wenn du sagen würdest, dass du Kurt nicht so viel liebst".
("I would not report you if you were to say that you did not love Kurt as much".)

Unable to resist, Lyla burst out laughing at Elsa's statement. It was laughter that the young woman joined in with immediately, not knowing why the Irish woman was laughing, but pleased to see that she was without understanding it at all. It would not matter if she reported Lyla anyway, of course, as the Gestapo were already well aware of Lyla Walsh and Lyla Walsh was already well aware of the Gestapo.

"Danke, Elsa. Wenn du jemandem so junge deine Liebe zuwendest, ist es schwierig, ihn im Kopf zu ersetzen". She beamed a smile whilst listing off a fact of life.
("Thank you Elsa. When you give your love to someone at such a young age, it is hard to ever replace them in your mind".)

"Ich hoffe, das passiert mir nicht."
("I hope that does not happen to me".)

Having been the one of the two to be upset throughout, the tables were turned by Elsa's sad sigh as she concluded her thoughts on the lesson that Lyla was teaching her. Opposite her, Lyla picked up on the change of tone within an instant. She was adept at reading body language and tone, a vital part of her job in certain situations, and Elsa's was taking a dramatic turn for the melancholic. The truth about life would often be overwhelming to those who'd never truly thought about it, Elsa appearing to be one of those people. The blonde woman might have been young, but she knew she'd found the man she wanted to live the rest of her life with in Hans. Every morning for the rest of her life she wanted to wake up on his muscular chest, his strong arms wrapped around her. She could not lose him.

"Hans ist ein kluger junger Mann. Ich glaube, er wird sich vom Kämpfen fernbleiben können." Lyla told her sincerely.
("Hans is a clever young man. I think he will be able to stay well away from the fighting".)

"Er will aber kämpfen, Lyla. Er redet viel darüber."
("He wants to fight though, Lyla. He talks about it a lot".)

She did not need to be told twice about that. Whether it was in the presence of one of them, or the both of them, Hans did not hesitate to orate his views on the war should they find themselves discussing it.

"Ich weiss." Lyla sighed. "Wir haben so viel Gespräche über den Krieg gehalten."
("I know. We have held many conversations about the war".)

"Er spricht von den Briten als seien sie erkrankte Nagetiere, die vernichtet werden müssen. Es erschreckt mich manchmal." Elsa continued her point, mumbling by the end.
("He speaks of the British as if they are diseased rodents that must be destroyed. It scares me sometimes".)

"Leider glaube ich, dass es ihm immer gesagt wurde. Zu versuchen, diese Meinung zu ändern, ist schwierig."
("Sadly, I think that is what he has always been told. Trying to change that opinion is difficult".)

"Du hast auch versucht?" Shocked, Elsa enquired to see if she'd heard correctly.
("You have tried too?")

"Versucht...ja. Mir ist es noch nicht gelungen."
("Tried… yes. Success has not yet graced me".)

Lyla's conclusion was damning but truthful. In a year or more of trying, she was yet to progress in changing Hans' views of respect on the so-called "enemies" of his Germany. He still held Britain in the lowest possible regard for not bowing and bending the knee to superior German influence, enraged further by the ridiculous reality that was their victory in defending their homeland. Those who were uncontrollable were still the enemy as far as he was concerned, his hatred for them burning brighter than the fires where educational texts burned years before in another show of negligence to the truths of the world.

"Wir müssen aber weiter versuchen, Elsa. Ihm muss die Wahrheit bewusst sein."
("We must continue to try though, Elsa. He needs to be aware of the truth".)

"Ich werde niemals aufhören." Elsa declared defiantly. "Ich brauche, dass er Rücksicht nimmt."
("I will never stop. I need him to be careful now anyway".)

"Warum?"
("Why is that?")

The reply came out quicker than she meant it to, seeming more of a demand than a question. It was one that needed to be asked though. Unexpected defiance from Elsa was most unusual when their discussion was only a pleasant one that did not require such passion. Lyla might have been telling her that they needed to keep trying to convince Hans to have more respect for Britain and other countries, yet she did not seek such a comment from Elsa. There must have been a lot more to it than that, she presumed, a presumption that was explicitly correct.

"Ich habe Hans noch nicht gesagt, aber ich bin von ihm schwanger."
("I have not told Hans yet, but I am pregnant with his child".)

Pregnant… Elsa was pregnant.

Pregnancy was not high on the list when it came to what she thought could be behind the defiance. Visibly stunned, Lyla coughed a second later, a cough which jolted her back to consciousness. There was a look of joy yet fear on the young blonde's face, as she subconsciously rested her hands over her stomach which remained flat. It would not for much longer with a child growing inside, a feeling that Lyla last felt too long ago. Being the motherly figure that she was, the Irish woman rose from her seat, walking around to the other side of the table to envelope her friend in the warmest embrace imaginable. Elsa rose from her seat too, accepting the gesture with a wide grin on her face.

