Chapter 55: United 6th December 1941
A light covering of snow covered the ground in Rome, a city that was used to beautiful sights. The city contained the Colosseum, the Vatican and the Trevi Fountain amongst other attractions, all of which were seemingly enhanced by the snowy layer that was added in the early hours of a Saturday morning. In a time of war, although not directly affected by the conflict that the rest of the country found itself in, there was a buzz that was lost to the city. Berlin was the same in many ways, the two capitals suffering from both of their regime's decision to try to rule over all of Europe and beyond. Young sons of the cities were out fighting, giving their lives for the overall goal of control that men such as Hitler and Mussolini wished for.
Rome was mostly untouched by the war other than the men who'd left to fight, yet to come under the intense British bombing that some German cities were accustomed to. A city that was one of the most historic in the whole of Europe, bombing would ruin years of culture that shaped the very backbone of the Europe that hung in the balance to that very day. The Roman's Empire's home and a source of Italian inspiration for years, it housed some of the most notable figures in the continent too, none more so than the Pope himself, ensconced within the Vatican. German soldiers were not brought into garrison the city, leaving it fully under Italian control whilst their allies posted their resources elsewhere. There was still German interest within all the Italian cities, spies that made sure that Italy were keeping their end of the alliance up without any hesitation. It was the way in which the Nazi regime worked after all. There were eyes and ears everywhere.
The early morning sun was beginning to melt away the thin dusting of snow though, gradually returning the city to its natural look. Even at that time of the morning, soldiers roamed the streets and paraded for the people to see. Some were men that were returned from the African campaign, having served the time that was expected of them, replaced by fresher troops. The units that marched down the streets to the sounds of triumphant music were the lucky ones though; a lot of others did not make it home or did so in a state that they could not be seen in public. The journey back from Africa was a perilous one, a legacy of the damage that the Fleet Air Arm had inflicted over a year earlier when they'd attacked Taranto. Constantly harried by the British Mediterranean Fleet, some of the troop transports were attacked by the Swordfish of the 815 Naval Air Squadron. Luckily for the Italians, there were no sinkings or any casualties at all, but they were facing a Squadron that was past the peak of its glories. With its legendary young commander no longer at the helm thanks to what almost all of Britain believed was his death, they were not the force that they once were.
None of it mattered to a small group of equally recent arrivals to the Italian capital, though they were not survivors of any battles. At least not in the field. The sixth day of December, the first Saturday of the month, was the date that was agreed upon by Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden and Lieutenant Hans Hartmann, as the day for the latter's wedding. The wedding that should have occurred back on German soil was going to be on Italian instead, the young blonde Lieutenant finally being seen in the eyes of the law as a married man. Elsa, the love of his life, the mother of his child, was going to become Mrs Elsa Hartmann, a title she'd craved almost as much as the Belgian chocolate that she so enjoyed.
At the small chapel that was chosen for the ceremony, conveniently out of the way exactly how Kurt wanted it to be, neither the bride nor the groom were present. Hans was due at any moment, perhaps even running slightly late, though there was no doubt that he would turn up. The young couple were in love with each other, without a chance that either would back out of a marriage that both desperately longed for. With little Leopold, their handsome baby son, they already held a binding tie that strengthened that love. Two young people who were perfect, the correct fit in so many different ways, it was finally the time for the rest of the world to know of their happiness.
A couple that was not in love, though whether one knew of the others hatred of them, stood at the altar, the priest just a few feet away. Kurt and Lyla made sure that they got to the small chapel first, well ahead of everyone else, to put the final preparations together. She'd gone to a lot of effort to make the day special for a British agent who was assigned to extract information from the Doctor. That Lyla Walsh was put to one side for the day though, despite her senses remaining as sharp as ever, instead focusing on the young couple she'd devoted a lot of time too. She was so happy for Hans and Elsa, especially after the lengthy wait that they'd endured to be able to even have the ceremony in the first place. Although she may have been a woman who lied for a living, completely dishonest with the young couple that she so cared for, Lyla still had a heart. It was difficult not to become emotionally invested in them, not helped at all by seeing Hans as her son in many ways. A rebellious son who held ideals that she did not agree with, but a son nonetheless.
Kurt had spoken very little of his happiness for the young couple, yet it was he who spoke first. They'd not seen much of him at all, except Hans, since the two of them came back from Taranto after their business there was concluded. She'd been able to uncover absolutely no new information whatsoever about what his new assignment entailed, Lyla and the Doctor barely interacting such was the importance of his work. It was all forgotten though that morning, because like her, he set aside everything else in his life to witness the joyous union of the young couple. The proudest moment of his mentorship of Hans was about to take place, and he was not prepared to miss it, not even at Adolf Hitler's command.
"Was für einen Tag, den wir vor uns haben!" He exclaimed.
("What a day we have ahead of us!")
"Ich weiss, Kurt. Ich freue mich für sie!" Lyla could not hide her delight from him in reply.
("I know, Kurt. I am so excited for them!")
"Solltest du. Ich weiss, ich freue mich."
("You should be. I know I am".)
Lyla tried not to think about what made Kurt happy, especially when she knew of certain pursuits of his, having first hand experience that she'd never forget. However, to hear him excited for Hans and Elsa's marriage was a blessing that she could not find any fault in whatsoever. She still despised him for what he stood for and what he'd done to her but would not criticise him for the way in which he treated the couple and their baby son. In the moments where he was not working away in his laboratory or elsewhere on the complex outside the city that she was yet to visit, he tried to spend time with young Leo. Although a man like Kurt's knowledge and influence could be scarring at an older age, for a harmless infant like Leo it was helpful to have a strong male figure in his life as well as his father. There were many faults that Kurt carried, but his love for the Hartmann's child was not one.
"Hans wird sich freuen, endlich Elsa seine Frau nennen zu können.". She noted, glancing at him.
("Hans will be glad to finally call Elsa his wife. He has been waiting for too long".)
Kurt sighed at her comment. Guilt was not a freely admitted emotion for the Doctor, but there was some stored within him when it came to their delayed wedding. His duty to his country overruled his personal wish to see Hans married, the Lieutenant fully supportive of the decision even when it went against his hearts dearest wishes. That was the man that Hans was though; a far better one than the man who'd mentored him.
"Ich werde es immer bedauern, dass meine Pflicht verhindert hat, dass es früher passiert hat.". He spoke almost reservedly, scratching the back of his neck. "Wenn ich Hans nicht gebraucht hätte, um mir zu helfen, dann hätte ich euch es alle erlaubt, zu Hause zu bleiben aber so ist das Leben, oder?"
("I shall always be regretful that my duty has prevented it happening sooner. If I didn't need Hans to help me then I would have allowed you all to stay at home but that is life, isn't it?")
"Ja schon, Kurt. Dir kannst verziehen werden. Ich weiss, dass Hans es dir nicht ankreidet."
("It is Kurt. You can be forgiven, I know Hans does not hold it against you".)
"Er ist ein brillanter junger Mann. Ich habe Glück gehabt, dass ich ihn betreuen konnte."
("He is a brilliant young man. I have been lucky to have been able to mentor him".)
"Wir haben alle Glück, ihn zu haben. Aber keiner mehr als Elsa oder Leo." Lyla added, talking up Hans even more.
("We are all lucky to have him. No one more so than Elsa or Leo though".)
"Ganz genau. Ganz genau, mein Liebling."
("Quite right. Quite right, my dear".)
