Chapter 47: Spy 29th September 1941
Berlin
The morning of reckoning had finally arrived. Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden was to step foot in Berlin for the first time in nearly two years, after a lengthy assignment away from those who he considered his family. It was a day that would have always happened as long as he stayed safely away from the fighting during his time in Poland, which he had done thanks to it being conducted hundreds of miles away to the east. Well away from the frontlines of battle, the Doctor was free to conduct his horrifying experiments on human extermination, in preparation to the final solution to the Jewish question that plagued Nazi Germany. One of the most important men in the implementation of the terror that was to come, his name was guaranteed to live long in the history books of the Nazi Empire across the world throughout the ages.
The trees were shaking in anticipation back in the German capital. At least that was how it felt. A strong gale had been blowing since the night before, which kept the RAF away from bombing the city at least. The occasional visits of the British formations were a nuisance to the citizens as well as the servicemen that were stationed there. Britain were the great frustraters of the war, the nation that simply would not go away even when the odds were so dire. Anger grew secretly from many in the capital, but not with the country that they were fighting. Their own high command was so insistent that Britain could be defeated, that the glossed over failure to knock them out of the war grated the ordinary people of Berlin.
Lyla Walsh was one of the exceptions. The agent of the crown could not be prouder of those that employed her, which was not a comment that many Irish women would admit to. She was far too sensible to be drawn into conflicts at home though, recognising that a greater enemy than Britain faced up to the world in Nazi Germany. Having been a resident of Hitler's regime for more than two years herself, she knew she was exactly where she needed to be. That did not stop her becoming nervous at Kurt's return. The man she'd had to pretend she was in love with for months would return after his lengthy absence in her life, an absence she'd grown fond of in her head not in her heart. Settled into a life with Hans, Elsa and Leo, a rude awakening greeted her in the form of her original target for the assignment she was still completing. The time for playing happy families was over.
"Es ist schon zu lange her, seitdem wir Kurt gesehen haben."
("It has been too long since we have seen Kurt".)
Lieutenant Hans Hartmann was equally as terrified as she was. Whilst he may have been as frustrated with Britain as he always had been, he shared Lyla's worries about the return of a man that he still considered his mentor. Spending so long under the wing of the influential doctor had taught the young man many things, but amongst those lessons was not how to tell him that there was an addition to the family. Little Leopold Hartmann was a healthy, happy boy who was dearly loved by his young parents, but he would have to be loved by the Doctor if they stood any chance of remaining as a family unit. Kurt was childless upon entering his forties and from what Hans knew, he was not a man who enjoyed the presence of children. A baby living at his offices where he would need to work pushed the scales of acceptability in the mind of the Lieutenant.
"Ich weiss. Er hat mir gefehlt."
("I know. I have missed him".)
The lies that manifested themselves throughout her time in Germany, came to the fore for Lyla once again. In the company of Hans and Elsa she'd still had to lie to keep her secret, but the number of lies she'd told were nowhere near the amount that she had done when she'd been with Kurt. The first months of her time in Germany were a memory of unwanted sex and lies, a dangerous broth under most circumstances but one that was disastrously potent in the field of espionage. Feelings of melancholic sinking returned with every lie, complimented with nausea to degrade what had been a renaissance of life in her time without him. That was the life of Lyla Walsh though, decisions made in the past that ensured her life would be spent in service.
"Er hat dem Land gut gedient. Ein Held." The Lieutenant spoke again.
("He has been serving the country well. A hero".)
"Ja, ich bin sicher, dass seine Taten heroisch gewesen sind. Ich hoffe nur, dass er sich nicht verletzt hat."
("Yes, I am sure his actions have been heroic. I just hope he has not injured himself".)
A bitter, citric taste was left in her mouth when she assured Hans that Kurt would be completing actions of heroism. She knew exactly what he was doing in Poland unlike the Lieutenant who, for his own good, was not aware of the extermination plans. As far as he was concerned, Kurt was doing his duty for the Fatherland in whatever capacity it required him. Hans' outlook was correct, Kurt was performing in the capacity in which he was required; to become the murderous butcher who would begin the mass killings of innocent people that the Nazi regime deemed to be unworthy. The Jews were the primary target from what she could understand along with gypsies and political dissidents who were to discover the price of opposing Nazism. Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden was no hero.
"Er wird für sich selbst gesorgt haben, Lyla, mach dir keine Sorgen". Hans tried to reassure her, unnecessarily placing a hand on her arm.
("He will have taken care of himself Lyla, do not worry".)
"Man muss sich immer Sorgen machen, Hans." She explained, stopping only to clear her throat. "Kurt is der Männertyp, der große Risiken eingeht, um zu erringen, was er sich wünscht."
("You always have to worry, Hans. Kurt is the sort of man who will take great risks to achieve what he wishes".)
"Ja, das ist wahr. Er kann sich aber ganz gut anpassen."
("True. He can adapt brilliantly though".)
"Ja". She painfully agreed. "Seine Anpassungsfähigkeit ist imponierend."
("Yes. His adaptability is impressive".)
"Er ist ein imponierender Mann, ein Mann, den ich stolz bin, allseits außer auf biologische Weise als meinen Vater zu sehen."
("He is an impressive man, a man I am proud to see as my father in all ways but blood".)
Despite his trepidation for what Kurt might say about Elsa and Leo, Hans would never hold anything but the upmost respect for his mentor. At a time when he did not know he needed it, Kurt's guidance had helped him become the man that he had during his years as a young adult. When he'd first been told he would be at the service of a doctor, in the back of his mind Hans thought he'd been dealt a terrible hand by his commanding officer. In time it was the commanding officer who lost out though, on a fine young officer who would have made a competent battlefield commander if trained properly to do so. Instead, the training in the essentials in life he'd received from Kurt outweighed anything the army could offer him.
"Ich hoffe, seine Fahrt war friedlich"
("I hope his journey has been peaceful".)
"Wir leben in einer Kriegszeit, Hans. Der Friede ist nicht so einfach zu erreichen."
("We live in a time of war, Hans. Peace is not so easy to achieve".)
"Es wäre so, wenn die Briten nicht so hartnäckig wären.". He crossed familiar ground in his reply. "Wir hätten die Sowjets ewig auf Armeslänge halten können, wenn die Briten kapitulieren würden."
("It would be if Britain were not so stubborn. We could have kept the Soviets at arm's lengths forever if Britain surrendered".)
"Denkst du wirklich?" She questioned his thoughts on the Russians.
("Do you really think so?")
"Natürlich. Sie könnten ihr Land auf ihrer Seite haben und unser Reich könnte den Rest Europas regieren."
("Of course. They could have their land over their side, and our Empire could rule the rest of Europe".)
"Sie leben in einer anderen Welt in der Sowjetunion. Sie dürften es nicht gut annehmen, wenn eine andere Supermacht gleich jenseits einer dünnen Grenze liegen würde."
("They live in a different world in the Soviet Union. They may not take kindly to having another superpower only a thin border line away".)
"Du siehst es nicht ein, Lyla. Wenn die Briten kapitulieren würden, würden die Sowjets niemals riskieren, uns anzugreifen, wenn sie sehen würden, was den anderen Möchten passiert ist, die versucht haben, uns zu konfrontieren."
("You do not see it, Lyla. If Britain surrendered, the Soviets would never dare attack after witnessing what happened to the other powers who tried to face us".)
Hans' belief that the Soviets would simply rest on their laurels was not one which was shared by Lyla. She was not as well versed on the Soviet Union as some, but the Irish woman knew enough from her time in the world to know that they were not a country who sat back in the face of an enemy such as the Nazi's. In battle they were yet to land a decisive blow, but the notion that no battle would have taken place if Britain had surrendered previously was utterly ridiculous. The Germans were always going to attack their neighbours to the east one day to accomplish Hitler's visions of the Germany that he wanted. A British surrender would have most likely meant an earlier Russian invasion than none at all.
"Die Briten verärgern nach und nach." Lyla commented half-heartedly.
("Britain continue to annoy…".)