"Ich freue mich so viel für dich." She told her as they pulled away.
("I am so happy for you".)

"Danke, Lyla". She replied through happy tears. "Nur mit Mühe habe ich die Worte gefunden, ihm Bescheid zu sagen".
("Thank you, Lyla. I have been struggling to find the words to tell him".)

"Musst du aber! Er wird erfreulich sein!"
("You must! He will be delighted!".)

"Denkst du? Wir sind noch nicht so lange in einer Beziehung. Ich mache mir Sorgen, dass er dieses KInd nicht haben wollen dürfte."
("Do you think so? We have not been together for so long, I worry that he may not want this child".)

Certainties in wartime were scarce, but Lyla was certain that a child would not perturb Hans. He was a young man who understood duty and respected it by completing it in whatever guise it wore. Whether it be his obligations to his regiment, to his mentor, to Elsa or to Lyla herself, he would always do his duty. A child with the young woman that he loved would be the next duty that would befall him, the latter confident that he would honour the former's love by accepting the child into their lives.

She made sure that Elsa knew her thoughts.

"Vielleicht versteht Hans Ereignisse außerhalb Deutschlands nicht, aber wenn es um seine Verantwortungen geht, ist er kein herzloser Mann. Das wird ihm alles bedeuten."
("Hans might not be understanding of those outside of Germany, but he is not a callous man when it comes to his responsibility. This will mean everything to him".)

"Würdest du dabei sein, wenn ich ihm sage? Ich erwarte, dass er gleich wieder da ist."
("Would you be with me, when I tell him? I expect him to be back shortly…".)

"Natürlich, Elsa."
("Of course I will, Elsa".)

Placing her hand into Elsa's, the two friend's locked gazes before they embraced for a second time. Elsa was clearly afraid of both Hans' reaction to her pregnancy, and the pregnancy itself, fear which Lyla was determined to see eradicated. To carry a child into the world was a terrifying prospect, one she'd faced before under circumstances that were far from ideal and even somewhat dangerous. Those times were over though, and she would be there for Elsa throughout the pregnancy, to be a mother in addition to Elsa's own mother who resided in Berlin. Unlike Hans, she had parents who were there for her, her aging father being around too given that he was too old to hold a place in the military.

The fear of Hans reacting badly could be dealt with far more swiftly. They did not have to wait for long as Elsa predicted, less than ten minutes in fact. Sitting in the kitchen waiting for him, both women were salivating with excitement. Far outstretching the bounds of her assignment with the personal attachment she was allowing, Lyla would have been cast aside by the Intelligence Services for forming one. Grieving as she was, it gave her the way out that she needed. She could focus on the joy of witnessing the development of a pregnancy, culminating in a new life entering the world. It meant that she could learn to forget him in time…

"Guten Nachmittag, Damen."
("Good afternoon ladies".)

Gentlemanly as ever, Hans announced his presence as he walked into the kitchen. Heading straight over to Elsa, he bent down to place a kiss on her lips, which she deliberately held for a second longer than usual, not that he complained. In the ten minutes that they'd waited, Lyla moved a seat between herself and Elsa, ready for the Lieutenant to sit on once he'd returned. A visit to his regiment's headquarters was unavoidable that day, as all of the officers were to attend a meeting regardless of whether they were of senior or junior ranks. Hans did not enjoy those sorts of meetings, never having anything to add to them himself nor did he ever take any tangible knowledge away from them.

"Guten Nachmittag, Hans. Geht's deinem kommandierenden Offizier gut?" Lyla enquired politely.
("Good afternoon Hans. Is your commanding officer well?")

"Er beschwert sich wieder über das Wetter, Lyla." He huffed. "Dem Mann gefällt weder die Sonne, die Kälte noch der Regen. Ich kann nicht gewinnen."
("Complaining about the weather again, Lyla. That man does not like the sun, the cold or the rain. I cannot win".)

Finishing his reply, Hans noted that both Elsa and Lyla were sat staring at him, almost unable to control their laughter. His commanding officer being a miserable old man could often dredge amusement from them when he would tell them stories of what he'd seen or heard about him, but the man commenting on the weather was not really that funny in his head. Like Lyla correctly suspected only a few minutes before, there was far more to it than was being let on. He too was prepared to interrogate to find out what was going on…

"Warum guckt ihr beide mich so an?"
("Why are you both looking at me like that?")

"Hans, ich habe etwas, dir zu sagen."
("Hans, I have something to tell you".)

Wringing her hands, Elsa's nerves were beginning to get the better of her until a firm hand on her right shoulder from across the table steadied her. Lyla was not going to allow her to falter for too long. In front of the blonde, a thoroughly confused Lieutenant Hartmann's frown could have driven a whole army away in retreat it was that intense.

"Ich bin schwanger."
("I am pregnant".)

He was just as stunned as Lyla had been.

The woman that Lieutenant Hans Hartmann loved was pregnant. She was his beloved, the woman that he knew he wished to spend the rest of his life with, and that life would now include a third wheel. A child for them to cherish, to raise together in the German image of strength. Their own little baby.