They were incredibly lucky to have Hans in their lives, although Lyla was not aware of his actions in Taranto. Little was said when they'd returned, other than Kurt confirming that they'd secured their person of interest. As far as she was aware, it was a simple exchange from the hands of Kurt's friend in Taranto to him. She did not know that Hans was responsible for that friend's death, as well as of the young nurse who he'd gunned down as she tried to help the person of interest escape. Kurt had told his Lieutenant to never speak of the events to anyone other than the prisoner himself, and especially not to Lyla and Elsa, who would no doubt have been outraged. Their deaths were not entirely unnecessary, but Kurt didn't think the women would understand. Professor Molinari was a dear friend to him and one of the rare men in the field of medicine that understood and respected him, but he'd fulfilled his purpose of keeping hold of James until that night. He knew far too much of the Englishman's background to be allowed to live. Giovanna too was a necessary death in his eyes and Hans'. She was armed when she walked out of the room that held the young Englishman. She endangered the Lieutenant's safety, giving him every right to kill her.
The Doctor's mind was drifting to James when he was interrupted by a question, which Lyla posed to him while they continued to wait for Hans to arrive.
"Geht's gut mir deiner Arbeit? Seitdem wir angekommen sind haben wir kaum geredet."
("Is your work going well? We have hardly spoken since we arrived here".)
"Leider muss ich mich noch mal entschuldigen." He sighed once more, though it was more an amused huff. "Es tut mir leid, Lyla. Wenn meine Arbeit nicht so wichtig wäre, würden wir jeden Tag reden aber manchmal bin ich zu müde."
("I find myself having to apologise again. I am sorry Lyla, if my work were not so vital then we would talk everyday but I am too tired sometimes".)
For a man who could be incredibly economical with the truth, he told no lies. As well as being assigned to discover more about the young Englishman, Kurt was also under a second set of orders, the ones which explained his presence at the complex on the outskirts of the Eternal City. The extermination program was getting underway without him in the East, and as effective as it was, German High Command was always looking at the next step. A new, more powerful and potent drug was requested, one which could replace the program he'd created in time. It was to be slipped into food, holding the power to kill a human being with just a single bite. Luckily, Kurt had spent years looking into the possibility of holding such a drug in secret, already well along in his research before being assigned the project. He kept his research a secret from even those in the highest office, hoping to impress with how quickly he could accelerate the project. The work that went into the next phase of the gruelling work was tiring though, the Doctor spending nights in the laboratory sometimes when travelling back to the city became too much of a bother.
"Ich verstehe." She beamed at him, acting at her best again. "Aber wir können jetzt reden, oder?"
("I understand. But we can talk now, can't we?")
"Können wir, ja. Was meine Arbeit betrifft, sie geht gut. Ich habe einen Brief an den Führer geschickt mit den ersten Neuigkeiten seit der Ankunft hier." A chuffed Kurt could barely contain his glee in reply.
("We can. As for my work, it progresses well. I have sent a letter to The Führer with my first updates since moving here".)
"Er wird sich freuen, über den Erfolg zu hören."
("He will be delighted to hear of your success".)
"Ihn zu befriedigen ist mein einziges Ziel, wenn es um meine Arbeit geht. Ich habe ihre besten Wünsche ausgerichtet."
("Pleasing him is my only aim when it comes to my work, Lyla. I also passed on your best wishes".)
Being held in regards by Adolf Hitler was not a situation that Lyla nor the Intelligence Services envisaged, and she'd grown to hate it, despite it keeping her somewhat safer. Neither he nor Kurt were wise to who she really was, and with The Führer prepared to defend them to other close associates, it was as advantageous as it was frustrating. She'd lived her life in the most strangest of circumstances at times, more than anyone could believe, yet it was having Hitler's friendship that was the strangest of all. She could never hope to openly wish for anything different though, and whenever his name came up in regards to her, she could only speak courteously about him.
"Danke, Kurt. Ich hoffe, es geht ihm gut."
("Thank you, Kurt. I hope he is well".)
"So wie ich es vor unserer Abfahrt verstanden habe, wird er in den letzten Wochen des Jahres sehr beschäftigt sein aber mit unseren Erfolgen im Kampf bin ich sicher, dass er zufrieden ist."
("From what I understood before we departed, he was going to be very busy in these last weeks of the year but with our successes in battle, I am sure he is content".)
Success was still being found for the Nazi war machine, although the battle with the Soviets was becoming a real war of attrition. They'd cut a bloody path through the country all year, with victories falling to them by the bucketload, albeit some of them coming slowly and at quite a cost. Moscow was appearing to be one step too far though. The capital of the Soviet Union was the ideal target to destroy the morale and the very ideals of the enemy that it fought, but the weather turned on the attackers. Out in the cold, in the Russian winter, the mistakes of Napoleon Bonaparte were being made again, over one hundred years later. There had been a technological revolution since those times, yet the art of successfully invading Russia was yet to be found. A breakthrough was required imminently, or else history would completely repeat itself.
Lyla was not concerned about the efforts to invade Moscow, but she did hold an interest in Kurt's efforts. She was well aware of the extermination project, having gone to the lengths of informing the British Government of it, though they dismissed her information. A new project concerned her when the one that she knew of was so deadly. Far away to the North East of where they were in Rome, more and more undesirable subjects to the Nazi regime were being marched to those camps, where she knew that death awaited them. The Irishwoman had been unable to prevent those deaths and the deaths that were to come as long as the camps were open; preventing more suffering was her aim.
"Ist es schwieriger, hier zu arbeiten?" She asked openly.
("Is it more difficult to work here?")
"Was meinst du, mein Liebling?" A bemused Kurt replied softly.
("What do you mean, my dear?")
"Ich meine dein Labor an der Lage. Hat es alles, was du brauchst? Es gab in Berlin so viel Platz-"
("I mean with your laboratory at the site. Does it have everything that you need? There was so much space in Berlin".)
"Der Führer hat sichergestellt, dass ich alles habe, was ich brauche." He explained. "Aber ich werde ich bald eine wichtige Ressource brauchen, die mir fehlt."
("The Führer made sure that it would have everything that I need dear. Although soon I will find myself in need of a more valuable resource that I do not have".)
"Was wäre das denn?"
("What would that be?")
She knew that the more questions that she asked, the more suspicious that he may become, but her training came to serve her well. Her curiosity was presented to the Doctor as more of an interest in his work when it came to helping him, than it was in finding every murky detail. She still wanted the details but was able to ask in a way that did not make her appear to be a spy… even though she was. It was not her assignment to be involved in preventing the deaths of those people, the questions therefore being unnecessary, but Smithers' orders hinted that they wished to know what he was up to anyway, to help with decisions being made in London. Her conscience's pull was too strong regardless.
"Ich sollte dir nicht sagen..."
("I should not tell you…".)
"Wenn du in Schwierigkeiten gerätst, Kurt, dann musst du nicht." Shyly enquiring, the actress in her flowed through the conversation effortlessly.
("If you are going to get into trouble Kurt, then you do not have to".)
"Nein. Nein, ich möchte mit jemandem anders über meine Arbeit sprechen können."
("No. No, I would like to be able to speak to someone else about my work".)
He was presenting himself as almost a lonely soul to her, which only made Lyla's blood boil even more. The only reason that he wanted to discuss his work was to gloat about the lives that it would destroy, she assumed, not that she knew all of the details yet. A naïve woman would have thought that his work would have been for a better cause, which was the woman that she would play to him, but beneath the layer of a fine actress, the smart woman saw through him. Kurt's role for Hitler was taking care of the dirty business that the people could not know about, which is why she assumed he'd been located to Italy rather than continue his research in Berlin. In Italy, they would not necessarily understand every point of his work, as most of the notes were written in German, but back in Berlin, if the notes were to be lost, the damage would be immense.
