A time like no other

by Warks1999

It was an ever changing world, but a world that would soon be at War, with consequences that would devastate families forever... their family included. A new adventure, setting the characters back in time to World War II. Enjoy :)

66. Battle of the Nations

Chapter 66: Battle of the Nations

Nursing a hangover during Sunday morning at church was not a first for either Michelle Mallon or Erin Quinn, but the one on the second Sunday of March that year was perhaps the worse they'd ever had. After a night of innocent, youthful fun that they'd shared, it was easy to see why the two were groaning messes the next morning with the amount of alcohol they'd consumed. Michelle's treasured bottle of whisky was all but gone by the time the two of them had finally passed out for the night, somewhere around two o'clock in the morning, only to be woken with a start just after eight by a not too pleased Deirdre. Both boked outside the house when she threw them out to be, a pleasant sight for the neighbours who watched from their windows. Curiosity could really get to some people, but they'd think twice the next time they looked over to the Mallon house unless they wanted to be greeted with the sight of two young women chucking their guts up again. Deirdre nor Martin said little else, with the latter finding it amusing just how badly the two young women handled their late-night drinking session.

They left The River and headed to the Quinn house as planned, which ended up being a somewhat pointless exercise. So concerned that her Mammy would kill for not informing her that she would be staying the night at the Mallon's, when they got back to the house, Mary was already fast asleep. Gerry was awake though and grateful for being informed, though he would not have reacted angrily if she hadn't come home immediately, trusting her to be sensible even if she was with Michelle. The logical destination for her if she didn't come home was the Mallon's anyway when she was with her friend, the first port of call should he needed to have gone looking for. The whisky was well earned as Michelle had predicted, the two laying into it the moment that Michelle retrieved it from where it was hidden and they headed for her room. Deirdre and Martin were already asleep when they got back in, though had both woken at the sound of them sneaking up to the room, smiling at each other in bed when they heard them. They returned to sleep as the two young women got drunk, teasing each other about fellas as well as the dark-haired girl trying to give the blonde advice for her date with the Yank. Erin and Lance wouldn't see each other for months but it was reasoned by Michelle that she was so out of practice, she would need to start early. Already tipsy at that point, Erin could not disagree.

Clare knew that something was up the moment that she saw the pair of them, dragging themselves into their spaces in the pews with all the energy of a pair of overworked mules. The words exchanged between Mary and her daughter told her that Erin mustn't have been home that night, and knowing she was with Michelle earlier in the day, her mind quickly figured out the full picture. Orla was quiet, saying nothing to her cousin when she arrived. Still jealous of Erin for being able to go out when she was not, as well as being angry at the family as a whole, it was only at Joe's prompting that she bothered taking herself and Marie to church. She could have quite happily stayed at home sulking whilst she looked after her daughter, though it was a rare trip out missed if she didn't go. Apart from going to work, she wasn't allowed to go anywhere else unless he supervised it. At her age it wasn't right but so concerned for her when she behaved the way she had done with the Americans, the family were taking no chances. Pregnancy was not wanted.

Mass seemed to be going on forever, a lot longer for Michelle and Erin at least, Father Peter with just about every message under the sun to pass on. The Bishop being present didn't help matters, as he was asked to deliver a sermon which lasted a lot longer than it needed to. His nephew was present too, fresh from an evening at the Devlin household that he'd visited along with his uncle. Sean was beaming from ear to ear that morning after successfully hosting one of the most prominent men in the church the evening before, alongside his wife who was tired from having to arrange it all. It wasn't so easy to have a grand dinner in wartime when there was rationing, but they managed it, thanks to her herculean efforts.

When it did finally end, the girls all congregated together in the wee hall at the side of the church, waiting for their tea. Michelle and Erin were in desperate need of a cup if they were to be honest, their heads absolutely pounding still. In their own minds they told themselves they'd never drink like that again, but it was most likely that Erin would and for Michelle, she chastised herself a moment later for thinking that way. She would almost certainly drink that much again. They found themselves out of the way of most people in the hall, importantly their own families which allowed them to speak to each other freely. Orla had Marie with her, but the wain was quiet that morning, busy in a staring match with some of the birds outside. It was a habit that Orla was happy for her to indulge in, without the risk of a house fire like when Orla herself watched the infamous pigeon fight that left them homeless.