"Du...bist du?" He asked, choking up.
("You… you are?")

"Ja!" She confirmed gleefully, sniffling away her joyous cries. "Gestern hat es der Arzt bestätigt."
("Yes. The doctor confirmed it yesterday".)

"Das ist wunderbar!" Hans shouted. "Ich werde Vater!"
("This is wonderful! I am going to be a father!")

"Herzlichen Glückwunsch an euch beide."
("You both have my congratulations".)

Amongst friends, Lyla did not have to worry too much as she let the tears flow. An agent of espionage being so heavily invested in the lives of two young people on the opposite side to hers in the war was suicidal on paper should it be a trap, but she knew Hans well enough to know that he was not leading her into one. He was far too clever; he would have done so already should he have suspected anything. Watching on, her heart which was damaged by the loss of him, was reborn upon seeing the sweet sight of the parents-to-be kissing. Hans' right hand was laying softly across Elsa's stomach as they did, showing that he was ready to protect their child come what may. It was a beautiful sight.

"Ich liebe dich so sehr, Elsa." He told her with immaculate sincerity.
("I love you so much, Elsa".)

"Ich liebe dich auch, Hans." Elsa responded with equal verve. "Ich bin gesegnet, mit deinem Kind schwanger zu sein."
("I love you too Hans. I am blessed to be able to carry your child".)

"Wir sind glücklich, oder, Lyla?"
("We are lucky, aren't we, Lyla?")

Turning his attentions to the woman that he saw as his second mother, Hans sought her approval with his eyes wide, a smile plastered across his face.

"Ihr werdet ausgezeichnete Eltern sein." She confirmed for him.
("You will make brilliant parents".)

"Dürfen wir auf Ihre HIlfe rechnen?" He nervously requested her aid. "Leider weiss ich nicht viel darüber, wie man ein Kind erzieht."
("Can we count on your support? I am afraid I do not know much about raising a child".)

"Ich helfe euch, wenn ihr es braucht."
("My support will be given wherever it is needed".)

Breaking away from Elsa for a moment, Hans rose to his feet to walk over and embrace Lyla. The caring, loving side of Hans Hartmann was one which did not show in its entirety very often. He was always very gentlemanly, but the truly emotional young man was a rare sight. Finding out that he was going to become a father at his young age, not even having turned twenty, was welcome news that was always going to tip him over the emotional edge. She could feel his tears on her neck as they dripped down from his cheeks. Held tightly, she allowed herself to relax in the grasp of the overjoyed young man who she cared for more than ever.

"Danke, Lyla. Ich wünsche, du wärst meine echte Mutter".
("Thank you, Lyla. I wish you were my real mother".)

"Ich auch, Hans...ich auch."
("So do I, Hans… so do I".)

London, 17th December…

Christmas loomed on the streets of London.

It was a city that had lived in fear of the German bombers since the fall of France, a fear that was yet to be let go of. They would not come every night but there were some terrible nights during that time, where they'd wreaked havoc in Britain's capital. Many were killed as the Luftwaffe dropped their bombs on targets that their commanders identified. It did not matter if it were a child, a man or a woman, no one was safe when the droning sound of bombers filled the ears of Londoners. When so many were already losing so much to the war, more death on the homefront sapped away at morale. However, the worst of the German storm was passed due to the failure to gain aerial superiority for the planned invasion of Britain. An invasion that was dead in the water, which is what it would have been far more literally if it had been attempted.

Captain Smithers drove through the empty streets slowly, to avoid crashing in the ice. There was a light covering of snow on the streets, which highlighted the almost magical nature of the season. Although, in a time such as the one that they were facing, it was very difficult to see the time of year as magical any longer. Christmas was supposed to be a time when family got together to celebrate the birth of the saviour, where joy and happiness could be found in the company of others. Joy and happiness may as well have been in the ration book according to most, as there was little of it that could be found on a daily basis. When men were giving their all, dying for their country in countries far away from home, families could not submit to the atmosphere of the season. Smithers tried to have some joy by smiling at those he drove past in the street, but he was met instead with glares.

Traversing the streets where burnt-out buildings were becoming a regular sight, the Captain's destination was the office of his commanding officer. Another meeting was to be held between them, though strangely it was their first meeting together for some time. They would regularly communicate via other means instead, though the means that they did, did not allow for detail to be told in full. His own joy for Christmas was kept alive by an unbreakable spirit that was slowly beginning to arrive in the hearts and minds of those throughout the country. It would not be in time for a normal Christmas, but the lifting of the collective spirit would come eventually. The Germans might have been continuing their almost nightly assaults on the country, yet they were ones of little impact. Gains were not found in trying to break British morale. The German High Command were truly understanding the monster they'd stirred by trying to finish Britain off.