"Ich werde Versuchspersonen während des Januars oder des Februars."
("I will require human subjects during January or February".)
Immediately, Lyla wished she hadn't asked. Human subjects for whatever his project was. It at least confirmed that it was as sickening as she expected, Lyla's stomach churning at the knowledge that was imparted upon her. Kurt never saw her disgust though, as the woman he looked at from their positions next to each other at the side of altar, only displayed a thin smile, lips curved up slightly at the end.
"Versuchspersonen?" It sickened her to ask.
"Human subjects?"
"Ja, mein Liebling. Wenn Menschen die Konsumenten sein werden, muss sie auf dem menschlichen Körper getestet werden, bevor meine Droge auf den Markt kommt." He replied, informing her in a condescending tone as if she did not understand, when she firmly did.
("Yes, my dear. When humans will be the consumer, it must be tested on the human body before my drug is released".)
"Ist es gefährlich? Diese arme Menschen müssen das wissen, wenn es ist."
("Is it dangerous? These poor people need to know if it is".)
Playing the part of the naïve woman to perfection, Kurt smiled radiantly at her. He was used to having to fight intellectually with the Irishwoman, which he did enjoy, but finally finding an area of life that she did not seemingly understand, he enjoyed believing he held dominance over her. Dominance was not a feeling that he'd enjoyed for a lot of his life, always trying to be a more loving and caring influence on those around him. Since the war began though he'd changed that attitude, not that he could put a time on when the change occurred or why. If he searched himself, he would find it; the power he held over the nurse he'd had relations with at the camp in Poland. He controlled her life for the months they were together, controlling her death too when she revealed her pregnancy to him. That was the man he'd become.
"Schadlos, Lyla." He lied, with a smirk on his face. "Es gibt immer ein Risiko, wenn eine neue Droge getestet wird aber außer jeglichen unbekannten Nebenwirkungen wird es ein sicherer Test sein."
("Harmless, Lyla. There is always a risk when testing a new drug but other than any unknown side effects, it will be a safe test".)
"Das ist beruhigend. Ich würde es hassen zu denken, dass du das Leben riskierst.". Her naïve reply hid how disgusted she was.
("That is reassuring. I would hate to think that you are risking lives".)
"Na...auch wenn ich das machen würde, wäre es nur für das Allgemeinwohl der Kriegsanstrengungen."
("Well… even if I was, it would only be for the greater good of the war effort".)
If the Nazi's saw the war effort as little more than the systematic elimination of those who they considered a threat, then his words were correct. To the peaceful soul of the woman stood with him, it was completely wrong. The good of the war effort to her, was to be able to help those who'd been damaged when they were innocent, not kill them off because they did not fit into the wider aims of the regime. She'd developed her own thoughts over time that the Nazi's were so scared of being outthought or outmuscled by certain groups, that they began killing them long before any problems could arise. The most despicable behaviour… which she'd come to expect after having been with Kurt for so long.
"Was ist mit deiner Arbeit in den Lägern?" Changing the subject slightly, she still asked questions. "Wurde jemand angestellt, das zu überblicken, was du hinterlassen hast?
("What of your work in the camps? Has anyone been appointed to oversee what you left behind?")
To the next question, he sighed very loudly. Clearly, Lyla touched a nerve by asking him about the camps, intrigued to find what was upsetting Kurt so much when it came to his work in Poland. He'd not spoken much about what he'd done there, other than what she already knew anyway, but when he believed he would be away for longer, she held the impression that he wasn't quite able to leave his work in the way in which he wanted to.
"Es ist die einzige Meinungsverschiedenheit, die Adolf und ich gehabt haben." A surprisingly morose answer was given.
("It is the only disagreement that myself and Adolf have had…".)
"Er hat jemanden für dich ernannt?" Lyla countered.
("He appointed someone for you?")
"Ja, gegen meine eigene Empfehlung."
("Yes, against my own recommendation".)
"Warum würde er das machen? Ich dachte, er hat deine Meinung geschätzt."
("Why would he do that? I thought he valued your opinion".)
"Ja schon, Lyla...aber er is der Führer und ich bin lediglich Artzt."
("He does, Lyla… but he is The Führer, and I am a mere Doctor".)
Surprise was generated when Hans first showed a crack in his mask, not keeping up appearances to be the nationalistic, brainwashed young man that he always had been. Even more surprise seeped out when Kurt showed annoyance towards Hitler. The two were incredibly good friends, The Führer coming to rely upon the Doctor for his opinion, to the great annoyance of his Generals and Admirals. Seeing Kurt as nothing more than a madman that was in charge of a project that some knew of, some knew of and disagreed with and others knew nothing of at all, once more he was outcast. The medical community didn't want him and neither did the majority of the German High Command. Yet they did not dare question the word of Hitler, who took a great liking to a man that rarely disappointed him. It was why when the news came through from their contact in Derry, that there was perhaps more to the story of the captured Englishman in Taranto, that he assigned Kurt to be the one to find out more. He'd never spoken of tension between the two since he'd returned from the Eastern Front, but there evidently was. Wishing to know more, she decided to ask yet more questions, but as softly as possible to avoid upsetting him further.
"Wen hat er ernannt? Nicht den erbärmlichen alten Scheißkerl, der dich auf der Feier kritisiert hat. Erinnerst du dich?" She enquired with him, deliberately trying to provoke the amusing memory.
("Who did he appoint? Not that miserable old bastard who criticised you at the party. You remember the one?")
"Ja, ich erinnere mich, du warst zu ihm eher unhöflich!" He raised his voice, happily remembering the evening in question. "Nein, er war es nicht. Ich kenne den Namen des Mannes noch nicht, aber es war nicht der Mann, den ich wollte, meine Kreation zu betreuen."
("Yes I remember, you were quite rude to him! No, it was not him. I cannot remember the man's name now actually, but it was not the man I wanted to manage my creation".)
"Mindestens war er es nicht" She sniggered. "Wen hast du vorgeschlagen?
("At least it was not him. Who did you suggest?")
"Doktor Josef Mengele". The name dropped from his lips, though she did not recognise it. "Du würdest ihn nicht kennen, mein Liebling. Es war vor dem Beginn des Krieges und wir haben ihn getroffen, als ich ihn kennengelernt habe."
("Doctor Josef Mengele. You would not know him my dear, it was before the war started and we met, when I met him. His vision for the study of science is unlike any I have seen".)
"Er klingt faszinierend. Warum würde Adolf nicht zustimmen, ihm die Verantwortung dafür zu übertragen?"
("He sounds fascinating. Why would Adolf not agree to place him in charge?")
"Er hat an der Ostfront gedient. Ich konnte den Führer nicht überzeugen, ihn von seinen Pflichten als Amtsarzt freizustellen."
("He's been serving on the Eastern Front. I could not convince The Führer to release him from his duties as a medical officer".)
"Das ist Schade. Machst du dich Sorgen um die Lager?"
("That is a shame. Do you worry about the camps?")
"Nein, mein Liebling". Another soft reply came from the Doctor. "Sie sind unseren Interessen zu wichtig, um schlecht gestaltet zu warden. Ich glaube, wenn es Probleme mit der Gestaltung des Programms gibt, dann werde ich zurückgerufen."