"Dein Leben wird seit Ewigkeiten von Großbritannien verärgert. Irland sollte von britischem Einfluss befreit sein." Hans spoke carefully, trying to stir a dislike for Britain that did not exist within her.
("Your life has always been aggravated by Britain. Ireland should be free of British influence".)
"Das ist ein Traum, der immer nur so bleiben wird."
("That is a dream that will only ever stay that way".)
"Ich fürchte, dass du vielleicht Recht hast. Wir brauchen, dass unsere Soldaten gegen die Sowjets kämpfen. Wir können nicht auf beiden Fronten kämpfen."
("I fear you may be right. We need our soldiers to fight the Soviets now, we cannot fight on both fronts with success".)
For the second time of note, Hans did not fall completely in line with the regime he'd been brainwashed to believe in. His common sense fought against his nationalistic pride, because deep down he knew that they could not win a war across two fronts against two enemies that were notorious for their inability to offer total surrender. Unlike the French who fell apart quickly, there would not be such luck with Britain and Russia.
He quickly realised what he'd said, opening his mouth to correct himself, but was beaten to it by Lyla, who chose not to pull him up on the remark.
"Wie steht es mit dir, Hans? Denkst du, du wirst an die Front gerufen?"
("What about you, Hans? Do you think you will be called to the front?")
Unbeknownst to Lyla, Hans and Elsa had already had the discussion about his duty. One day when the Irish woman was out on her own, a day which saw her meeting with the other British agents in Berlin, the young couple spoke of the potential for him to have to serve. Losses in the fighting against the Soviet Union meant that reinforcements were constantly required. His regiment had been stationed in Berlin for the duration of the war despite not being a guard battalion, however that lack of a specific duty within the city left them vulnerable to being called to the East as reinforcements to replace those lost. Tears were shed when they spoke, neither parent wishing to leave the other when the risk of their happiness being shattered was so high.
"Ich werde alles mögliche tun, um das zu vermeiden. Elsa und Leo brauchen mich hier."
("I will do everything in my power not to. Elsa and Leo need me here".)
"Ich weiss das, aber dein kommandierender stimmt vielleicht nicht damit überein, wenn dein Regiment gebraucht wird." She pointed out fairly.
("I know they do, but your commanding officer may disagree if your Regiment is needed".)
"Das ist der Grund, dass ich mich freue, dass Kurt heute nach Hause kommt. Wenn er in der Stadt wieder ist, dann würde es mein kommandierender Offizier nicht wagen, mich an die Front zu schicken."
("That is why I am overjoyed that Kurt returns home today. If he is back in the city, then my commanding officer would not dare send me to the front".)
"Wegen Kurts Einfluss wäre das eine schlechte Wahl, wenn er das wagen würde." Lyla mused.
("Kurt's influence would certainly make it a poor choice if he tried".)
"Das habe ich genau gedacht, Lyla."
("My thoughts exactly, Lyla".)
Kurt was Hans' only saving grace. One of the most powerful men in the whole of Nazi Germany thanks to his close friendship with The Führer, a Regimental Commander would have been stupid to challenge Doctor Van Der Heijden. Kurt may not have outranked him in title, yet overcame the lack of rank to rule over him by right of connections. It was within Kurt's power to have the man stripped of his rank should the need arise him to be, even sending him to prison as long as Hitler agreed to it, which he most certainly would when it came to one of his most loyal allies. Lieutenant Hartmann would not have to leave his side as long as they were operating together.
Minutes passed where Lyla and Hans merely stood together in the living room, awaiting Kurt's arrival. He was due any minute, and the final minutes of preparation for Hans were all spent thinking about his biggest fear of all. Kurt's reaction to his new family. He loved Elsa far too much to let her go, but if Kurt disapproved of them living under his roof, then he would have a difficult decision to make. Leaving Kurt would allow him to be with the woman that he loved, but would also leave the young Lieutenant exposed to his own Commander once more. Leaving Elsa… leaving Elsa and his son to stay in Kurt's presence was simply not an option.
"Aber, das verlässt sich darauf, dass Kurt mein Leben mit Elsa akzeptiert." He glumly concluded.
("Although, that does rely on Kurt accepting my life with Elsa".)
"Warum würde er das nicht tun?" Lyla quizzed him with furrowed brows.
("Why would he not?")
"Wir sind nicht verheiratet, wir haben ein Kind, und wir wohnen unter seinem Dach. Ich wünsche es mir nicht, dass er denkt, dass ich ihn ausnutze."
("We are not married, we have a child and we are living under his roof. I do not wish for him to think that I am taking advantage of him".)
"Kurt würde es nicht so betrachten. Er wird sich für dich freuen."
("Kurt would not see it that way. He will be happy for you".)
"Kannst du das mit Sicherheit sagen? Ich weiss, dass es Kurt nicht gefällt, bloßgestellt zu werden."
("Can you say that with certainty? I know that Kurt does not enjoy being made to look a fool".)
Taking advantage of everything that Kurt had done for him was the last thing that Hans wanted to do. He owed so much to the man who took him under his wing, those lessons teaching him that Kurt was not a man to be messed around. He was a fair man who would give his time to those who were willing to give back, but never in the time that Hans knew him, had the Doctor found himself manipulated by anyone. Becoming the first to do so was not the intention of the Lieutenant.
"Du stellst ihn doch nicht bloß, Hans". Lyla insisted. "Du hast ein neues Leben geschaffen, ein neues deutsches Leben, dem Kurt zustimmen würde."
("You are not making him look foolish, Hans. You have created new life, a new German life that Kurt would approve of".)
"Es war nicht mein Auftrag..."
("It was not my assignment…".)
She had to chuckle internally. A lot of what she'd achieved during her time in Germany was far outside of the boundaries of her own assignment…
"Wir haben alle Aufgaben, die wir akzeptieren, die unseren Erwartungen nicht entsprechen, wenn wie die erleben. Kurt ist, wie du gesagt hast, sehr anpassungsfähig. Ich bin sicher, dass er sich an Elsa und den kleinen Leo gewöhnen kann."
("We all have tasks that we accept that do not meet our expectations when we experience them. Kurt is very adaptable as you have said. I am sure that he can adapt to Elsa and little Leo".)
"Ich verlange von ihm zu viel ab." Hans continued to fret.
("I am asking too much of him".)
"Nein, das machst du nicht, Hans. Außerdem, du heiratest Elsa in ein paar Wochen. Es ist nicht als ob du dein Leben nicht geplant hast. Du liebst sie, oder?"
("No you are not, Hans. Besides, you are marrying Elsa in a few weeks. It is not as if you have not planned your life. You love her, don't you?")
"Am allerliebsten! Das weißst du! He raised his voice at Lyla."
("More than anything. You know I do!")
"Dann muss Kurt das akzeptieren. Wenn nicht, dann mache ich alles in meiner Macht, um das zu verändern."
("Then Kurt will have to accept that. If he does not, then I will do everything in my power to change his mind".)
Seeing what she recognised as signs of a cack attack from Hans, Lyla was forced to take charge of the situation. She too was unsure of how Kurt would react to the presence of Elsa and Leo, her own reputation on the line for allowing them to stay at the offices. Although Kurt's role in the war may have painted a picture of a despicable man that only saw his extermination project as duty, he was not wholly unreasonable. It formed part of the reason why she'd allowed Elsa to move in the first place when the question was asked, praying that her opinion of Kurt's reaction would prove to be correct come the day of reckoning. The day arrived to the backdrop of howling wind, with her head and heart wishing for the gale not to blow through the lives of the perfect young couple she kept by her side.
Entering the room, Elsa held Leo in her arms. It was a sight to behold for the man who would soon be her husband, a small smile lighting up across his face when he saw them. Any negative thoughts that he might have held about Kurt's reaction to them were extinguished when he saw his beautiful boy. Leo was already beginning to look like his father, maintaining his mother's gorgeous eyes too. Lyla's heart skipped a few extra beats when they came together as a family. Hans was almost a son to her, viewing him so at that moment.
If only…
"Danke Lyla." Hans looked over to her.
("Thank you, Lyla".)