The Italians were also guilty of stirring a monster, one which was not visible to the general populace of Britain nor the opposition's commanders. The monster was the aftermath of James Maguire's death and what it meant to those who were supposed to look after him. No one was yet to lose their life as Menzies rather grimly predicted, although there must have been a reprimand from hell for him, judging by his reaction from it. Smithers was pulled from pillar to post in order to fulfil the expectations that his commanding officer had of him. There were new tasks, such as the one that they'd employed Charlene Kavanagh for, as well as the ones they were having to complete normally. Their failure with James would not see them dead but it would see them worked to as good as to act as the punishment for said failure.

For perhaps the final time, he was the main agenda for their meeting that day. One of the many tasks that Smithers was required to complete was the final identification of the body. It could not be recovered directly, of course, but they had their contact in Milan who was to be drafted in to do so. He was not told of who the young man really was and did not have a photograph, having to rely on other ways to be able to positively say that James Maguire was dead. Confirming that James was dead would be the final closure of a chapter of British Intelligence that would be locked away forever. He would remain an enigma himself, one that could not be cracked, for men would go to their graves with the truth rather than be seen to have told it.

"Smithers".

Menzies greeted him outside the office, having been speaking with his secretary as the Captain descended into the basement where his office was located. The secretary smiled at the Captain, who she recognised after multiple visits over the previous months. She went off to make them both a cup of tea as requested by the Lieutenant Colonel.

"Sir".

"Come on in, let us not waste any time".

Walking into the office, Smithers took in the familiar scene that remained unchanged. Some had taken to decorate their homes and workplaces still to act like the season was no different, but Menzies was not one of those people. He was far too busy to put up decorations to celebrate Christmas. His secretary was instructed not to put any up either, as it would distract her from the vital filing that she needed to do. At least that is what he told her to ensure that she was in line with his wishes.

"How are you?" Menzies asked him.

"I am well, Sir". Smithers replied cordially. "I trust you are well to?"

"Very".

With the pleasantries over, the two took their seats. Menzies' desk was cleared, in preparation for the report that he hoped that Smithers would produce. He'd left him the sole responsibility of keeping in contact with their man in Milan, not intruding at any point as he was far too busy with the tasks he'd been given from those in higher office.

"What news do you bring from Domenico?"

"Not good news, I am afraid".

There were already some doubts about what Domenico could find out from Milan and those doubts were realised when their contact tried to find out more information. Any sudden movements from Milan to Taranto, asking for information about downed English pilots would be suspicious in the aftermath of the raid. It left him to conduct more subtle enquiries, but based so far away, with no contact himself in the port city, it was almost impossible.

"He was unable to verify anything more than what we already know. Local reports suggested that there were no survivors amongst the British men that were shot down, but they could not confirm how many to him, nor the identities".

"Not even the ranks?" Menzies enquired, his hand resting under his chin.

"No, Sir. There was nothing that he could ascertain whatsoever".

Smithers' reply frustrated the Lieutenant Colonel, though he knew his man was not to blame. Disliking their Italian friend for his sometimes questionable information, he was not surprised at all that he'd been unsuccessful. He was a sadly useful asset in other areas however, it was just unfortunate for them that they required him to perform in an area he was unsuited to and it showed.

"So, we are left to guess that it was James and David?" Menzies questioned aloud. "I swear we are cursed men at times, Smithers".

"I am beginning to agree with you, Sir". He replied, smiling.

"It will have to do. I am sure those who I must report it to will not be thrilled about the outcome, but we can only do so much. As far as the country is concerned, the two men are dead even if we cannot identify their bodies".

With no other options, Menzies made his decision. James Maguire and, less importantly to them, David Donnelly, were both deceased. The families were already told that weeks before, but with any possibility of their survival now all but ruled out then the Lieutenant Colonel could go to those in higher office to confirm the deaths properly to them. A meeting with the Prime Minister himself would be first, a meeting that he was not looking forward to in the slightest. He might have been a friend of Winston Churchill's, which bought him some favour, unfortunately nowhere near enough to avoid any repercussions from allowing James to die.

"Is that it, Sir?" Smithers asked the important question.

"For James?" Menzies countered, the Captain nodding. "Most likely. I trust that the settling of his estate has been officially finalised?"

The money that Erin would never see was money that Smithers never saw either, apart from on ledgers. The ledger that he was allowed to see blacked out where the money was going, although in a rare allowance of information passing, Menzies informed him of exactly who the beneficiary would be. It did not surprise him at all when it was revealed, a rather bland destination compared to what it could have been, given how little he truly knew of James Maguire. The information was tactical from Menzies though, as Smithers like anyone else would rightly think there was nothing special about the destination. The Captain would never know how wrong he was.

"It is dealt with, Sir". Smithers confirmed.

"Good. Then I would consider the matter regarding James Maguire to be over. I cannot say that I will miss the strain it has placed upon us".