("No, my dear. They are too vital to our interests to be managed poorly. I suspect if there are any problems with the management of the program, then I will be called back".)
Calling Kurt back to the Eastern Front would be more beneficial to her, the likelihood being that they would all return to Berlin. In Rome there was no presence at all when it came to British agents, though that was only a recent development. Two agents that were based in Rome were killed in the mission to rescue James, but she was unaware of that being the case. Smithers' orders did not mention any other agents but specifically told her to not develop a ring of spies within the city. The ring she'd left behind in Berlin were having to be led by another in her absence, which caused great worry back in London but if she were to return then it would stabilise again. However, it was all speculative, and if the camps were working as intended, Kurt would remain firmly in Italy until both of his projects were completed.
The sound of a car denoted the arrival of Lieutenant Hartmann, who the two of them watched sprinting into the church, much to their amusement. She found it increasingly harder to share any emotion with Kurt, but he and Lyla were both chuckling about the, literally, dashing Hans. He was dressed in a suit that was fine enough to be worn by the highest standings of gentlemen throughout Europe, a gift from Kurt ahead of the most momentous occasion of the young man's life.
"Hans! Du bist fast zu spät zu deiner eigenen Hochzeit!"
("Hans! You are nearly late to your own wedding!".)
Coming to a stop in front of the two of them, Hans was out of breath but still smiling. He couldn't help but admire how beautiful that Lyla looked in the dark green dress that she wore, though her choice of hat left something to be desired. He looked over to Kurt too, who was wearing his full uniform rather than a suit. Some men, of a military disposition at least, would have made the Lieutenant wear his uniform for the wedding, but Kurt's decision to gift him the suit came about because he did not want that for Hans. The young man had spent weeks following his orders, being dressed for battle every single day. Showing kindness that was rare, Kurt wanted him not to have to on the biggest day of his life, embracing the disconnect between duty and family.
"Ich habe Glück, dass ich überhaupt angekommen bin! Wir hatten eine Reifenpanne. Ich musste das Rad ändern."
("I am lucky to have made it, at all! There was a puncture, I had to change the wheel".)
Lyla shook her head, Kurt rolling his eyes… it was so typical that it would have happened on the young Lieutenant's wedding day. In the years that she'd been in his company, as well as since being assigned to Kurt, he'd never had a single problem with any of the vehicles he'd driven. His record was that good, in fact, that he'd not even needed to change a wheel and barely needed to check them over, he drove so wheel. Fate decreed that his first problem, which was a wheel change, occurred on the one day where he did not need it at all. The Irishwoman's chuckling stopped though, when her attention was caught on a certain part of Hans' body.
"Du musst dir die Hände waschen, die sind schmutzig!" She chided.
("You need to wash your hands, they are filthy!")
"Oh, nein!" Hans turned the frustration on himself. "Du hast Recht, Lyla, danke dir"
("Oh no! You are right, Lyla, thank you".)
The Priest was still hovering around in the background, deducing what was required when Hans turned towards him. He waved him on, to show him to where he could wash his hands in fresh water. Once again, Lyla was left with Kurt, the two stood side by side looking down the small aisle of the tiny, isolated chapel. It may have been Hans and Elsa's big day, where they would make a bold statement to the world in confirming their union, but she was feeling bold too. She knew absolutely nothing of the prisoner he'd brought back with him from Taranto, other than that he was English, nor of what happened that night. When she'd managed to get the message to London, on the night of their arrival in Rome, to warn them that Kurt was on his way to Taranto to retrieve an English prisoner from an old friend, she somehow knew the warning would do no good. Becoming too involved was a terrible idea, risking her cover as a spy more than the risks she was already taking, but innocently asking the questions in a way that did not arouse suspicion was becoming an art to her.
Her scheme began.
"Kurt, darf ich dir was vorschlagen?"
("Kurt, may I suggest something to you?")
"Natürlich, Lyla. Deinen Beitrag schätze ich immer."
("Of course, Lyla. I always value your input".)
The Führer once told her the same thing, though she doubted the sincerity of both men's statements. More so Hitler's than Kurt's, as the latter despite all of his faults and evil, did still listen and accept some of the ideas she had. Trying to steer him away from doing harm to people, as well as keeping Britain's best interests at heart, the job of explaining her opinions to him was not easy. Her job it was though, and she'd spent years in situations that were similar, familiar with having to almost tread on eggshells around certain people. Kurt was one of those people, and more so than ever, she faced greater risk.
"Wenn du eine Versuchsperson für deine Teste brauchst, warum verwendest du nicht den englischen Häftling?"
("If you need a human subject for your tests, why not use the English prisoner?")
"Das wäre perfekt, aber das kann ich leider nicht." Kurt displayed unusual frustration once more. "Ich brauche Informationen von ihm, und ich möchte keine Nebenwirkungen riskieren, die verhindert, dass er mir diese gibt."
("That would be perfect, but I am afraid I cannot. I need information from him, and I would not want to risk any side effects preventing him from giving it to me".)
"Aber du wirst deine Informationen schnell haben? Er könnte nachher benutzt werden?"
("But you will have your information quickly? He could be used afterwards?")
"Ich wünsche, das war so. Ich bin bereit, auf die Informationen von ihm zu warten und der Führer auch."
("I wish that were the case. I am willing to wait for the information from him though, as is The Führer".)
Waiting for information from someone who even Adolf Hitler considered to be important, confused her greatly. When a man like Kurt was assigned to gather information from a captured prisoner, she did not need to be told that torture was involved. She'd witnessed the depths of his evil, felt the venom that he carried within both body and mind. The quicker he used the techniques on the prisoner, the quicker he would have what he needed from them before deciding upon the fate of the Englishman in his custody. Pausing for weeks to wait to extract the information was most odd to her, especially in a time of war when everything could change in an instant.
More questions needed to be asked, even though it was not her place, but she was an incredible actress, once again presenting them innocently… the naïve Lyla Walsh with a masterclass that morning.
She needed to be a good actress…
"Du hast dann nicht um die Infos gebeten?"
("You have not asked for the information, then?")
"Ich habe meinen eigenen Plan für den Engländer." Voice thick with menace, Kurt explained his plans. "Seit der Nacht, wo wir von Taranto zurückgekommen sind, hat er keinen Besuch bekommen, außer von den Wächtern."
("I have my own plan for my Englishman. He's been left alone since the night we arrived back from Taranto, no visitors other than the guards".)
"Du willst ihn unangenehm machen. Die Logik sehe ich". She nodded.
("You wish to make him uncomfortable. I can understand the logic".)
When he explained himself, the plan clicked into place in her head. If they were willing to wait, then Kurt was going to make the wait as torturous as possible for the Englishman. Kurt's smarts were not always evident to her, but when acts of evil were to accompany them, he was clearly comfortable in the task that he was given. He was going to make whoever the young man was suffer before he revealed whatever it was that they wanted him to reveal.
"Deine Genehmigung begrüße ich sehr, Lyla. Er ist jetzt seit über einem Monat da und ich habe vor, erst zum Weihnachten ihn zu besuchen...aber ich glaube, es sind nur ein paar Tage noch, bis er anfängt, nach mir zu schreien."
("Your approval is most welcome, Lyla. He has been there for nearly a month now and I am not intending to visit him again until Christmas… but I will give him another few days before I think he will start screaming for me".)
"Je schneller es für ihn vorbei ist, desto einfacher". The Irishwoman noted.