"Wir verdienen dich nicht." Elsa added.
("We do not deserve you".)
"Elsa, du verdienst alles, was du bekommst. Beide von euch, ihr seid verdienstvolle junge Eltern."
("Elsa, you deserve everything that you get. Both of you, you are deserving young parents".)
The young German woman almost melted at Lyla's words, happiness beaming from her. Hans too was extremely happy, possibly the happiest that Lyla had ever seen him in all of their time together. She'd gone from seeing the extremes of the emotionally charged young man to the loving father that stood before her, a journey that was not without its difficulties, the war being the main one, but was one which was faced together with love. Without Kurt there with them, Hans appeared to have thrived even more, not that she voiced those opinions. As much as her own hatred for the man she was supposedly in love with burned brightly, the agent of the British Crown could not deny that he'd taught Hans well in some areas of his life. Harnessing the natural talents of the young Lieutenant was far from easy but it was a challenge that Kurt had undertaken successfully.
"Das klingt wie ein Auto."
("That sounds like a car".)
The noisy clanging of a car's engine filled their ears before it was cut, indicating that it had come to a stop just underneath them at the front of the building. Peering out was not required, with only one scheduled visitor due at the offices that day.
"Ich habe Angst."
("I am nervous".)
"Hab keine Angst, Hansi". Elsa caressed his cheek tenderly with her free hand. "Ich liebe dich".
("Don't be nervous Hansi. I love you".)
"Ich liebe dich auch, Elsa. Und dich, mein kleinen Jungen."
("I love you too Elsa. And you my little boy".)
Leaving the couple to share a kiss while holding their darling boy, Lyla moved over towards the door, ensuring that she would be the first face that Kurt would see. In the far corner of the room, he would not make out Hans and Elsa at first, which would give her the time to settle Kurt before he could make any judgement on them. If his journey back to the Capital had been particularly stressful then his mood might be poor, something which she'd been thinking about in the hours since waking that morning. The weather didn't help either, although she knew Kurt was not a man who hated the extremes, on the contrary quite enjoying them.
Hearing his quick steps on the stairs on the other side of the door, the Irishwoman made her final psychological preparations for his arrival. The same woman that arrived in Germany a couple of years prior was going to be the woman who greeted him upon his return, not the caring angel that she'd been in his absence. For her own role in ensuring that Britain received the information that he spilled to her, any significant changes would need to be hidden or else she risked raising his suspicions. The relaxation of spending days speaking about what she pleased with Elsa, and to an extent Hans, were also at an end, serious conversation returning along with Kurt. Where she could dare to be a little critical of Adolf Hitler with the two of them, with Kurt, she would not dare it. His devotion to the leader of the German people was stronger than Sean Devlin's to religion, so much so that The Führer could almost be considered Kurt's master. It was not as if Kurt was not a willing slave to his demands either.
As the door of the offices opened for Kurt to return to a life he'd been away from for so long, the door to a life of comfort was shut for Lyla. When their faces met for the first time in nearly two years, she knew that she would forever be forced to be on her guard at all times. Ripping a smile across her make up covered face, the lying lady of the manor returned to prowl the offices, the carousel starting again.
"Meine liebe Lyla!"
("My darling Lyla!")
Kurt rushed to her immediately, throwing his arms around her passionately. The instant wish to bring back the contents of her breakfast through her windpipe hit Lyla hard, requiring every sinew of her strength to stop her from doing so. Being held by Kurt was akin to having a bear serve her dinner, waiting for its claws to dig into her skin and rip her apart when it deemed it time to do so. Dread sailed around her like the finest galleon of a medieval navy, silhouetted against a fading sun to symbolise the positivity being drained from her.
"Kurt!" She cried out in complete exaggeration. "Es ist so gut, dich wieder zu sehen!"
("Kurt! It is so good to see you again!")
"Ich habe dich vermisst." He whispered into hear ear in response.
("I have missed you".)
"Und ich dich auch. Es ist schon zu lang."
("I have missed you too. It has been too long".)
"Viel zu lang, mein Liebling. Viel zu lang".
("Far too long, my dear. Far too long".)
Burying his head into her shoulder for a few moments, Kurt squeezed the woman that he loved tightly. Lyla might have been acting in her feigned delight at seeing him, but he was putting on act too in being so caring. His old lifestyle before her was far easier to shake off when she was there with him, having sex on a regular basis. The libertine that he was, Kurt could not hold such commitment without her there. Two weeks into his stay at the camp in Poland, he'd found himself a nurse from Hamburg who'd travelled to the camp to look after any of the guards who fell ill. He'd began his dalliance with her within hours of them first meeting, an affair that lasted for weeks under the noses of everyone else at the camp. The guards were strictly forbidden from getting involved with the nurses, and the officers as a rule refrained from it, but he was the outlier. However, confident of Hitler's backing should he be challenged upon their relationship being discovered, he continued on anyway. Until the nurse mysteriously disappeared one night a few months later, never to be seen again…
"Du bist noch schöner als in der Zeit, zu der ich weggezogen bin." He told Lyla, ignoring the indiscretions that remained as memories in the back of his mind.
("You are even more beautiful than when I left".)
"Kurt, du schmeichelst mich zu viel." She giggled, choking through the action.
("Kurt, you flatter me too much".)
"Ich habe dich nicht genug geschmeichelt. Wir haben aber Zeit, das richtigzustellen."
("I have not flattered you enough. We have time to correct that though".)
After days without feeling the flesh of a woman underneath his fingertips, the doctor's carnal desires soon came to the fore. Although he'd been unfaithful to her whilst he was away in Poland, the whole of the journey back to the capital, Kurt's mind was filled with images of what he wanted to do with her when he got back. His hands moved just as quickly as the cogs of his brain ticked, moving to coax her tight dress away from her shoulders to strip her down in front of him. Of all of the women he'd been with, including the nurse from Hamburg, Lyla Walsh was the most stunning. Her toned body made his eyes widen like no other woman's had ever done and her…
Freezing, Kurt stopped his attempts to reacquaint himself with Lyla. Having moved to kiss her neck, his eyes were drawn to the unexpected presence of others in the room. He'd assumed that given the time of day, Hans would have been reporting to his commanding officer at the Regimental barracks, giving him the time that he needed with Lyla. Instead, the Lieutenant was stood in the far corner of the living room by his bedroom door, a young woman beside him. The blonde held a bundle in her arms, which he quickly identified to be a baby, puzzling him further than he already was due to Hans' presence.
"Hans? Was ist das?"
("Hans? What is this?")
Swallowing nervously, it was the moment of truth for the young officer.
"Hallo, Kurt. Das sind meine Verlobte Elsa...un mein Sohn, Leopold."
("Hello Kurt. This is my fiancé Elsa and… my son, Leopold".)
A moment passed where the initial shock left Kurt, to be replaced by a facial expression that gave away little to the young Lieutenant on the other side of the room. The wind whipped up onto the windows as they stood in silence for a few moments, the grip growing stronger between the held hands of the young couple. They were going to find out where they stood very quickly, but most importantly, they were facing up to it together… for their little Leo.
"Das ist eine ganz...unerwartete Überraschung." Kurt spoke softly, too softly for Lyla's liking.
("This is a most… unexpected surprise".)
"Du bist mit mir nicht enttäuscht, oder?" Hans replied immediately.
("You are not disappointed with me, are you?")
"Hansi...ich bin erfreut!"
("Hansi… I am delighted".)
Roaring with delight, Kurt rushed out of Lyla's embrace to greet the Lieutenant properly. Slipping his hand out of Elsa's, Hans joined Kurt in what he thought was going to be a handshake but was in fact a ginormous hug. Where Hans thought that his mentor would be ashamed of him for what he'd done, Kurt was the complete opposite. Overjoyed at his protégé enjoying the birth of his child during the doctor's absence, Kurt could not be prouder of him. One day, Hans was always going to make a woman happy and although he hadn't envisaged that day to come until much further in the future, it did not matter to him that it was quicker. Hans was clearly happy, which was all that Kurt wanted for him to be.