"Well clearly you two got up to some fun last night…". Clare started off the conversation, sending glares in the directions of Michelle and Erin. "Yer not exactly hidin' yer hangovers".

"Ach spare me the lecture Clare…". Michelle replied, yawning. "I've already had one from me Ma, so I have".

Deirdre's years of life taught her the art of a subtle telling off during a church service. The developed skill was put into practice that morning once they'd taken to their seats, as she took to berating Michelle for her night of revelry. Normally she wouldn't have minded her daughter taking her mind off of the world in the comfort of their home but turning up to church looking like she'd been dragged through a hedge backwards pushed those limits. Martin left her to it as he focused on the largely uninteresting service, mostly so that he didn't have to bother. His wife had it under plenty of control without him anyway, making sure that their daughter knew not to make a habit of heavily drinking on a Saturday night. The comments at least could not be heard easily from the old muck rakers in the back rows, who would never miss the chance to gossip at the slightest detail that was out of place with the younger members of the congregation.

"What were the two of ye doin', drinkin' like that when you knew you had church in the morning!" Clare continued to berate the pair of them.

"Alright Clare, like Michelle said, lay off!" Erin rebuked her strongly. "Christ my head is killin' me…".

"I had a headache last night as well". Orla suddenly piped up, having listened silently.

"Did ye?"

"I did Erin… but it went away so it did".

Nodding, the blonde whispered something under her breath that her cousin couldn't hear, but Orla didn't find herself bothered with discovering what she said. She couldn't really care what Erin thought of her wee headache, or about anything else when it came to her life after what had happened a few nights earlier. Her mood was almost as fool as the Autumnal Erin, though in her head the young mother was gradually beginning to calm down about the situation. The conception of being in the wrong was not an alien one to Orla, and unlike her cousin, she was able to admit to herself and, eventually, to others, that she was. Focusing on Marie for a second, the conversation continued around her as the group tried to inject some energy back into their lives after the soulless service that Father Peter conducted that morning.

"That was some class Whisky though wasn't it, Erin?" Michelle bumped her shoulder, a twinkle in her eye.

"Oh aye it was cracker…". Erin grinned. "… the craic was pretty good too".

"Only the best with me, Miss Quinn, only the best".

Laughing and smiling between themselves, at first they failed to notice the look of disgust that they were receiving from Clare. She was none too pleased at all at their delight, which she did not get to be a part of thanks to her father. Michelle and Erin had turned up to the house the day before to try to get her to join them, only to find themselves barred from even speaking to her. Sean stood his ground under severe protestations from Michelle, who did not hold back from speaking her mind to him at all. If he didn't fear the reaction that Martin would have, she had no doubt that her Da would have hit Michelle too after what he'd done to Geraldine earlier that morning. Her mother kept herself busy with housework throughout the day, keeping them apart from talking to each other about what she'd heard. Clare couldn't bear to have her mother suffering because of who she truly was, but it was unavoidable when she had to keep that side of herself hidden.

When they did eventually notice how unhappy that she was, Michelle quickly stopped her excitement out of respect for the diminutive blonde. Quick to understand that she missed being able to share such an experience with them, she would not continue to eulogise about their epic night of drinking when Clare was left out. For her there was still something from the night that was missing, namely Clare herself, which made it slightly less special than other nights. Michelle enjoyed the drinking and talking with Erin but knew she would have found it even more enjoyable with Clare there with them. The other blonde was not quite as perceptive though, perhaps as a result of the drink that still sat in her system. Frowning, Erin decided that Clare needed to be questioned on her behaviour rather than simply letting it go.

"What's up with you! We're only havin' a bit of craic Clare, we aren't going to get into any bother".

Huffing, the smaller of the two blondes put her hands on her hips, just about ready to explode at Erin for not realising why she was experiencing such discomfort at their happiness. Luckily, Michelle's mind was in tune where Erin's was not, reading the situation perfectly to step in in time to prevent the explosion that was brewing within Clare.

"I think she's probably a bit upset Erin…". Michelle spoke softly, almost in a whisper. "Ye know… because she couldn't join us".

"Oh…". Erin registered the thought, her brain kicking back into motion. "Of course… yeah… sorry Clare, I… I didn't think".