("The quicker it is over for him, the easier it will be".)
"Genau! Vielleicht solltest du mich ablösen, du scheinst, es besser zu verstehen als ich!"
("Exactly! Perhaps you should take over from me, you appear to have more an understanding than I do!")
"Ich verzweifle, dass ich einen so guten Job machen würde." She politely laughed off the idea.
("I doubt I would do as good a job".)
There was no doubt about it. She could perform many tasks, having done so for the British Crown for some time, yet torturing another human being was not one. Her means of extracting information was always from the unsuspecting, men like Kurt who was more than willing to give up his secrets when she gave herself to him. The balance had been distorted by his assault on her, yet he still gave out details of his work without hesitation. Trying not to ponder why that was, she was spared from having to say anything more to him when Kurt spoke up, changing the topic completely.
"Elsa soll jeden Moment hier sein. Hans muss sich beeilen. Ich habe ihm niemals so schlechte Zeitkontrolle beigebracht!"
("Elsa should be here at any moment. Hans needs to hurry up, I never taught him such poor timekeeping!")
"Hat er einen Namen?"
("Does he have a name?")
For a moment Kurt froze, tilting his head to look directly into her eyes. A frown adorned his face for a brief few seconds, an attempt to workout whether he'd heard her correctly when she'd asked her question. Her eyes gave away nothing to him, neither did her facial expressions or body language, a blank book which he could not read whatsoever. She was so talented as an actress, and he did not even know it.
"Sorry, mein Liebling? Ich verstehe nicht..."
("Sorry, my dear? I do not understand…".)
"Dein Häftling, hat er einen Namen?"
("Your prisoner, does he have a name?".)
He understood perfectly when she explained. The question was innocent enough, his suspicions unaroused by it, although why she wanted to know did confuse him somewhat. Lyla's interest in his work did justify it though, and her opinion was valuable to him on all matters, none more so than on ones that he held no experience of.
"Das ist Teil des Problems, Lyla." He informed her. "Wie ich dir vorher gesagt habe, wir glauben, er ist ein Spion also wir wissen nicht, wer er wirklich ist.
("That is part of the problem, Lyla. As I said to you before, we think he is a spy, so we do not know who he really is".)
"Seinen Antworten zu trauen wird schwierig sein." She fairly pointed out.
("Trusting his answers will be difficult".)
"Ja, auf jeden Fall. Obwohl du kannst mir vielleicht mit ihm helfen." Kurt replied, smiling at her.
("It will. Although you may actually be able to help me with him".)
"Ich!?." Lyla asked, stunned.
("Me?")
"Ja. Laut dem, was unsere Kontakte uns mitgeteilt haben und er meinem Freund in Taranto gesagt hat, kommt er aus Derry."
("Yes. From what our contacts have fed back to us and from what he told my friend in Taranto, he is from Derry".)
Kurt looked away at precisely the right moment, distracted by a pigeon that flew past the chapel's windows. The pigeon's timing was impeccable as Lyla's facial expression gave away fear. Nazi Germany had a contact in Derry… a contact that could… and most likely would, know her. Everyone knew everyone's business in the city, the likelihood being that the contact within the city would at least know of her, if they were not already acquainted. She tried to think who it might be, wondering what they might have said.
Could Kurt have asked about her?
What might they have said if he did?
It was only a matter of seconds worth of thoughts though, as Kurt turned his attentions back to her after the pigeon flew away. He would expect an answer straightaway, she knew, and schooling her features to brush her worries aside, when he looked at her again there was a smile greeting him. At another time, when she was alone, she would have to worry about who Derry's Nazi servant was…
"Ein Engländer aus Derry? Er ist ein schlechter Spion, wenn das seine Tarnung ist, er würde gehasst werden." She chuckled.
("An Englishman from Derry? He is a poor spy if that is his cover, he would be hated".)
"Du lachst, aber das ist der einzige Teil seiner Geschichte, den wir als wahr bestätigen können." Laughter from Kurt did not come in reply.
("You may laugh, but it is the only part of his story that we can confirm is true".)
"Ich kann nicht sagen, dass ich irgendwelche englischen Familien zu Hause kenne. Bist du sicher, dass du deiner Information vertrauen kannst?"
("I cannot say I know any English families back home. Are you sure you can trust your information?")
"Ich habe keinen Grund, Zweifel zu haben."
("I have no reason to doubt it".)
Healthy sounds of an approaching engine halted their discussion about the prisoner, to Lyla's splendiferous delight. The mask of the actress could be allowed to fall, and needed to, as she had a job to do. Elsa did not have many demands for the wedding, knowing that it would not be a large ceremony like she'd first dreamed of. With her family unable to end because of the war that raged around them, blissfully unaware that she was even in Rome, she required someone to walk her down the aisle. Usually, it would be a male relative that would give the bride away, but in her reimagined dream of the ceremony, Lyla was the one that she wanted to do it. When the question was asked, the Irishwoman could not find it within herself to say no.
"Deine Pflicht ruft, Lyla. Wir besprechen dies zu anderer Zeit."
("Your duty calls, Lyla, we shall speak about this another time".)
Kurt's words released her from having to spend any more time talking with him, thankful that the tense, difficult conversation was at an end. She was at fault for most of the discussion about the English prisoner getting out of hand, though Kurt's delicately worded answers when it came to his work did not help. The sinister man that she'd come to know since his return from Poland was on show. The Kurt Van Der Heijden that at least carried some decency was long gone, any kindness given being feigned, she believed.
Hans finally returned from cleaning his hands, which took a lot longer than he'd planned. He was not the only new arrival either, the organist and his wife, who would act as witness, also made their way into the church. The dirt and grease from the car somehow avoided his perfectly tailored suit, but his hands took the brunt of the punishment instead. There were still some stains beneath his fingernails but he was presentable enough to be married, aided greatly by Lyla having gone to lead Elsa in rather than be stood with them. It was only a few more seconds before the organist sat down and began to play, the two women then appearing in the archway of the chapel.
His breath was taken away by the sight of his wife to be.
"Sie sieht so schön aus."
("She looks beautiful".)
The white dress that Elsa wore was also a gift of Kurt's, who'd spared no expense to make it the best day of their lives. The blonde was angelic, heavenly almost, stood with two people that meant a lot to him. Lyla was in a way yet another gift from Kurt, though one which was not pre-meditated like the others. She'd done so much for them as a couple, and for her to be the one to give Elsa away to him made his heart soften. In place of a bouquet of flowers in her arms, Elsa instead held young Leopold Hartmann in them. Their son was almost stealing the day from them, dressed up in a tiny suit that fit snugly against his small figure. He was going to be handsome, like his father.
"Ich bin sprachlos. Sie...sie ist perfekt."
("I am stunned. She… she is perfect".)
"Ist sie schon...aber Hans, ich muss von dir was verlangen."
("She is… but Hans, I must ask something of you".)
A sentimental man did not fit the description of Kurt when there was duty to be done. He'd deliberately waited until Hans was at his weakest, mesmerised by the sight of his wife to be as she began to stroll up the aisle on Lyla's arm. Hans would never say no to a request of his anyway, but even less so when he was focused on Elsa's incredible beauty.
"Alles, Kurt."
("Anything, Kurt".)
"Der Priester, der Organist und die Frau des Organisten müssen sich nach der Trauung freuen, damit sie sie vergessen. Dauerhaft. Verstanden?"
("The Priest, the organist and the organist's wife need to have such a good time after the ceremony, that they forget it. Permanently. Understood?")