When they pulled away from each other, having embraced for at least thirty seconds or so, Kurt turned his attention to the ravishing blonde that carried the child in her arms.
"Was für eine schöne Frau, die du gewählt hast, zu lieben."
("What a beautiful woman you have chosen to love".)
"Ich bin geehrt, Sie kennen zu lernen, Herr Doktor." She replied, holding out her hand. "Hans hat mir so viel über Sie erzählt."
("I am honoured to meet you Doctor. Hans has told me so much about you".)
"Bitte, Elsa. Du kannst mich Kurt nennen. Wir können uns auch duzen."
("Please Elsa, call me Kurt".)
Kissing her hand lightly, the doctor grinned as their eyes met. Hans could not have found a more beautiful woman in all of Berlin, other than Lyla of course. Her eyes were outstanding, her body petite yet firm. The two of them stood together were exactly what Lyla thought them to be when she'd first saw them standing side by side. The perfect Aryan couple with their perfect Aryan child… they could not have fit the description any better.
"Du musst der kleine Leopold sein". Kurt cooed, tilting his head down over the boy and placing his finger into the child's grasp. "Hallo, ich bin Onkel Kurt. Du bist ein sehr starker junger Mann.
("You must be little Leopold. Hello, I'm Uncle Kurt. You are a very strong young man".)
"Er ist schön, oder, Kurt?" Lyla, who had been mostly silent since Kurt left her by the door, spoke up from behind him.
("He is beautiful isn't he, Kurt?")
"Er ist das Bild seiner Eltern, Lyla. Ich könnte nicht stolzer auf euch sein."
("He is the image of his parents, Lyla. I could not be prouder of you both".)
"Ich habe mir so viele Sorgen gemacht dass du beleidigt wärst, dass wir deine Gastfreundschaft missbraucht haben, Kurt". Hans admitted, breathing out the tense nerves he'd held. "Ich würde nicht wollen, dass du denkst, ich würde das ohne guten Grund machen.".
("I was so worried that you would be offended that we have abused your hostility, Kurt. I would not want you to think that I would do so without good reason".)
"Du hast ein neues Leben mit der Frau geschaffen, die du liebst, Hans. Ich habe dir immer beigebracht, die Verantwortung für deine Aktionen zu übernehmen, oder? Von mir aus, du befolgst meine Lehren"
("You have created a new life with the woman that you love Hans. I have always taught you to take responsibility for your actions, haven't I? As far as I am concerned, you are following my teachings".)
Hans consistently wished to adhere to Kurt's teachings, and without realising so before he was told literally, having a child with Elsa became the ultimate example of it. Listening in to the side, Lyla had to batten down the snort that threatened to leap out when Kurt spoke of taking responsibilities for one's action. When the war finally was won, in favour of Britain and its allies, she'd immediately thought that he would have to follow his own teachings. Answers would be sought over the extermination project that he'd overseen. She wished to be there when the inevitable trial came, to stare into Kurt's eyes to see whether he would accept responsibility for what she believed was going to be the mass slaughter of the Jewish population.
"Warum bist du wieder da, Kurt? Ich habe meine kommandierenden Offizier gefragt, aber er hat nicht gewusst."
("Why are you back, Kurt? I asked my commanding officer, but he did not know".)
"Leider kann ich es dir nicht sagen, Hans. Ich kann nur sagen, dass ich in ein paar Wochen für einen neuen Auftrag verlassen muss, aber dieses Mal brauche ich dich dabei."
("I am afraid that I cannot tell you, Hans. All I can say is that in a few weeks I will have to leave again on a new assignment, but this time I will need you with me".)
Elsa's heart sank when she heard Kurt's words. A momentous occasion in her life with Hans was more than a few weeks away, planned for meticulously with the help of Lyla. If her husband to be was to be called away with Kurt, in the service of the Fatherland, then their day would have to be sacrificed. Already overbrimming with excitement for it, she could feel the upset coming to the boil beneath her still calm exterior.
"Aber unsere Hochzeit..."
("But our wedding…".)
"Mach dir keine Sorgen, Elsa". Kurt reassured her in an instant. "Wo wir hingehen kann eure Hochzeit erfolgen. Ihr könnt alle mitkommen."
("Do not worry Elsa. We can have your wedding where we are going. You can all come with me".)
It was Lyla's turn to jump out her skin.
In the space of a couple of sentences, her whole assignment was thrown into jeopardy. Along with her relationship with Doctor Van Der Heijden, her other job was to maintain the British spy network within Berlin. There was no good reason that she could think of for her not to join Kurt, wherever it was that he was going but if she were to leave then the network would be vulnerable. At times it was only her quick thinking that held it all together, especially when they'd come close to being discovered on account of another agent's incompetence. Smithers would have to be informed the moment that she had the chance to, which would not come that day, she knew, Kurt most likely retiring to bed to sleep thoroughly.
Her war was about to change.
"Na, wie wäre es mit ein bisschen Wein?"
("Now, how about some wine?")
Kurt's idea was a good distraction… and he'd become good at those in his time away from her. Niggling away in the corner of Lyla's mind was the realisation that he was not quite the same man who'd left before Christmas two years before. There was something different about Kurt, a personality change that was not outrageously obvious but was certainly there to the naked eye of those who knew him better. She did not know of how unfaithful he'd been towards her during his time in Poland, not that she would have cared truly if he had. Two days earlier she'd thrown up when she remembered that she would have to have sex with him again.
Time would tell whether fate would be kinder to her than it was to the nurse from Hamburg who'd been her temporary replacement.
Her disappearance was no mystery to Kurt. Only to everyone else.
Deep into a clearing in the mined woods outside of the camp, the nurse's rotting corpse was buried deep in the ground. When she'd been placed into the ground, her stomach was showing signs of swelling from where she was carrying a child. Kurt's child.
The mistake she made was not noticing the signs as quickly as he did… a fatal one on her part.
Kurt Van Der Heijden was no longer just the doctor in charge of exterminating people from afar with the use of powerful gases. He was not the man that anyone knew him to be, whether that was Hans, Lyla or Hitler. A new man now roamed Berlin.
He was a cold-blooded killer…
Up to his tricks again, he was.
Sarah hadn't planned on spending a rare morning off work racing after her father, but another cagey performance from Joe over breakfast sealed her fate for the morning. She'd been in the position before but unable to do anything about it, leaving it to Mary who'd done a poor job of finding out whether his liaisons with the tart Maeve were still continuing. Between them, the sisters still held the determination to find out exactly what Joe was up to on his escapades, though they were wary of riling him too much about it. Espionage was never either of their strong points but discretion wasn't Joe's either. At least they thought…
The time off work came about due to the continual drop in demand for the factory. They'd spent the best part of two years working at an unrelenting pace to make uniforms for the servicemen but by the end of September, the need was almost non-existent. There was still a lack of major battles that would see uniforms destroyed, leaving military stockpiles full while very little action occurred. The war, from a British perspective, had turned into a game of chess rather than the traditional warfare that the continent saw. Without any major punches to throw, at least not yet, there were only jabs that could be thrown against their Nazi foe across the English Channel. The power to unleash a strike was out of their reach, although the potential arrival of America into the conflict gave Churchill hope that the day to attack would come around. Roosevelt was yet to commit his country to the war, but American influence was spreading through the allied cause. The German high command were not stupid either; they knew that if America were to be brought into the war, there was only ever going to be one side they would fight on. That was why they had an alliance with Japan and Japan saw opportunity with America, their planners already thinking well in advance.
None of that mattered to Sarah though because as long as the Nazi's were not floating up the Foyle, she was content to benefit from having the day off. In most sections, the teams of four would take it in turns to be off during the week, with Friday the only day where they would all be at work. The only exceptions were Erin, Michelle, Clare and Orla, who were requested to work the whole week due to their significantly higher output to most. Back to being the best on the factory floor, none of the other sections could dream of being anywhere near as quick as they were. Unfortunately, it made them far too useful for their own good, with management deciding that it was best to keep them in all week to maximise the output that they could in order to give the other girls a rest. Michelle was far from pleased with the decision, but she'd been reminded of her place when she spoke up to complain, ensuring her silence. Losing her job would not have gone down well back home.