"It's fine". She quickly tried to move on.

"No Clare, it's not". Firmly, Michelle prevented the skipping of the matter.

"Michelle please, we don't need t-".

"Yer Da's a dick Clare. What in the Lord's name was he doin' yesterday, stoppin' me and Erin from seein' ye like that. We were concerned for ye, it was fuckin' weird".

Not her first offence by any means, Michelle swore openly in the hall of the church, lucky to not be on the end of an ear bashing as no one else heard her. Clare's mouth dropped open slightly at the language that was used, the years of her father's influence being shown in her body language that suddenly changed. Erin wasn't particularly pleased with her friend's language either, realising just how fortunate they were that none of the other churchgoers nor their families, had heard the comment. Orla was still busy fussing Marie, but did hear it, taking no notice of it when her daughter was demanding her attention constantly since she'd started talking to her friends. Marie didn't usually make such a fuss when they were out, a change from her often passive behaviour that her mother preferred.

"Michelle! Ye can't swear in church!" Clare hissed, beginning to fret.

"Calm down, no one heard".

"God might have heard, Michelle". Orla joined in unexpectedly again. "He won't be happy with ye, sure he might send lightnin' down on ye for that".

Shaking her head at the brunette's comment, Michelle returned her thoughts to that of Clare's Da and how much she didn't like him. Despite alcohol swirling around her bloodstream, she maintained her belief that his behaviour the day before was particularly strange, even though she knew the reason for it. A grown man could have handled the situation far more like what he exactly was; a grown man. Sean's decision to handle it completely different to how her Da or Gerry would have done, by not letting the two of them even see Clare, was bizarre even for him. Knowing her friend's secret made it no easier for her, Michelle often wondering how she got through every day when Sean was the man that he was.

"It wasn't right though Clare…". Erin started again, joining with Michelle in refusing to let Sean's behaviour go unspoken of. "Why wouldn't he let you see us".

"He… he…". She began to cack it. "He… said tha-".

"Clare!"

The very man himself interrupted the conversation about him, striding over with his wife walking a pace or two behind him. Geraldine's cheeks no longer bore the red marks after being struck, Sean leaving the back of his hand in reserve that morning when he found no reason to have to strike her. To most she looked as she normally did, loyally following her husband as he mingled around the church talking to friends. However, for those who could look deeper beyond first appearance, the body of an unhappy woman was lurching around out of duty, rather than happiness. Lethargy could be seen in the way that her shoulders slumped forward slightly, her irises deeply lined with untold pain and upset. Unfortunately, Geraldine was not in the position to be able to come forward to tell someone who would listen, of which there were no candidates anyway. It wouldn't have been proper for her to do so…

"There you are, love, we've been looking for you!" Sean almost triumphantly told her, a smile on his face.

"Oh… right… yeah… I've been h-here with the girls". A petrified answer was given.

"Yer not in trouble love…". Sean chuckled, though his positivity soon left him when he caught eyes with the girls. "Erin… Orla… little Marie too. And yerself Michelle…".

He almost snarled her name, which did nothing to heighten her attempts to be diplomatic with him. The thought of punching him in front of everyone in the church hall flashed across her mind, though just as quickly Michelle dismissed the thought, knowing what additional trouble it would cause. She at least held him in as much contempt as he held her, a mutual dislike for each other that both parties could recognise. Clare, Erin and Orla could recognise it too, though the latter also recognised that her daughter wanted another cuddle, which was swiftly given.

"The Bishop was asking after you. His nephew too. I think if we can get something arranged for the two of you then…".

"Sean!" Geraldine almost shrieked from behind him. "Not in front of her friends. It's embarrassing".

Turning his head to his wife, Sean gave her an expression which he shielded from the girls. A visage that did not mask the anger he felt from her interrupting him in the manner that she had, it was also a message to her that any further conduct would result in the back of his hand waking from its slumber.

"Your right, love…". He sighed. "Don't you worry, Clare, I'll handle it. You talk with the girls now".

"R-Ri… Right… yeah. Th-Thanks Daddy".