"Ja, Kurt. Ich kümmere mich drum."
("Yes, Kurt. It will be done".)
The duty would be done. His gun was in the car ready. Kurt might have thought he'd blindsided Hans by asking him at the high point of his life, when he could not be unsettled by anything, but the Lieutenant already knew it would need to be done. The paperwork could be signed there and then, but they did not need any of the others to record it anywhere or send it on for ratification. He'd brought a change of clothes and shovel too. Kurt would no doubt see the women home safely first, with a story made up that Hans would stay behind to help the Priest tidy the chapel up.
Instead, he'd ensure the man of God would be buried in his own place of worship.
"Guter Mann! Lassen wir uns dich zu Ehemann machen!"
("Good man. Let's get you married".)
Not before he'd married the young couple first though…
Unlike Rome that was covered in snow, Derry remained untouched for once by an snowy chill that was drifting across the continent. The streets were not slippery like they were in the Italian capital, despite there being some frost during the week, leaving those who wished to go out that Saturday afternoon free from falls. At any moment the weather could turn though, which meant the locals made sure they were always wrapped up well.
The demand for uniforms began to rise again in the dying days of November, which meant the girls in the factory were all working back at their hardest. The temporary lull in demand that allowed them some respite from the constant rigours of work was most welcome, but they all knew that it would not last forever. There was a war on, a fact which could never be forgotten, and though the British Army were still not engaged in a major conflict in France, there were battles that raged on in the Mediterranean. Conflicts were fought all over that theatre, from the sea off of the Italian coast to the deserts of Northern Africa. Uniforms were needed, and the factories of Derry were responsible for those uniforms getting to the soldiers, sailors and airmen that needed them. It was incredibly hard work, but rewarding nonetheless.
Saturdays returned to be a blessing rather than just another day, and that morning there was little activity in the Quinn, Mallon and Devlin households, though Shane's residence at Ferguson Street saw Marie up early, in turn waking her mother. Orla was used to not being able to stay in bed all day, as apart from the morning after the night they'd come back from Belfast, she was up at the crack of dawn. A confident sleeper who rarely stayed awake beyond her set bedtime, Marie slept through the night peacefully too, to wake refreshed every morning. Orla loved to see her daughter's bright smile as she opened her eyes, especially on dreary weekday mornings where the thought of work was not a pleasant one. The two of them remained unaware of the secret relationship between Shane and Sarah that was being conducted under that roof. The first of the three adults to go to bed every night, she would always wake to find Shane out on the sofa where he should be, her Mammy in the master bedroom. The unaccounted hours before were not spent in the same arrangements, Shane always managing to sneak back to the sofa after spending the night with the woman he'd fallen in love with. They would have to deliver news of their relationship eventually, but both enjoyed it's almost clandestine nature in the early phases.
The young widow had been up the longest of all of the girls but showed no more signs of tiredness than any of the others when they met up that afternoon. Shane and Sarah were looking after Marie for the afternoon, though they would be up to activities other than babysitting whilst she was out. Leaving her free to meet with the rest of them, she'd practically skipped all of the way to the Devlin house where they'd agreed to meet. Erin joined her on the way, and although she was hesitant to spend time alone with her cousin given her moods, there was something different about Erin that day. With her head often thinking of much more trivial but exciting things, she'd been unaware of the slight changes in Erin's demeanour, which were picked up on by Michelle and Clare. At work the blonde always put up a shield to a certain extent anyway, though her tongue could still be razor sharp if in the wrong mood and unable to hide it. However, in the ten days or so prior to that afternoon, she was returning to the Erin that they knew and loved. The snappiness was gone, to be replaced by a kindness that was lacking since Autumn started. It figured, given that they were entering winter, that she would change, but her friends wondered whether there was more to it than that. Discussion about her moods was not made though, the others content with her being happy whilst they did not say anything, not wishing to run the risk of setting her off again.
They were still at the Devlin's, waiting for Michelle, wondering what she might have been up to. She'd informed Clare that she would be going out on the Friday night with very clear intentions as to where she expected to end up. Speculation could only be placed as to which fella's bed that she would end up in, Erin and Clare hoping that it was not the bed of a married man. As far as they were aware she was yet to sleep with a married man other than Eddie Walsh, whose wife was estranged, prancing around Europe riding the Swiss or whatever she was doing. The challenge of a furious wife was one yet to be faced by the group, but by no means was it out of the question if it were to happen or not.
"Christ, where is she!?"
Clare's predictable fretting commenced, precipitating eye rolls from both Erin and Orla as well as her father, who was sat in the living room behind them. Sean would have been quite contented for Michelle not to turn up at all, such was his contempt for her. Erin and Orla were nowhere near perfect by any means, but he could just about put up with them unlike Michelle, who he saw as one of the great sinners of the city. Her habits of sleeping around did not fit in line with his strict religious views. He still could not fathom how Deirdre and Martin could put up with such behaviour, thinking Martin to be a weak man when he did not intervene. Michelle's Da did not approve of her antics but would not stop her either. She was an adult capable of making her own decisions and facing the consequences from them; there was no need for him to control her life.
"I don't know Clare, but some fellas probably have comfier beds than others…". Orla suggested. "… or maybe she's been stolen by the fairies".
"She's not been stolen by the fairies Orla!" Erin chastised her.
"Aye she might have been. That's what I reckon happened to Jenny Joyce, ye know. Sure, Mammy said so too".
"No she wasn't!"
"She was!"
Worrying for where Michelle could have got to, Clare tried to ignore the debate between the cousins next to her. Their own fallout did not last beyond the day after Erin was carried back home by her father. When she woke the next morning next to her mother, an emotionally drained young woman's thoughts turned to the cousin she'd been horrible to. With no work again the following day, and before she could sit down with her parents, she'd made her way out of the house and to Ferguson Street to apologise. Planning a speech the whole of the way there, it turned out to be a completely unnecessary task, Orla jumping into her arms when the door was opened. Although she'd been seething, and crying, all the way home the night before, when Gerry had come by to inform them that Erin hadn't come home, she was then worried sick all night. The childhood, even teenage Orla would not have put the issue aside, but the adult, young mother knew it was the right thing to do. Sharing a cry and making up, they were too strong as a pair to let a disagreement continue on any longer.
They could still bicker though… as cousins should.
"There she is!"
Spotting the dark-haired girl walking briskly up the street to the Devlin house, Clare's face lit up. She could allow those moments of joy around her friends, as they would not question her happiness to see Michelle when they were just as happy to. Gradually her feelings for her friend were diminishing because she knew there was no way in which she could be with her. Not only was society against such a relationship, Michelle herself simply was not interested, and after her initial disappointment, Clare had grown to respect her answer. They'd remained friends despite everything, which was the most important thing of all to her.
"Let's see what gem of a story we get today". Erin huffed.
Orla was absolutely buzzing to hear of whatever Michelle had been up to, details that would be passed onto them without any of them needing to ask. Although her moods might have been improving, Erin did not find her friend's stories any more entertaining. Michelle's attitude when it came to fellas was no problem to her but finding out every single detail about how they'd gotten into bed together was too far. She was a young woman that admired love in a poetic form, absolutely nothing poetic being found in what Michelle got up to. The dark-haired young woman lived in the moment though, rather than living in the pages of a book or in the minds of a creator. She was out living the experiences that they could only dream of.