Without a day of hard labour to think about, Sarah was free to begin her mission of proving that her Da was up to no good once and for all. When he'd announced that he was going out, she'd acted as if she didn't mind, so as not to give him any hints that she would be following him. As soon as he was out of view from the living room window though, she was out onto the streets after him. A wide berth was kept, but he did not stray from her eyeline during the familiar journey towards Pump Street. The street had a reputation it seemed, as many seedy goings on either occurred or originated from the small street in the middle of the city. Most of Derry knew the place was a hotbed of activity, although the activity that Joe was up to was one that she would be putting a stop to. For her and Mary, their poor mother who was barely even cold in the ground, was being betrayed by her husband in death.
For a man of advancing years, Joe was able to hold a high pace as he cut through the streets to reach a house that he knew well. Sarah was keeping her distance anyway, but she doubted she would have been able to keep up if they were walking together, such was the speed her father was managing to muster.
Pump Street was soon in view, Joe already approaching the house where he'd been spotted waiting outside by her before. The house looked no different to any of the others on the street, though there must have been something special about it to make Joe go back constantly. Both sisters cursed being unable to remember which one that Maeve lived in, if they ever even knew, but their luck was going to change that morning. Joe's years of seeing the old tart behind their backs was about to come to an end. It was equally fortuitous that Colm agreed to have Marie for the day in a deal he'd struck up with his brother the day before, further proof for her that Joe's Pump Street plans were planned for long in advance. Maeve must have enjoyed a good plan… the wee old tart.
There was only one final street for Sarah to cross before she got to her spot where she would finally crack the mystery of Pump Street. The butterflies were growing in her stomach, almost giddy from being the hunter who finally hunted their prey, thinking of what she would say to Mary when she knew. Both had already made up their minds that he was seeing Maeve but the final concrete proof would seal their attack on him that evening. If they'd seen him with her then Joe would not have a leg to stand on when they mauled him. Not even the distraction technique of being rude to Gerry would work to get him out of it, which would force him to come clean to them so that they could judge him as they wished. His place at home was under threat in her mind, although he was too useful for looking after Marie for her to be sure that kicking him out would be a good idea. Marie certainly wouldn't be allowed to go to Maeve's, the vulture of an old woman being banned from getting her claws on Sarah's precious granddaughter.
With the excitement getting to her a little much, Sarah rushed across the road with her eyes only fixed on the spot on the other side.
And that was her mistake.
She never saw it coming, but after half a second, her left side erupted in pain as she was thrown violently onto the tarmac. A man's shout filled the air alongside her piercing scream as her feet lifted from the ground ahead of her body's crash back to it. Shouts went up in the seconds after from a couple of people who were passing, who'd happened to witness what had happened. Sarah didn't know any of it though, because as soon as her head made contact with the tarmac, she was out cold. The lights went out for her in an instant, without going back on very quickly at all.
Around her, the two witnesses tried to wake the prone woman, whilst another man who'd came across the scene helped the man who'd shouted. He was lying in a heap next to Sarah, tangled up with his bicycle. Riding down the street minding his own business, he'd been unable to react in time when Sarah ran out in front of him, crashing into the middle-aged woman at almost full speed. His front wheel was damaged by the impact of hitting her, caving in as it struck her left leg. He was not so concerned about his bike at first, more worried about the pain in his shoulder. The unlucky fella was catapulted over his handlebars with only a second or so to put his arms out to break his fall. It was not enough time for the man who was scared out of his mind by her appearance in the road in front of him, landing shoulder first onto ground while his bike landed with him. None of the three people who'd came to their aid were doctors, but it was very clear the man had broken his collarbone.
However, his injuries were nothing compared to hers. Still unconscious, an ambulance was summoned for her. Unaware that his daughter lay injured just a street away, Joe entered the house in Pump Street unchallenged. It would be another day where he could get away without his daughters knowing what he was up to there, although for the patriarch of the family, Sarah's health would have been more important if he knew. Sadly, he did not, and she was left in the care of the good Samaritans who could have easily walked on without helping either of them. An accident it was though, despite her being to blame for not looking where she was going.
Ten minutes later, the ambulance turned up. By that time the cops were on the scene too along with a crowd, who were all gathering around Sarah's prone body. The cops were trying to keep people as far back as they could to give her a bit of privacy, but the nosy residents of Derry wanted to see first-hand what was going on. To those who arrived at the scene, it was quite clear what had happened when they saw the broken bicycle, that had now been moved to the side of the road. The man with the broken collarbone was back onto his feet, right arm hanging limply from where the collarbone was cracked open. The two ambulance men were immediately told to ignore him by the man himself, his concern going out to Sarah who was yet to wake.
Assessing her injuries was their first priority. An effort was made to try to rouse her by one of them too, although it was quickly abandoned when she made a little noise to show some form of awareness. Sarah still wasn't with it all, muttering incomprehensible words under her breath. She was conscious though, and that was all they needed her to be. The men were careful as they rolled her onto her side, heading straight to her legs which bore the brunt of the impact of the bicycle. Her left leg was broken they quickly found, hopefully for her sake cleanly. Whilst one of them continued to look at her legs, the other moved to the next most essential wound to take care of. The wound to her head where she'd fallen was not a large one, but the cut was still emitting blood that would need to be stopped. Concussed, she winced at the pain as the man's fingers worked around the area of the cut. She'd been lucky the road was one of the tarmacked ones, avoiding the tiny stones of the smaller back streets that would have had to have been taken out should they have entered the wound.
"Yer alright there Miss, we'll have ye at the hospital in no time".
Hearing one or two of the words as she drifted in and out of consciousness, Sarah did not know where she was. Eyes glazed, there was concern for her from everyone that could see the state she was in but there was little that anyone could do to help her until they got her to hospital. The crowd grew in size around her the longer they treated her, which hastened the two ambulance men's efforts to help her. Another fifteen minutes passed before they were ready to move her, assisted by some in the crowd who were more concerned with her condition rather than the gossip they could spread from what had happened.
News travelled so very quickly in Derry though, and the news of Sarah's accident soon made its way to the factory. Mary and Orla were off the factory floor in seconds, Meyler the supervisor understandably letting them go without having to say a word. Erin could have gone with them too, but she elected to stay, knowing that her Aunt was in good hands despite the grievous injuries that were being reported to them. The two ran through the streets like they'd never ran before, although they took far more care in crossing the roads than Sarah had done. When they arrived at the scene, Sarah was in the back of the ambulance already, along with the ambulance men whilst the cops reformed a permitter around it.
"Sarah! Sarah!" Mary called out for her sister.
When the cops saw the two rushing towards them, they moved to allow them through. Tears were streaming out of Orla's eyes when she saw the state of her mother, her head covered in blood whilst the man treating her wrapped it. Her leg was wrapped up tightly, with blankets all around her. Having never seen her Mammy in such a dishevelled state, Orla distress was upsetting to even the hardest of hearts.
"She'll be alright, love". Mary tried to assure her.
The trip to the hospital was a short one, but it was made in great haste. Sarah was not in any serious danger, but for a long time she was going to be in a lot of pain. A broken leg was not an injury that could be recovered from immediately, taking weeks to fully heal. Her work would have to be covered too, though that paled in comparison to her wellbeing in her family's eyes. Her bubbly personality and her quirks would be missed during what Mary already knew would be a spell in hospital before she could be released. Looking down at her sister, her own eyes showed signs of watering, but she held firm in the face of it. She was going to have to be strong for her sister, who would no doubt be very upset about being unable to be out and about. Sarah could become frustrated at even the slightest change in her life; a broken leg would cause mayhem.
"M… Mary…".
Returning to a state of consciousness where she could identify those around her, Sarah looked up from where she lay in the moving ambulance, gazing blankly at her Sister. Hearing her name, Mary sprang up from her seat in the ambulance, concern rushing through her as Sarah came around. Orla shot up at the same time, the two in her eyeline extremely quickly.