Walking off just as quickly as he'd walked over to them, Sean didn't give the girls any other gestures to accompany his departure, leaving Geraldine to smile to them as she strode off behind him. When his back was turned, Michelle extended the middle finger of her right hand in Sean's general direction, showing what she really thought of him without him seeing it. If he had seen it, he would have been absolutely raging when it was done in church, not that Michelle cared at all. In her mind, a prick needed to know that he was thought of as one, regardless of what the setting was or who else was present.

"I take it by that, it must have gone alright then?" A hopeful Erin innocently enquired.

"No it won't be good…". Orla shook her head, prompting her friends to all look to her. "I just can't see you in those robes the Bishop wears, Clare. They don't suit ye".

Clare wanted to scream at both of the cousins for different reasons, but ultimately chose to target neither. Frustratingly herself, Orla's comment was completely in line with what she should have expected, which was exactly why she found it so irritating. She was a mother of a child who'd showed maturity on plenty of other occasions, but more often than not the unblooded to the world teenager would appear. The adolescent Orla should have been long gone, but for some reason that part of her still lingered into her twenties. Understanding as she was though, Clare knew that her friend could do little to change how she was… as opposed to Erin. It was to her fellow blonde that she eventually spoke to when she found the words, containing her displeasure about her asking about the dinner. Erin didn't know her secret, the secret that was quickly eating away at her sanity once again, a secret that was becoming increasingly harder to hide with other justifications.

"I… I wouldn't say it went well, Erin…".

"Yer Da seemed to think it did…". She continued to pry.

"He's a dick…".

"Yeah alright, Michelle. Understood ye the first time". The young Quinn huffed, rubbing her head as she did. "What was wrong with it then, Clare?"

Everything.

She wanted to say everything because she didn't find fella's attractive and she never would. If the world was not what it was, not even with just the war, then she would not have hesitated to give the impassioned answer. That was her problem though… the world simply was not built for the woman that Clare wished to be. Erin's questioning continued to scratch the surface of the delicate issue that she was trying to keep a secret from her. To her side, Michelle could only watch on, unable to think of anything to say to assist her when her head was still pounding as it was. A fully sober Michelle would have struggled to have fended Erin off though, not without giving away a hint that there was more to the matter. On her own as normal, the diminutive blonde was panicking, desperately trying to think of something she could say to her friend without remonstrating with her about her nosiness.

"He was… I… I didn't… I…".

"Orla!"

Mary Quinn's dulcet tones came to Clare's rescue, calling out over her to get her niece's attention. Grateful for her intervention, she couldn't hide the satisfaction of buying herself a few extra seconds so that she could come up with a more composed response to Erin.

"Alright Aunt Mary! What's the craic?"

"Nothing much love". Mary's warm smile comforted her. "I was just coming to let ye know that Marie's wee tea is ready and yer's is too".

"Ach alright… we best coming with ye".

"Can I have a biscuit with my tea, Mammy?" Marie asked, eyes wide with hope as she looked up to her mother.

"Of course ye can. Sure I'll be havin' at least two, so I will".

Orla offered Marie the chance to be carried over to the tea, but as it was only a short walk she shook her head, wanting to make her own way over. Although she was still a very young child, there was a streak of independence within her that contrasted to her wishes for fuss and attention. She could alternate quite easily between the two, and when it came to doing things for herself, Marie preferred to rather than have her mother do it for her. Unfazed by such independence that was a rarity at her age, Orla didn't mind her doing things for herself as it meant there was less for her to do. Marie was never allowed to get too far out of sight though; Orla was a vigilant mother.

"You'll be coming with me too, Erin". Mary quickly caught Erin off guard with her words.

"What!?" She replied, almost shouting. "Why!?"

"Don't you take that tone with me, Erin! I'm sayin' yer comin' with me, so yer comin' with me, do I make myself clear!?"

"I'm not a child anymore, Mammy!"

"I beg to differ…". A glare appeared across Mary's face. "I'm doin' the washin' up today and I'm goin' to need a hand. Seein' as you didn't bother coming home last night, you'll be helping!".