She was the last one to arrive, yet oddly Michelle looked the brightest. For a brief moment, all three of them considered that she'd not had a late Friday night as was suspected, though that line of thought was quickly dropped. It was Michelle after all; the only time she did not have enjoyable Friday nights was when she was either ill or grieving. Neither of those states were present in the young woman when they'd departed from her presence, walking home together the night before, guaranteeing that at least one fella in the city would be enjoying his evening. Confirming her verve that morning, Michelle almost sprinted the final few metres up towards the Devlin house to be with her friends.
"Alright ye pricks!" She shouted.
Wincing, Clare could hear her father's loud sigh from hearing the comment. Half of the street that they were on could have heard it, it was that loud, which also left Erin shaking her head. They would be absolutely terrible spies as a group, as between them they'd have all given themselves away other than her. Clare could be found miles off by listening to the sound of worrying and Orla's inability to keep secretive information would not be advisable for a field agent. Trying to keep Michelle quiet would also be too much of a challenge, leaving her as the only one who would be able to perform the job. The Intelligence Services would not be looking to recruit in Derry though… they already had more than enough of a presence within the city.
"Did the fella finally let ye out then Michelle?" Erin asked in a snigger, pulling her friend in for a hug.
"Ach yer warm so ye are…". She muttered, before replying to the question. "… and very funny. I'm late because me Ma decided that I needed to clean the house. Fuckin' nightmare it was!"
"Michelle!" Clare whispered a warning, tilting her head backwards into the house.
Understanding as much, she held her hands up in a form of surrender, shutting her mouth immediately. The last thing that she could be bothered with was an argument with Clare's Da about her behaviour. Sean was a bit of a prick in her eyes, as well as the eyes of a considerable amount of people within the city, and an argument with him would quickly get out of hand. The break in Michelle's mouthing also allowed Erin to do what she did best; get them moving instead of standing around.
"Right, let's get shiftin'. I don't want to be walkin' home all the way in the dark tonight".
Nodding their agreement, the rest of them followed, the four all wrapped up in their biggest coats to keep them warm. Although she'd been silenced by knowing that Clare's Da could hear them, Michelle wasn't going to be leaving without antagonising him a bit. It simply was not in her nature to let sleeping dogs lie. Being drawn into an argument with him was a bad idea, but from a distance she could still win a small victory over the religious man. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see him watching them walk off down the street from the windows of the living room. Smirking whilst her friends chatted away around her, she turned around fully, middle finger proudly in the air and pointed at him. The smirk remained as she watched his frown turn to rage that was so fierce, he snapped the handle off the mug of tea he was drinking. She enjoyed making such mischief so much…
The chilly breeze of an already chilly day whipped into them as they walked through the streets, though they remained warm in their jackets. Erin and Orla hadn't deliberately matched jackets, but both of them were wearing the same shade of red, much to the former's disgust. Clare's grey jacket took a more morose look about it whereas Michelle had decided to wear a jacket more appropriate for a funeral, albeit with the enthusiasm of someone who was going to a wedding. There was no set destination for their trip out that day, walking until they'd had enough and wanted to go home. Walking was their way of winding down after a stressful week at work, and although it might have been December when it was cold, they still found it to be more relaxing than staying at home. All of them had completed their chores for the day, except Orla who didn't really have any, although she did have Marie to look after, leaving them free to enjoy themselves that afternoon.
"Did ye hear about porky Mark?"
Michelle's open question to them sounded far too much like the start of one of her completely exaggerated tales for Clare's liking as well as Erin's. That meant it was music to Orla's ears, and she hadn't heard a thing about… 'porky Mark'… or the made-up character in the young Mallon's head in the minds of the other two.
"Ach no, I didn't".
"He had a right nightmare, so he did. Mammy was telling me about it… poor bastard".
Her mother having a hand in the story was unusual though, which piqued all of their interests, not just Orla's. Deirdre was a woman who was the complete opposite of her daughter, not making up stories in the way that she could, being honest and truthful at every turn. Michelle knew better than to include her in a false story, as the girls would simply ask her if it were true, and if it turned out to be a lie, she would know about it. The wooden spoon in the Mallon house was just as active as the one at the Quinn's.
"Who's porky Mark?" Clare enquired, fearful of the answer.
"Ye know, porky Mark… got stuck in the doors of The River one night when he'd had too many. Lives two streets down from Erin's uncle".
"Ye mean Mick?"
"Jesus Clare, I don't know the name of every fella off by heart ye know!"
"That's a surprise…". Erin mumbled.
"OI!" Michelle shouted, Erin giggling at her. "I heard that! Anyway, porky… Mick… had himself a wee accident the other day".
"Was it a smaller doorway?"
Orla's question brought smiles to all of their face, trying to hold in the laughter. They weren't out the night that he got stuck in the doorway of The River but James and David were, eyewitnesses to the scene. If anyone else would have retold the story the following morning, none of them would have believed it but because James and David were the storytellers, it was almost certainly true. They'd been on the right side of the doorway, outside and behind the fella, which allowed them to get back into the car and go back to the cottage when it became clear he wasn't moving. Quite how the patrons got the man out of the doorway remained a mystery, never hearing anything more of what happened that night.
"It was worse than that… I nearly boked!"
"I'm starting to think I don't want to know…". Erin mused quietly.
"Well I'm tellin' you's anyway!"
Bracing for a story that was probably true but completely ridiculous in some ways, Erin and Clare were already thinking the worst. Deirdre's involvement in the story at least gave some reassurance that whatever it was, it must have happened in some form, though that didn't tell them how strange it could be. Her mother was only the messenger from what they could gather, the details easily could have been misunderstood even by her. On the other hand, Orla couldn't wait to hear of the story of the large gentleman, whether he was a Mark or a Mick. Michelle's verbal stories always entertained her, far more than Erin's written ones, and on a cold day, the laughter could really warm her up.
"Right, Mammy walked into work, so she did".
"She's doin' shifts again at the hospital?" Erin asked. "Since when?"
"Since they fuckin' begged her to come back. Come on Erin, there's a war on ye know, they need everyone they can get!".
Mumbling her apologies, Erin looked up the road for a second, catching a glimpse of a figure that looked very familiar. It was a man's figure, stood on the other side of the next street they needed to cross, looking down that very street. She couldn't be sure that it was him from such distance, and before she could peer in any closer, a tug on her arm from Orla stopped her. Her cousin decided that listening to the rest of Michelle's story was far more important.
"Anyway, Mammy was saying that when she walked in, the porky bastard was in the first room on the right and there was blood on the floor an' everythin'!"
"Christ!" Clare once again panicked. "What happened!?"
"I… feck's sake, just thinkin' about it again makes me heave…". Michelle stopped, coughing quite dramatically in front of her curious friends. "… Christ… so, Mammy walks in there and… Jesus, the poor fella's ripped his ballbag clean open, so he has, on a tree stump or somethin'".
"MICHELLE!" Erin shouted at her, trying not to heave herself.
They'd had to stop, such was the magnitude of the story, Clare in particular very nearly throwing her guts up into the garden of the next house along. A horrifying injury that she was glad not to have witnessed, her heart of gold immediately felt for the fella, suffering such a horrific accident. He must have lost a lot of blood from it, judging by what Michelle's Ma saw, no doubt being mortified too when it was where it was. Erin couldn't help but feel queasy about hearing the gruesome details which she'd somewhat predicted before Michelle told the story, though it had not proceeded how she expected. Her final thoughts on the matter before it was told to her, was that he'd perhaps ate so much that he'd been sick everywhere… not that…
"That's tragic, so it is…". Orla sniffled, surprisingly moved by it. "… he'll never be able to keep footballs again".