"Oh Sarah, do ye know where ye are?" Mary asked as softly as she could.
"N… No". She replied, her voice barely audible.
"Yer in an ambulance, so ye are, love. Ye've had yerself a wee accident, do ye not remember?"
Her hazy mind, which was hazy even without the addition of being knocked to the floor by a man on a bike, searched for the source of the incident. She'd never actually seen the man herself when she stepped out onto the road, only feeling the impact before being knocked out when she hit the tarmac. She could remember the seconds before though when her brain was prompted, reminded that she was chasing after her father to prove their theory that he was still seeing Maeve behind their backs.
"H… hit". Sarah croaked.
"Aye that's right love, ye were knocked over by a fella on his bicycle". Mary confirmed.
"D… di…". She struggled. "Didn't look".
Picturing the seconds before she'd felt the impact on her left side, Sarah was aware that it was her that was in the wrong and not the man on the bike. In her rush to condemn Joe, she'd condemned herself to the terrible pain that she found herself in, deserving the accident for her own ignorance, she knew. The agony in her left side only grew when she adjusted to the surroundings of the ambulance, her left leg in particular hurting a lot. She also had the worst headache she'd ever experienced, far worse than the ones she'd gotten from consuming too much alcohol when she was a teenager.
"Ach Mammy, I love ye!" Orla tearfully declared, only stopped from smothering her mother at the last second by Mary.
"No Orla, ye might hurt her". She warned. "Everything will be alright, we'll get through this".
Mary Quinn's optimism was a tonic of life that many men and women failed to find in the two years since the start of the war. The depressing nature of conflict ensured that many would forget that such joy and hope could be prayed for, instead giving into negativity that only brought melancholy into their lives.
Chances in life could often spring from the lowest moments such as accidents or even death in some cases. A door may close, but another may open.
Waiting for Sarah McCool was a new door that was wide open.
Flapping his wings, the new visitor made his presence known.
It was a strange place for a pigeon to roam, on the ground next to a set of steel bars that acted as a window, but the bird was somehow drawn to the spot. The grounds all around the pigeon were luxurious, with plenty of trees for him to make home, but there was something different about the spot that he was in, which he liked. The spot contained a secret on the other side of the bars, a man hidden away from a world that believed him to be deceased, except a few Italians who knew the truth. The Pigeon was a most welcome visitor for a man who never saw anyone anymore.
He'd been coming by every morning around seven o'clock, finding the man on the other side of the bars waiting for him each time. James was not a particular lover of birds unlike some, though he always found it pleasant to watch their behaviours. Pigeons especially could be interesting to watch, especially when they began to fight, although the lone pigeon never found any of his kind to scrap with when he landed on the grass where the steel barred window of the Englishman's underground prison was located. After a couple of weeks of visits, James decided to name his avian friend that was the only constant in his life apart from Professor Molinari. Frank the Pigeon, named after the Major who'd gotten James his Lieutenancy when he signed up at the beginning of the war. Whether the Major was still alive, he did not know, but he could be channelled into the projection of the pigeon in the Englishman's mind.
"Hello Frank… How are you my friend?"
James would have to imagine responses to his questions each day, but he did not mind. Back in Derry, he'd have most likely have been considered mental for pretending to hold long conversations with a pigeon but in confinement beneath the ground in Taranto, it was all he had. He couldn't talk to Professor Molinari about Erin, out of fear that the Italians might try to find her and hurt her. Keeping his beloved, the woman who would be his wife, safe was still his most important priority even when he was thousands of miles away from her. Frank the Pigeon wouldn't do anything to hurt Erin though, he wouldn't even peck her.
"Good. I am glad to hear that you are well. The nights are drawing in aren't they".
Thinking in his own mind about what Frank would say, James was correct in his comment regardless. September's days were waning, the heat of the summer finally fading to be replaced by the Autumnal breeze. Leaves were falling off the trees that he could see between the bars, covering the ground in a mixture of brown and orange before the coastal winds swept the leaves away to another part of the grounds.
"I know, it gets dark too quickly in the Autumn. I hope my Erin is able to walk home from work safely… I should be there to drive her".
"Yes I should stop worrying, shouldn't I, Frank? She is a bright, beautiful woman who will not be scared by the wind!"
His thoughts of her were still as strong as they'd been before the fateful night over the skies of the city where he was now held. Michelle had once complained to him that the English invaded Ireland far too much, James believing that Erin's invasion of his mind was Ireland's revenge. He did not mind at all though, assaulted every night with images of her beauty that were forever engrained in his mind. Loving Erin Quinn was the greatest triumph of his life, outside of his achievements in service to the country. Dreams reminded him of how lucky that he really was, picturing a future together which helped him keep his hopes alive that one day he would escape. The probability of success was against him, but the strength of his heart, he hoped, would see him through. They could be painful thoughts too though, most agonisingly the dreams that would take him to memories of their summer togethers. The Saturday afternoons spent under the bright sun or up in the clouds in his own biplane that was long forgotten to the world. Then there were the times that he remembered when she would lay on his bed, the Englishman kissing every inch of her naked body before making love to her. Those were the most painful memories of them all, telling him how much he needed her love when he could not have it.
His voice nearly turned to a shout as the Pigeon flew away, clearly having thought his time was best put to use elsewhere. That was Frank's only shortcoming to James; he would just fly off in the middle of a conversation. Sometimes when he flew away the Englishman would wonder whether he was going insane by talking to the pigeon, but devoid of any friendly contact who he could fully trust, it was not so odd to him. Erin had once told him that Orla spoke to imaginary friends from time to time, which was a far stranger pastime than the one that he was conducting. Frank the Pigeon did exist and he could prove it as long as Frank kept returning to the spot outside his main source of light.
With Frank gone, the Captain of the Fleet Air Arm began his normal morning exercise routine. Breakfast had already come and gone at half past six, one of the Professor's assistants bringing him the staple bread and cheese meal that he'd become accustomed to. Breakfast was still always the same when it came to food, although lunch and dinner could sometimes be a stew should there be any leftover that the Professor could spare. James was still unable to find it within himself to complain, especially when he thought that he might have been the best treated Prisoner of War in the world. No man in their right mind would dare question the hospitality that Professor Molinari allowed, in the fear of joining his compatriots at overcrowded camps that spread disease and death in the deliberately squalid conditions.
Working out on the bar above his bed like every morning, the now incredibly muscular James exercised away in silence. His veins were almost bursting out across his firm chest, confident in saying that he'd never been as strong in his life. The Englishman was never one to lack strength anyway, but never before were his muscles as bulky as they were after months of working out in the dungeon like nature of the room that he was kept in. The core strength of his stomach improved equally, muscles rippling out across it to match those above in his chest. His biceps and triceps were beginning to stretch the fabric of the shirt that only highlighted his impressive figure even more. Erin deserved to be able to worship his body whenever she pleased, but the war denied her the chance to see what had become of the man she believed was now dead. Far from deceased, the muscular frame of her wee Prince was not worshipped by anyone, whether it be a man or a woman. The rough handed nurse was certainly no more impressed by it than when she'd first started to help treat his wounds, being rougher if anything when she began to note his body's muscular transition.
The gunshot wound to the shoulder he'd suffered in the confrontation with the young soldier was no longer giving him any trouble. At one time it was an infected mess, but after the pull up routines began, he'd never really felt the injury again. A small mark where the entry wound was sewn back together would remain with him for the rest of his life, though it did not detract from his beauty. If anything, a rough and rugged outlook made him feel better about himself, showing to anyone who saw his injury that he'd fought hard. Many men were carrying injuries for life that were far more serious, some missing limbs that could not be replaced. He'd been extremely lucky that his infection hadn't spread in the same way that some of the Italian soldiers who Molinari treated had seen theirs do. Jealousy would flow through them if they were to know that the Englishman who led the attack on their fleet escaped without having to suffer what they had.