Feeling her fists clenching as her anger rose, Erin did not enjoy being trooped around like a twelve year old, when she was not far from double that age. There was hardly a large congregation in the hall that day, no more than usual, and Mary washed up fairly regularly, used to handling the number of cups she would have that morning. Clearly doing so in some form of, what Erin saw at least, petty revenge for her staying the night at the Mallon's, it was ridiculous. She wasn't exactly in her best dress, still wearing the blouse she'd worn out to The River the night before, but it was one of her better garments that she wouldn't see dirtied by doing the washing up. As spirited as ever, she was ready to put up a defence, until her mother put her firmly in place having anticipated the move. It helped that they were so alike, with only age separating them.

"I wasn't askin Erin… we're doin' that washing up… now!"

Stomping off in the direction of the kitchen, Mary was not the sort of woman who could be left waiting. Not least by her hungover daughter who owed her for sneakily taking advantage of her early night to be able to get drunk with Michelle. Looking to Michelle and Clare for some sort of help or a way out entirely, neither could come up with a suggestion that would aid her. Getting into an argument with Mary Quinn required the challenger to have a watertight case on their side, the mother of two more than able to pick holes in those with weaker ones. Clare would never argue with anyone anyway regardless of their reputation, apart from her friends. On the end of one too many tongue lashings from Mary, Michelle wasn't keen to further those totals, leaving Erin's frustration to boil over.

"Seriously!" She yelled, before trapsing off after her mother.

Watching the angered Erin go, hearing her moan further about having to help with the washing up to an uninterested Mary, Michelle and Clare were left alone. Orla and Marie were readily tucking into tea and biscuits, a pleasure that wartime always threatened but never quite seemed to take away. Rationing grew harder in Northern Ireland, having started off far lighter than the rest of Britan where the struggle to get meals on tables was a cornerstone of life just a few years into the bitter war that they were living through. Upon realising that they were alone, Michelle quickly grabbed Clare by the arm, heading towards the unguarded exit to the graveyard that stretched out all around the church. The small blonde did not protest at all, knowing what was going to happen, submitting willingly to the dark-haired girl's movements. Anyone who would have spotted them would have found it frightfully odd that one of the young women was practically dragging the other along behind her. No one did though, a skilful young Mallon avoiding detection as she pulled them out to a spot around the side of the church that was completely out of view.

When they finally came to a stop, Clare didn't have time to say anything before she wrapped into a warm embrace. Caring for one of her best friends at a time where she was clearly distressed, Michelle could sense how every single question that Erin was turning on her, dug in deep. She didn't mean it of course, and though the young Quinn could be insensitive at times, it was never done out of malice or spite. The only other holder of the knowledge of who the real Clare Devlin was, to Michelle, it was her duty to protect Clare when the world was becoming too much. The blonde's shoulders slumped down, water beginning to pour out of her eyes, as she was finally able to express her true emotions, that had been locked within her since she'd left her bed over twenty four hours earlier.

"It's alright… let it out". Michelle whispered, as she gently rubbed her friend's back.

"Oh god Michelle… it was awful… I… I can't do it again!" Clare wailed, her sobs muffled by her friend's clothing. "I… I don't want this!"

Michelle could do nothing to take the pain away nor make Clare's Da's plans vanish as she knew her friend wished them too. Against the wheels of society, they were powerless with only the good grace of time ever on their side to delay the inevitable. Unfortunately that time was coming to an end, a trapped Clare faced with the prospect of marriage and life as a mother, which she did not want. Still perturbed by the thought of full commitment despite her relationship with Clint, Michelle jostled with the nature of having to fulfil such a role too, albeit to a lesser extent than her friend. She could at least love the man that came with that life, even if she did not love the life itself. Clare could love neither, silhouetted against a backdrop of all she did not wish for herself, at a time where going against the norm was almost the same as seeing one's self to an early grave. Other than hug her, Michelle could do no more.

"I wish I could tell ye won't have to…". She sniffed, her guard even down at such an upsetting time. "… but I can't. I know… I know ye hate it Clare… but ye have no choice… no one has. We aren't allowed to have those sorts of relationships… we're Catholics… I…".

"I… I just don't want to have to Michelle. I feel nothin'…". The wailing continued, Clare breaking around her.

"Ye poor critter…".