The strain was over, albeit the memories would stay with both of them for a long time. It was the end of a lengthy period of involvement in the young man's life for Menzies, who knew James Maguire better than James knew himself. There were still remnants of that life that would drag on, without the necessary hassle of trying to keep him a secret as the secret was well and truly safe. To Smithers, it was the end of a project which he never fully understood but one which had changed his own career in the Intelligence services. At the start of the war, he was just another handler, but he'd grown into Menzies' most trusted officer in the whole of the branch.

"The legacy lives on though, Smithers". Menzies noted. "As much as their deaths have been of inconvenience, those young men have changed a lot in the Mediterranean".

"I have heard the campaign in Africa is progressing well".

"It is Smithers. The Italians are on the backfoot and with their Fleet in ruins at the bottom of Taranto's harbour, we have an advantage that must be pressed home".

Operation Compass was the very pressing home that Menzies mentioned. On the sixth day of the month, the British forces in Egypt launched a counterattack against the Italians who'd fortified themselves within the country. The problem with the fortified positions were that they were nowhere near as fortified as the Italians first thought, being put onto the backfoot within hours and never truly recovering. Their morale was low, the Taranto embarrassment making it even worse when the news got through to the frontline units in Africa. When the British Army in the desert fought at their hardest, the Italians were simply unable to stop them advancing.

"The PM believes that Italy is the key to victory". Menzies mused.

"Without wishing to question his judgement, Sir, I think if we are to win this war, Italy is simply the first hurdle".

Chuckling at the Captain's thoughts, Menzies had to agree. Italy might have been a soft underbelly in theory, but even with Italy out of the war, the might of the German expanse would still have to be countered. They might have been beaten in the battle over the skies of Britain during the summer, but they were still finding victory elsewhere. Britain was still very much in the war but the backs against the wall effort would have to continue.

"We will face many obstacles as long as we can still fight, Smithers…". Menzies monologued, flashing the Captain a smile. "… we will be judged on how we deal with them".

Judgement would come, but how soon it would come was a decision that was out of British hands. Germany still held the majority of the cards in Europe and the strategy to defeat Britain would dictate the fate of Europe. Or at least part of it. Unfortunately for some German soldiers, they were about to face a new evil on the other side of the continent. The Soviet Union might have been allies of the Germans, but it was not an easy relationship. Ideological differences were evident, as well as the lack of trust that both sides held about each other. For the Soviets though, there were obvious lies being perpetuated by the Nazi's. Their Minister for Foreign Affairs, Vyacheslav Molotov, was sent to Berlin that November to hold meetings with his counterpart, Joachim von Ribbentrop. Midway through their meeting, they were interrupted by the RAF, who'd arrived over the skies of the city to bomb it. Von Ribbentrop insisted that the British were on their knees, but Molotov made a point that went unanswered, summing up the true position of Europe. If the British were really on their knees, whose bombs were they hiding from? It told the Soviets all they needed to know about Germany and Germany all they needed to know about the Soviets.

It changed the immediate plans of Adolf Hitler, who was already frustrated by the inability to invade Britain due to the number of variables against them. Instead, the plans were beginning to be formed to turn attentions east to the beast that would await them. The Red Army would provide an incredible test for the Nazi war machine that rolled unchecked through France. Those battles were months away though, with careful planning that would need to take place first. Plans were being made by the Soviet Union too, fully believing that it would not be long until the Germans broke their word when it came to the peace that existed between them.

More chaos would be created on the continent, a chaos that could not be stopped. Nazi Germany were determined to become the dominate force in Europe. If they were to do so, they would have to knock out the two heavyweights that remained. Unable to bring Britain to battle or take the battle to them, the Soviet Union would have to be targeted first.

The war would rage on.

Christmas may have been on the horizon, but it did not help with easing off the workload at the factory. They were still frightfully busy producing uniforms for the soldiers, pilots and sailors who were off fighting for their freedom. The military were very demanding with the number of uniforms that were required, as well as the quality. Michelle was often a victim of quality control, who would turn away her submissions for their poor quality. Her attention span was not always there, especially on Friday afternoons when her mind was going to the fellas that she would be eyeing up later in the evening.

However, she was not the worst culprit in the weeks leading up to Christmas. Having got her act together out of necessity, Michelle was producing some brilliant work to keep her section's fulfilments in line with what they should be. It was Erin where the problem was. She'd returned to work on the afternoon after the funerals, when she was still a wreck of emotions that should have been nowhere near a machine. She would have lost her job if she hadn't turned up though and would have faced exasperation from many of the women at the factory for being unable to pull her weight even with the circumstances she faced. She was expected to move on from James immediately, but how that was possible, she did not know. From that afternoon on, the girls could have counted on one hand the number of uniforms that she'd produced which were good enough to be shipped to the servicemen. It did them no favours.

They could not be upset with her though. Clare and Michelle would share words when she wasn't there, talking about how she was letting them down without ever saying it to her directly. Erin's hands were steady before; they now shook. With her hands constantly shaking, her head in a different world, she was no longer able to produce the quality work that used to drive their section forward. With Orla still not back to work, they were constantly having to perform with one person down anyway. Erin's inability to provide any form of positive assistance was a massive hinderance. There were days when it would become too much for her, tears silently streaking down her face as she tried to ignore the pain in her heart. Her pain refused to cease, for it could not; James's loss left it half empty. No doctor could prescribe medication to deal with heartbreak.