If James were to be truthful, his legs were healed too. Another set of injuries that many of the Italian soldiers and sailors injured during the attack on Taranto had not recovered from, James' luck came to his rescue again. Professor Molinari might have aided him on the walk to David's grave, but the Englishman was lying when he said he needed the help. The same set of legs that once screamed with even the slightest bit of weight on them were back to their best in the dark room under the mansion. He kept the pretence up for his own sake, although James was not a foolish man, which he'd proven throughout his life. Molinari's eyebrows were already raised on a couple of occasions when the expected progression did not occur like he thought it would. Having fought through the worst of his injuries, James appeared to be falling at the final hurdle on his way to returning to full health. Whether the Italian knew that the pilot was withholding the truth from him was a fact that remained unknown to him.
Towards the end of the workout session, the familiar sound of footsteps began to sound out from the long corridor outside his room. It would be another thirty seconds until the owner of the footsteps made their appearance at the large iron door, but he already knew who they belonged to. With a vast amount of time on his hands, James began to listen into the footsteps of the select few who knew of his existence. A lot of Molinari's assistants held very similar sounding footsteps; rushed, but not loud, they would take the shortest amount of time before reaching the door upon first being heard. The plump nurses sounded like hammers pummelling the floor, making it known that she was coming to make his life worse. Molinari's were in between. He was not as quick as his assistants but was far faster than the nurse who James assumed needed a rest halfway down the corridor due to her size. Soft but firm, the echo of the Professor's footsteps almost matched his personality. The Italian man, magnified by his thick rimmed glasses, was a kind man on the outside who would even extend that kindness to his supposed enemy. Yet he could still be powerful in his convictions, especially when it came to honesty. He'd not been afraid to point out to James that he was a prisoner who could not return home like he wished to, even when the Englishman was at his lowest. He was not a weak man who hid behind science.
The Professor entered the room at the exact moment that James predicted that he would. He was alone, which James preferred, because if the assistants were with him then he would have to perform multiple tasks to show the progression in his recovery. On mornings such as that one, just after breakfast as the weak morning light shone into the room, Molinari would only be there to chat to him. The majority of their conversations outside of his legs were about the war, James making it a point to ask him each time for an update on how the war was going. He knew the Professor did not lie when he told of the stories, even if he could not validate them himself, the Italian lacking the petulance in order to darken his morale. If the British Army lost a battle then Molinari would be frank with him and tell him, but if they won one he did not keep the truth to himself. Many would in an attempt to play psychological warfare with the English prisoner, forgetting that the man in front of them was just as adept at the game as they were. Mentally strong prisoners like James were the bane of the enemy that captured them, being unable to extract any secrets from them at all. His Italian captors were yet to try it with James although that was only because of Molinari, not that James knew. If the Italian Army or Navy got their hands on the man responsible for landing a devastating blow to their fleet, torture would begin within minutes.
"James…". The Professor addressed him first, looking up to the bar where the Englishman was hanging from. "… how many to go?"
"Another two pull ups Professor". He answered through his gritted teeth, straining at the effort.
"That is good… how many does that make it today?"
Grinning through his pained smile, James was ready to impress the man who'd overseen his recovery. Daring to push himself further than he'd done before, he was aiming for forty pull ups, far exceeding the usual twenty or so that he did every other morning. The intensity of the effort stung at his muscles, but he'd kept them so well conditioned that it was not unfeasible to truly test their capabilities. Coy enough to know that doing forty every day risked significant wear and tear further in the future, it would be a one time effort just to satisfy his curiosity of whether he could do it or not. Thoughts of Erin were in his mind to, spurring him on by pretending that she was there cheering for him to reach his goal. With Erin's support, James Maguire could do anything.
"Forty shortly…". He answered as the thirty ninth began.
"Very good. You are becoming stronger and stronger because you listened to me". Molinari chuckled. "If only all men were like you".
Snorting slightly whilst continuing his routine, James could understand the Professor's frustrations. He'd never admitted it to anyone, not even David, but there were times when he would become angered the men of his squadron failing to carry out their tasks properly because they'd not listened to his wisdom. The majority of his men always had done from the moment he took command of the 815 Squadron, only a small number opting to ignore him. Unsurprisingly, those men were the ones who never claimed any aircraft while out on activity duty nor hit any Naval targets on the missions to Benghazi or Taranto. The young Captain never wanted to assume that he always knew best in every situation when holding so little experience, merely asking for his men to listen to those times when it was clear that he did. His anger would flare beneath the surface when their bombs or torpedoes failed to hit their targets, without ever shouting at them for their ignorance. When Molinari found himself in the same position, his prisoner sympathised.
Professor Molinari dragged the chair over from the other side of the room, carefully removing the spare shirt that James had placed onto it. The shirts that he was given to wear were not ones of low quality, being tailored from what James could make out. He suspected that the Professor's tailor was being asked to make them alongside Molinari's usual orders, which was a risk when the two required very different sizes. With a wallet bigger than most in the city though, the Professor could take such risks with his loyal tailor who would not say anything more about it. They did not have the Gestapo on the streets to check up on such things, Molinari knowing that his own country's intelligence services were far too incompetent to ever cast suspicion onto him. Only those most loyal to him knew of the English prisoner that was locked away in his basement, local military officials not being amongst the trusted few. Like with the rest of the world including Erin, they were not aware of James' survival following the night nearly a year before.
"I worry I am like Victor Frankenstein by allowing such exercise". Molinari laughed as James planted his feet back on the bed, forty pull ups complete.
"I can assure you, Professor, that I am no monster". He joked in return.
"You have become a very strong man at only twenty years of age and unlike Frankenstein, my creation is not hideous".
James was no stranger to having his good looks complimented. The compliment coming from Professor Molinari was most odd though, making him almost giggle with nervous energy. He wasn't sure whether he enjoyed the Professor making the comment or not, not when in the same breaths he was being compared to Frankenstein's monster.
"It would be a terrible shame if Mary Shelley had visions of the future me when she wrote…". He jested to Molinari, sitting down next to him. "… perhaps more so for me than for her".
"Mary Shelley would not be the problem. It is the young women of my city who I would fear for… there are not many men who look like you in the city".
"Should I be concerned that you will?" James asked tentatively, his brows furrowed.
"That is a freedom that would see us both in front a firing squad and I 'ave far too much to do. Death is not in my diary".
The two shared laughter at Molinari's words, finding amusement in the serious matter of death. Death was something that James had managed to avoid regularly during his life, where most others would have certainly died. It was not something that should be taken lightly but locked away from the rest of society with a list of companions that did not extend beyond a Professor and a Pigeon, he did so without fear or care for what anyone else thought. The Professor saw death on almost a daily basis, humour being his only escape from the grim reality of the role that he performed. It was a coping mechanism of sorts.
"How goes the war then, Professor?"
The question which James always asked, was asked again in the Professor's company. It had been a few days since they last discussed the subject and James doubted much had changed in that time. He did not wish to miss any developments though, not least positive ones for Britain.
"I cannot say there is much to tell. Very little seems to 'appen in Africa now and the seas are quiet for the moment".
"How very boring…". James concluded.
"Boring but safe, James. No bombings on my city means my people do not have to lose legs thanks to your pilots".
Occasionally Molinari would make a small jab at Britain, despite his admiration for the kingdom. The most important years of his life were spent in London, which he could never forget, but that did not mean he would remain uncritical of Britain as a whole. The night that James and his men attacked the harbour, Molinari's life changed forever not just because of the man he now held captive. His reputation within the city was already strong before that night; by the end of it, he may as well have held the title of mayor. The number of men who'd survived thanks to his decision making, combined with the surgical skill of a man who'd been born to mend wounds, was outstanding. Professor Roberto Molinari could not find an enemy amongst the servicemen of the city, if he tried. Unless they discovered his treatment of James….
"I remind you that your friends the Germans did not mind killing innocent people of my Britain when they dropped their bombs, nor would your pilots have if they'd dropped theirs".
"There is no need to lecture me on the nature of war, James…". Molinari's voice changed, sterner than before. "… I just wish that my people were not suffering because of it".
"We share that thought in common".