"Wh… Orla, he…". Michelle couldn't find the words, such was her disbelief. "… ach never mind, I'm not explaining it".
With the rest of them distracted, Erin finally got a proper look at the man who was stood further up on the next street, finding it to be exactly who she thought it was.
Granda Joe.
"Girls, behind the wall!"
A chorus of confusion rang out, but the alert Erin was already dragging Orla behind her, Michelle and Clare following suit despite them wondering what was going on. The wall was conveniently placed, jutting out onto the street slightly from the side of a disused building that was a bit of an eyesore. There was once a factory that stood there, when business really boomed years before, but it was closed years before war broke out without a new owner ever moving in. They all spread out behind the blonde, who's back was to it, peering around it to watch her Granda's every move. He was stood only just in view to whoever was further down the street he was looking down, which was only three driveways up from where they were.
"Erin what the fuck!" Michelle shouted.
"Shut it Michelle!" She reprimanded her in return. "Just one at a time, all of you's have a look and tell me who ye see up the road".
Frowns of confusion ran through the group, but the tone of Erin's voice suggested an insistent that she wouldn't back down from easily. Wanting to keep her quiet and stop her from moaning more than anything, there was mass compliance, as one by one they took a look, starting with Orla. Gasps could be heard from both her and Clare, before Michelle vocalised her thoughts, thankfully doing so quietly as to not draw any attention to them.
"That… that's Joe! What's he doin' there!?"
"Precisely!" Erin stated her point firmly. "It's not like Granda to wait around on street corners".
"Is it Pump Street?" Orla whispered, joining in with the hushed voices they'd adopted.
"We're nowhere near Pump Street, Orla!" Clare hissed. "Maybe he's just waitin' for someone, we don't have to make anything of it, we can go and say hello to him".
"Oh no Clare. We will not be doing that!"
"Erin's right…". Michelle sided with her friend. "… Joe's up to somethin'… christ Erin, yer Ma and Orla's might not be wrong!"
Frightened to anger Erin and Orla's Granda, Clare really thought it better to just walk up to him but was smart enough to know she was outvoted and would be drowned out by louder voices to her sensible one. If he was up to something as they suspected, then spying on him to find out what, could only lead them into trouble.
"Look girls, I think we need to all take a step back and c-".
"I know what we need!" Michelle interrupted her friend. "To get to higher ground".
Clare didn't know whether to be angry from being interrupted or disappointed by the ridiculous suggestion that her friend made. They were on a fairly flat street, and though there will hills within the city, there were none they could have used to watch Joe from. Not that she thought that it was a good idea at all nor wanted anything to do with whatever scheme her friend was cooking up, knowing the other two would go along with it.
"Give me a boost".
Pointing up, there was a small shed just inside the driveway of the abandoned building. Erin and Orla, very much intrigued to find out what their Granda was up to, held their hands out for Michelle to stand on, so that she could get a good grip on the old shed roof. Scrambling up onto it, she created a fair bit of noise, but it was not enough to stir Joe's attentions. When she spotted him again, this time from higher up, he was still looking down the street, his hand just above his eyes as if he were sheltering from the sunlight, though there was none at all on the overcast day. From there, Michelle could see exactly what he was focusing on, following the trajectory of his eyeline to find a few people stood outside one of the pubs further down the street. There were plenty of people milling around outside, some sort of event going on from what she could see.
"What can ye see Michelle!?" An excitable Orla enquired, almost jumping up and down on the spot.
"Well… there's a fuck load of people down there, so there is. Who can I see… ach Tara Martin's there talking to… Aisling… and then who else have we got… Big Mandy… Christ, she's a sight for sore feckin' eyes, so she is…".
"What about Maeve?" Erin suggested the woman who her Granda was accused of still seeing, hoping Michelle remembered what she looked like.
"No… Maeve's not there I don't… think so… no… but I tell ye who is. Sister Michael! What the fuck's she doin' at the pub!?"
Sister Michael's appearance at the pub was most alarming. She was a nun after all, who would be forbidden from being seen in such a place normally. Michelle left out the detail that she was sat enjoying a pint of something other than water, keeping the mystery for herself to work out rather than let the more tenacious Erin force them all into investigating it. The likelihood would be that she would forget to anyway, which would do no harm, avoiding any run ins with the Sister. From her point up high, Michelle turned her eyes back to Joe, only to find that he was no longer there. In the few seconds she'd moved her eyes off of him, with none of the others left on the ground keeping him in sight either, he'd vanished.
"Shit! Joe's gone!"
Deciding to peak out from around the corner, Erin looked up the road to find her Granda walking away, back to her. Whatever he was doing watching the scene unfold down the road, he was clearly finished, walking away back in the direction of the church, though what he'd be up to there, she did not know. He wasn't like Clare's Da when it came to religious devotion.
"He's walkin' off…". Erin noted, somewhat dejectedly having been looking forward to solving the puzzle there and then. "… aye, I bet I know what he was up to!"
"What!?" Clare and Orla replied in unison.
"He was tryin' to see if Maeve was down there. Mammy's right, Granda's a right dirty sly old fox! He should be ashamed, so he should!"
"Ashamed! Feck off!" Michelle came to the surprising defence of the absent patriarch. "I think it's grand that Joe's out shaggin' at his age. I hope I'm still gettin' some then".
"Yeah I bet ye do". Erin shook her head, huffing. "Ye best come down from there anyway Michelle, there's nothin' more we can do".
"And ye'll get cold!" Clare noted, showing concern for her.
Michelle flashed Clare an appreciative smile at her concern, though it was an unnecessary one. She'd not bargained on being up on a shed roof watching the goings on of Joe McCool and some of the other residents of the city on a Saturday afternoon, unattired for the occasion. The last thing that she wanted was to rip her tights up there, especially when getting her hands on any new garments was becoming increasingly harder with rationing. Erin and Orla moved into position beneath her in order to get her down safely, holding their hands out ready to catch her, expecting her to jump down, though it was not a big drop. Clare took it upon herself to watch out for anyone passing by, panicking that she might have to explain what they were doing to anyone, which would have seen her falter completely.
Starting to edge her way down the roof, Michelle suddenly stopped when she heard a sound, which was heard by all of her friends. Clare turned round with a face of horror.
"Michelle…".
When the young Mallon looked down, she noticed exactly why the diminutive blonde was afraid for her. The felt was beginning to give way, peeling away to reveal what lay underneath… the stone floor of the old shed she'd climbed on top of. There was no time to avoid what happened next.
"Shit!"
An afternoon for the four of them would never proceed without one calamity or another, no matter how united they were as a group.
United.
A word that became the word of the weekend, not that they would know it until much later.
The following evening, while they were tucking into their Sunday meals, a very different scenario was unfolding, thousands of miles away.
At the local time of just after quarter to eight in the morning, hundreds of Japanese aircraft entered the skies over the American Port of Pearl Harbour, Hawaii, attacking without any declaration of war, announcing their decision with actions rather than words. Over two thousand Americans were killed in a raid that could only be described as vicious and deadly, the Japanese airmen sinking battleships and cruisers without any mercy. The Nazi's eastern ally made a bold statement, but one that would not go unanswered. For months, America resisted the pull to engage in another war that was not of their doing, until Japan made it impossible for them not to.
The Sleeping Giant was woken from his slumber.
The United States of America entered the war.