The final Friday before Christmas was one of those days.

From the moment that she'd arrived with Mary and Sarah that morning, her mind was elsewhere. Clare and Michelle knew where her mind was, dreaming of someone that would never again grace their lives. Every time that she operated her machine she was ponderous, unable to do anything without causing it to stall or stopping as her mind trailed off. They covered for her the best that they could, but even at their best, there was nothing that they could do to mask her deficiencies. Management were keeping a close eye, something which they were all acutely aware of. The last thing that the girls wanted was for Erin to lose her job and therefore the only other focus in her life, but she would have to improve considerably to do so, a reality which seemed distant.

"Erin…". Clare spoke softly to her.

She was ignored as the blonde stared off into the distance, thinking about better times with James. The young Quinn should have been going home to him that night, kissing him until they were forced to surface for air. Instead she would sleep in her own bed back at the family home, cold from being alone with no partner to hold onto.

"W-What?" She stumbled through a reply.

"Ye need to… ye know… ye… I…".

Cacking herself as she always would, Clare was put off by Erin staring back at her. The anguish that she could make out just from her friend's eyes was enough to make her cry herself. James had been dead for over a month and in that time there appeared to be no signs of Erin recovering from the news of it. They were very fortunate as a group to have Michelle.

"She means ye need to put a shift in Erin. We're behind, so we are, and ye've done nothin' all day!"

Abrupt and direct, she was not hesitant like the diminutive blonde was. James was her cousin and she didn't spend all day crying over him, despite missing him dearly. As hard as it might have been, life still existed after James, especially when it came to their life at work. The war was still raging in mainland Europe; just because no members of the family were involved, did not mean that they could stop making an effort towards it. More than ever that effort was needed, prompting Michelle to have to be sterner than she would have liked.

"I… I….". Erin tried to response.

"Ye what?" Michelle turned to her, brows furrowed. "If ye say yer tryin' then yer doin' a shite job of tryin', so ye are".

Clare did not want her dark-haired friend to be so harsh to Erin, but Michelle was not wrong in what she was saying. She'd mentioned how Erin's performance was deteriorating to her mother, Geraldine being particularly sympathetic towards her. Sean did not think it was the correct way to act, yet knowing how strongly Clare gave out her sympathy, he did not voice his opinion. Either way though, what mattered was that they finished all that was required by the time that they left that Friday evening. Unless Erin got a move on, it would be a very late finish.

"I'm sorry Michelle….".

Bursting out into tears, Erin put her head into her hands. Michelle's criticism was too much. She knew that it was the truth, that she needed to try harder in order to help them. What she needed more than most, though, was to help herself. Nearly every moment of the working day she would think of James and the life so cruelly stolen from them by the Italians. The uniforms for those bravely continuing on the fight that he could not, mattered greatly to her, but her duty to them was trampled by her love for him. All she wanted was to be in his arms again. So little to ask, she'd always thought. Too much, it appeared to be.

"Sorry isn't good enough Erin!" Michelle countered. "We're getting further behind here and yer doin' nothin!"

She was holding nothing back. At her wits end with her friend's behaviour, Michelle was going to make sure that her point was understood fully. Erin did not want to hear it though. The truth was far too hard to confront so soon after the death of her beloved.

"Michelle, please, I…".

"I don't want to hear it Erin". She cut her off harshly. "I know yer strugglin' about James, but we're all havin' to live without him. There are other fella's out there who need us to get these uniforms done for the fightin'. They can't be left in shite uniforms because you were too busy cryin'!"

Michelle made herself understood. Shrivelling under the pressure of her friend, Erin could not be understood. Michelle did not realise that she'd lost more than just James. Her future was destroyed when his death was confirmed, the happiness that she'd longer for ripped away after such a short time where she was allowed to dream of it. Trying to work on under the strain of such emotion was slowly killing her, especially when no one appeared to understand. Mary and Sarah's section were under similar pressure, albeit with one woman more in it, which meant there would be no sympathy to be found there either.

Nobody would accept that she could not stomach having to work.

At any other time, she would have been granted more initial leave to get herself over James' death properly. Sadly for her, they were in a time of war, where chances for breaks were few and far between.

Under Michelle's intense gaze, she wiped her nose with a handkerchief and picked up the slack again.

There was no other way.

Days later, Christmas Eve 1940

Snow was falling.

The heavy deluge occurred the night before, making roads impassable and paths treacherous. The people of the city did their best to get around, although progress was often completely impossible given the conditions. Unlike Christmases before, there would be no pause in work. Although they would not spend the whole day at work on Christmas Day itself, the women of the factories were still expected to do three hours worth of work before having the afternoon off. It was far from ideal, with many complaining that they should not have to, but it would be yet another sacrifice made during the time of war that they were in.