A few moments of reflection took place for both captor and captive. Attuned to the suffering of those who were innocents that were caught up in a war that should never have begun, they were men whose hearts were purer than most. He might have been holding James, denying his freedom, but the Professor still felt as if he was a morally correct man. A man who would always think about the wellbeing of others no matter who they were or who they fought for, he wished for an end to the conflict even if he did not say it. To his side, James felt the same way. Even if he was more than happy to return to the air to conduct dogfights or bombing runs, the Englishman wished for a swift end to it so that he could see Erin again. She'd suffered too greatly from the Nazi's conquest of Europe, deserving of an easing to the pain she'd endured for months.
James could not give her that easing alone and as long as the Nazi's could still fight, there would always be a state of war.
Raising himself up from the bed where he sat, James began to move around the room. There'd never been a better way of displaying the trust that the Professor gave his prisoner at the unexpected movement. A less understanding man would have beaten James until he was black and blue for daring to move so much as an inch, but Molinari did not mind at all. When he'd offered an olive branch of respect to the English pilot, he'd known that a lonely young man such as James would not attack him when allowed to move freely. If James did anything to the Professor then his trip to the afterlife would be sealed thanks to the guards all around the grounds of the mansion. Having gotten to know and trust the young man during his rehabilitation, Molinari knew that James would not be stupid enough to lay a scratch on him, let alone kill him.
"I will miss our conversations…". James began when he came to a stop, leaning against the far wall. "… I doubt I will find such talks with my fellow compatriots".
"What do you mean?"
Molinari's face showed expressions of confusion at what he'd heard from the Englishman. James mirrored it quickly, unsure of why the Professor would be so surprised. He'd walked around in front of him for a good couple of minutes before he was speaking, showing the Professor that his legs were absolutely fine following the lengthy recovering. Whilst the bullet wounds in them would leave scars that would last a lifetime like the one in his shoulder, the pain would not continue. There was not a single gasp or wince, no cry for help in the time that he paraded around in front of the Professor. Joining his fellow countrymen in a prisoner of war camp was going to happen even if he did not want it to, Molinari having no good reason to keep him prisoner underneath the Italian man's mansion.
That was the logical way of looking it from James' perspective, the same way any man in his position would have done.
Fate once again proved that it would work in mysterious ways.
"My transfer to a camp must only be days away, I would have thought. I owe you a lot for what you have done for me Professor Molinari. It has been an honour to be…".
"James". Molinari interrupted him, naming him to create a silence that ran deep through the room. "You are not going anywhere".
The world appeared to freeze around him. Autumnal breeze whipped around the grounds of the mansion as a wintery silence dominated the underground room that held the young pilot. Professor Molinari's revelation stunned him. There were perfectly good reasons why the Professor had kept him away from a POW camp, narrating his admiration for what James had achieved with his daring attack the prior November. Molinari may have hated the suffering it caused, but he'd been glowing in his respect for James, David and the rest of the Swordfish crews, for their outstanding bravery in the face of such dire odds. A man of honour such as he would not just send a man straight to a POW camp when his life teetered on the edge, especially when James was so heroic. When he was fully healed, his mobility returned, it made sense for James to be moved to a camp with other British prisoners… but it was James Maguire. As he had been, sometimes knowingly and sometimes not, he was being treated far differently to any other man.
"I… I do not understand". He replied, sounding more like a young Orla than himself.
"I 'ave not been completely honest with you, James".
A wry smile broke out across the face of the English fella. It was all too good to be true, he'd thought it many times, but now Molinari was confirming it. His differentiating treatment was not because he was any more special than any other man, even though he truly was, but it was an act of revenge. The man who'd made a mockery of the Italian fleet and brought destruction to the city of Taranto would get the punishment that he deserved.
"Should have known…". He uttered a resigned sigh.
"The commander in charge of this area knows that you are here". Molinari explained coolly. "A man of your rank, 'e wanted to know who you are"
When James did not even know who he was, the Italians were not going to have much more luck. However, they did have a trick up their sleeve, a card that they'd discovered thanks to their German friends, who were willing to assist. The German High Command did not know the name James Maguire that well before it was reported to them, but it was a name that now reached the higher echelons of those who wielded power in Nazi Germany. The Italians did not know too much about him, only through his small talk with the Professor did they know that he lived in Derry. Luckily, the Nazi's had someone in the city, the same agent that Charlene and Emerald Two were monitoring. What the Nazi agent came back with months before had always meant that he would not be moving to a camp like any other man would.
"You know who I am Professor". James raised his voice, though did not extend to a shout. "Captain James Maguire, 815 Squadron Fleet Air Arm".
"So you say…".
"That is who I am!" He shouted on the second occasion.
"I wish that it were that simple James, but I think we both know that it is not".
Molinari re-adjusted his glasses, never loosing eye contact with his prisoner who'd moved off of the far wall to stand directly in front of him. Preoccupied with the sudden burst of anger that came over him, James failed to notice that two of his assistants were now in the room as well. They were there as a precaution, having followed the Professor down the corridor silently without their shoes on so James did not hear them. It was always going to be the day that the truth came out, though Molinari hadn't planned for it to be in the way that it proceeded. The prior plan was irrelevant though; James finally knew that a different destiny to most was in store for him.
"Professor, have I not been truthful with you? Have I ever tried to injure you or escape you?" James chided the man.
"You have been a gentleman James, but I expected nothing less". Molinari smiled. "Britain always prepares men like you the same way".
"Men like me? I am no more special than any other man in the service of my country!"
"Then why does the Derry Journal not report your death?" Molinari questioned, mentioning a newspaper James knew well. "Why do official reports number the crew losses at Taranto as three and not four!? Nobody knows that you are alive James, but your country does not report you as dead either… why?".
"I did not take you for a fool Professor!" James roared, the two assistants moving closer to him. "I am an Englishman living in Ireland, the local newspaper is hardly going to put on a two-page spread for me!"
"It does not explain why the British Admiralty have forgotten you!"
It had taken a few moments to sink in, but Molinari's comments about the official reports sent James' head into overdrive. He might have been popular for an Englishman in Derry, but he understood the paper's reluctance to honour him, historic tensions playing their part as they always did. The Admiralty was a different matter. In his time in service to the Fleet Air Arm, there was only ever glowing positivity from those in higher command but hearing that he'd been missed off of the reports was peculiar. Immediately ruling out Molinari playing mind games with him, believing the Professor to be unwilling to enter a psychological battle he knew he would lose, James could not fathom why the Admiralty almost made him non-existent to the world. He was another casualty of war yet they ignored him.
The local commander of the Italian forces had his own idea of why once the German spy delivered their information. A thought that the Professor revealed.
"The Commander believes that you are a spy James".
A spy!
James had never heard anything more ridiculous in his life and his cousin was Michelle Mallon.
"I am many things Professor Molinari, but an agent of espionage is not one of them".
Raising his hands in apology, Molinari was not entirely convinced either although what the German spy fed back to them unsettled him. For months he'd carried the burden of thinking that the polite Englishman was a spy, who must have used Taranto as a ploy for whatever he was to carry out. James did not know any Italian at all, which puzzled the Professor, but unnerved by the knowledge that he could be a spy, the Professor did not know if James had in fact lied to him. All the while the young prisoner may have understood everything he'd said to his assistants.
"It is not me that you have to convince, James". Molinari almost sighed as he explained the situation. "You will stay in my care for a few weeks before you are transferred over to an old friend of mine who will investigate who you are a lot further than I can".
"You mean torture me?" James huffed.
"I cannot say what he will do. But if you are a wise man then you will co-operate with him. He may let you return home".
Shaking his head in disbelief, James couldn't control his wish to laugh at what he was being told. The Italians thought he was a spy thanks to whatever information they'd managed to discover about him. How they'd even managed to discover it remained a mystery, immediate thoughts turning to the correct assumption that there must have been a spy within Derry who was feeding information about him though the spy was a German one not an Italian one like he thought. Under the Professor's care and roof, he would have to wait for weeks wondering what was going to happen to him, most likely torture. Torture would not work on him, a defiance already festering before it was even confirmed that it would take place.
That was what all men said before.
Few walked out the other side with their morality intact.