At the Quinn house, the family tried to do their best to enjoy the season, despite the negative atmosphere that had existed in the house since November. With the weather outside frightful even in the days before, it meant the delights of having to spend most of Christmas inside. Taking the opportunity to spend time together properly in the evenings, Mary and Gerry were consistently beaten in card games by Anna, who was simply incredible. Granda Joe teaching her poker was a radical move, yet he was smart enough to realise her aptitude for it. It did not matter what the game was, her parents would always be on the receiving end of a loss. Anna thoroughly enjoyed winning the games too, which would often result in warm hugs from both of her parents. Joe would occasionally drop round to provide some opposition to her although the apprentice had long succeeded the master when it came to cards.

They'd all made the chilly trip to church earlier in the evening for mass. Back at the helm, Father Peter tried to lift everyone's spirits with plenty of singing mixed in with the regular mass, though Michelle for once quite rightly pointed out that he may have had a bit more than communion wine beforehand, some of his words being slurred. He wasn't the only one though; half of the congregation appeared to have fallen to the temptation of the devil's nectar. It certainly made for an interesting journey out of church. A couple of the old ladies who'd definitely had one or two too many, took a tumble into the snowdrifts that banked the outer walls of the graveyard, having to be lifted out by some of the younger men present, Gerry included. It made for the quite the Christmas sight when two old ladies were being pulled out of the snow ankles first by a huddle of younger men.

With his exertions complete, Gerry led the rest of the family on what was a fairly brisk walk back to their homes. Orla did not want to hang around for long in the cold, concerned that Marie would get too cold being out in the freezing temperatures as they walked home. Once they were back outside their homes, Christmas wishes were exchanged before they headed in. Sarah, Joe, Orla and Marie would stay next door rather than congregate with them for the rest of the evening. By the time they were back, it was Marie's bedtime anyway and Sarah was still carrying exhaustion from the hectic work schedule that dominated their month. Anna's bedtime came shortly after her little cousin's, though not before she got another victory in at cards, much to her father's chagrin. Gerry hoped the Christmas spirit might energise his bid to end her streak, instead finding himself hopelessly outbattled and quickly defeated. Anna was far too smart for him.

Sat in front of the burning fire at around quarter past ten, Mary and Gerry were able to snuggle up close to each other knowing that Joe would not burst in at any moment. A rare chance for him to show his wife tender affection, Gerry was taking it without hesitation. Joe would so often scupper any thought that the two might share any time together that could be considered romantic, which left chances few and far between. During the course of their married life, they'd somehow managed to conceive two children together despite his consistent interruptions in it. It was a testament to their love that they remained so strongly committed to each other when they could rarely show it.

"This is cracker". Mary whispered softly as she laid her back on his left shoulder.

"I know love…". He replied softly, stroking her side. "… I wish every Christmas could be as comfortable as this".

Most Christmases were a frantic time of family get togethers, with the Mallon's and Devlin's getting involved too. Due to the work requirements of each of them, there was simply no time unlike the year before when the true impact of the war was yet to strike them. A year on though, and the changes were plentiful. It was a good job that there was not in many ways, with the deaths of James and David still fresh in their minds. David was there the prior Christmas, when James should have been, to spend it with his precious little daughter. He'd been able to have one Christmas with her that Orla would at least be able to cherish the memory of, preserving it for a time that Marie would be old enough to understand its significance.

"I can't remember the last time that we were in front of the fire like this…".

Mary's comment made her husband search his mind for the time, coming to the same conclusion as her. The last time they'd cuddled up together in front of the fire must have been years before, when Erin was younger and Anna not even born.

"Let's hope we keep gettin' to spend evenings like this".

A comment of hope, it raised a valuable question that the whole country was facing. Britian's fight against Germany was terrific, providing a fur superior challenge than anyone had ever dared to against the might of the war machine it faced. The stranglehold was still in place though, with merchant shipping being targeted successfully on a regular basis by the German U Boat divisions that sat waiting for food supplies that would travel across the Atlantic. In truth, they didn't mind popping up anywhere if they found a target. So many innocent sailors who would never fire off a shot in anger became lost to the bitterly cold depths of the Atlantic thanks to those men who would live their lives under the waterline.

"We will though, won't we Gerry?" She asked. "The Germans aren't goin' to win!"

Smiling at his wife, Gerry wanted to firmly agree. There was still hatred for the British within the city, but the majority of families were smart enough to realise that their neighbours across the sea were not the evillest in Europe. Adolf Hitler's Nazi regime was a terror that made Westminster appear kind in comparison. They were under no illusions as to what would happen to them should the Nazi's be allowed to invade and settle. Freedom under British rule might have been limited, yet it still existed. If the Nazi's got their way, there would be no freedom for the likes of them at all. They would be lucky if they escaped with their lives.

"I wouldn't want to say Mary. Besides, we've already lost enough to make any victory a bit… well… shite, really".

Always having believed victory should not be scoffed at, Mary was inclined to break her own beliefs to agree with him. No matter what happened, whether Britain held firm before delivering a knockout blow to the Nazi Empire or whether the war machine would claim another victim, as a family the war had already weaved destruction. The deaths of James and David, as well as David's brothers, deflated them all. Should a victory come, none of them would be there to see it, which would be especially galling for the airmen when they would have played a key part in it. Taranto offered a turning point in the Mediterranean that was already being exploited, with a total victory not out of the realms of fantasy should the Italians continue to falter. They were being battered in combat by the Greeks too, who they'd considered inferior when they attacked them. The Greeks made them rethink the assumption very rapidly.

"Aye… but I don't want to live under those German fella's… do ye know what the girls at work were sayin'?"

Rolling his eyes, Gerry braced himself for another round of ridiculous gossip that would fall from the bored wives of some of Derry's finest.

"They were sayin' that they wash their whites and colours at the same time, so they do. How could they? What kind of savages are they?"

Passionately wishing to know why, she was almost demanding Gerry to answer. He doubted the validity of the story, even more so doubting why he should care. If the Germans wished to mix white shirts with red socks, then he would not really care. A man's job was not the washing anyway. Not that Gerry could get away with it at the Quinn house when he was ably domesticised by his wife who would not let him off easily. It was nothing like the Devlin house, where the mere suggestion that Sean should do the washing would have most likely left Geraldine with a bloody lip.

"Well love, they wouldn't' dare do it again if you caught them at it!"

Laughing together, Gerry placed a kiss onto his wife's forehead. She laughed along to, disregarding the comment made her way. It was one which she would even say she agreed with; the Germans would know about if they mixed their colours during washing. It was the behaviour of the unholy to do so.

"I love ye Gerry".

"And I love you, Mary".

Cupping her cheek with his hand, he felt twenty years younger again. The lover within him began to seep out to show his wife the man she'd fallen in love with all those years before. Kissing him with equal passion, they really were playing with fire on Christmas Eve, but for once there was no chance of them being burnt by it. Only an emergency would see them pulled out of each other's grasp, where hands began to roam to areas of each other's bodies that were never touched in the presence of others. For once, fate was on their side. There would be no emergency… no Joe to ruin their pleasures.

"How about we make some more Christmas Memories…". Mary whispered to him.

No time would be wasted as far as Gerry was concerned, lifting his wife up from where they were sat on the floor to carry her over to the sofa. It was wrong, but he did not want to wait until they went upstairs… then again, neither did she…

As husband reminded wife of some of their more youthful pursuits of yesteryear, the other member of the house awake did not attempt to hear them. Her bed lay empty, the covers pulled back to show that an attempt at sleep had at least been made though it proved unsuccessful. In the corner of her room, curled up into a ball, Erin cried her eyes out at another Christmas that she would spend alone. The tears could not be heard by her impassioned parents downstairs nor could they be picked up on by Anna, who was fast asleep ahead of the joys of Christmas Day that would follow. She was facing another Christmas where her heart would be far colder than any weather that they experienced during the season. This time though, it hurt even more. The Christmas of the year before she'd cried because of what was taken from her temporarily, the chance to see James gone almost as soon as it was presented to her. One year on and the opportunity to see him again was gone forever.

So she cried.

Cried, and cried at the loss that she'd known for weeks, but never truly been able to recover from as of yet. Her parents told her it would take time for her to get over James' loss, perhaps even months. With rugged determination, she appeared to be unable to even begin the process of doing so. In the exact same manner as it was at work, during the dark winter nights when the snow glistened off of the grass outside, she would do nothing but think of him. There was a visual reminder of him constantly there for her too, which was hindering any progression with processing her grief. She clutched the image of James in his uniform tightly to her chest because if she did so, her mind told her that she was hugging him again. Her brain somehow even managed to generate a James-like scent to hurt her more.

Bitter melancholy was the only constant in her life without him. The same life that would never again let her see the body beneath that uniform nor enjoy the man who wore it.

Shaking, partly due to her emotions but also from the freezing temperature of the room, she held the photograph out so that she could see her now dead fella.

"I love you James…".

Slowly pulling the photograph towards her, a kiss was placed upon it whilst tears accompanied to the side, dropping onto the edges. The tears made from a love that was broken, a heart that did not quite beat the same as it did when he was still alive.

Twas the night before Christmas, a night which saw Erin Quinn at the lowest point of her life.

All because James had died….

But…

Smithers and Menzies were right to clutch at straws, though they'd not clutched at the right ones. In truth, what they were searching for was well hidden thanks to the work of a certain man whose land was filled with the burning wreckage of a Fairey Swordfish.

Miracles did happen when it came to a certain Englishman.

Not even the sprayed shots of an Italian submachine gun could stop the mythical story of Captain James Maguire.

His heart was still beating, locked away in a dark place somewhere in Taranto.

And his mind was still active, thinking of the only person that he ever wished to spend a dark night with.

"E..R…I…N"…