Hugging her harder, any more tightly and Michelle would have crushed her wee friend to death. Clare wouldn't have minded going that way though, wrapped in the embrace of the young woman that she'd once held feelings for, feelings that hadn't entirely gone away. Wisely she would never act upon them again when Michelle's answer was so definitive, instead accepting their warm friendship which was the only thing stopping her from a complete mental breakdown. She couldn't cry on Erin or Orla's shoulders, not without having to reveal the truth to them too, her mother also being off limits with her father's glare never too far away. Opening up her heart to Michelle forced all sorts of emotions out, a deluge of feeling that she could not stop.

"I… I mean… was the fella actually alright? He didn't try nothin' surely?" Michelle softly asked, in a manner of understanding unlike how Erin had.

"N-N… No he… he didn't t-try nothin'…". Clare's sobs were audible as she pulled away for a moment. "He… he was actually a… a really nice fella. He… he'd make someone happy… j-jus… j-just not me!"

"I know… I know".

Michelle's arms were back around her friend, Clare continuing to flow her pain out onto her shoulder. Every sob hurt the dark-haired young woman as much as it did her friend, especially when she could do nothing to help her. Birds around them seemed to quieten down to leave the only noise in the air being Clare's tearful sobs, apart from the low hum of those talking away inside the church in the background. A ray of sunlight was shone onto the two of them, illuminating them whilst blinding Michelle as she looked into it. To anyone with a more religious mind, it would have appeared as if God was casting a light on the pair of them. His casting had done enough trouble though in Michelle's mind, casting Clare to be the woman she was during a period where she could not freely express herself. His omnipotence hadn't spread to Derry…

"Please Michelle, ye have to help me stop this! I… I can't go on pretending… I… I'll never keep this up… I…".

"Clare, we haven't got that choice". Sombrely reminding her friend, Michelle's voice stayed firm. "One day yer goin' to have to settle down with a fella so… why not this one. He's probably got plenty of money… he's not a bad lad… why don't ye get it out of the way with?".

"But how… how could ye?!"

A betrayed feeling Clare could scarcely believe what she was hearing. Michelle was supposed to be the one friend that she could count on for support, who would tell her that everything would be alright and she would help her find a way around the pillar of life that stood in her way. The opposite was happening, the one person she thought she could trust, filling her mind with horrific images of her forced to clean a house and birth a child, or worse, children of a man. That was not what Michelle was there for… not at all. However, despite how hard of a job it was to do, her confidante was only telling her what she needed to hear, not what she wanted to hear. In the real world, there was no fairytale ending for Clare Devlin.

"Clare! I'm not tryin' to hurt you, I'm tryin' to help you! I'll do my best to make this easy for you and together we'll work through it but… this might be yer best option".

It would never be her best option. Never an option that she could bear to palate when it went against the feelings of her heart and mind.

Only able to offer her assistance in that life, Michelle could do no more.

Clare's path was not one which could be veered away from.

---

Rome, 14th March 1942

Plans could change quickly in wartime.

Very quickly. Almost too quickly for some, actions that could leave hundreds dead in the very worst of circumstances. Momentum could switch between sides when tables could be turned, and previously well laid plans smashed apart in the blink of an eye. No matter what flag or belief, there was no discrimination when plans were disrupted and changed because of the war. Those who were experienced enough in not just warfare, but life to, knew how to react to such changes when they'd been through the scenario before. It could even be second nature to the most hardened of individuals.

Kathy Maguire was one of those individuals.

Her plans changed very quickly, events out of her control disrupting the plan that she'd laid out to rescue her son from captivity. From the moment she'd received the orders through from London, she was planning her side of them in her head to the finest detail. The plan had to perfect, especially when the one before it failed so spectacularly. Giovanna and her fellow agents paid with their lives that day, something which the Irishwoman was hoping to avoid, even if not for herself. James was going to spend the final day of his captivity, the fourteenth of March, in the hands of Doctor Van Der Heijden. By the time the next day kicked in, in the dark of the mild Italian night, he would be back with his allies, on the way to Gibraltar. She hoped to be with him.

She'd spent a mostly quiet week reflecting on her words with Elsa the week before, as well as meeting Domenico as planned. He was a charming enough man, clearly very much loyal to those who despised the Nazi's, no hint that he would betray them. Menzies and Smithers were convinced of his loyalty too, without either ever having met the man in person, thoughts that could be confirmed by Kathy. Their meeting was covert, but Elsa was already out walking with Leo, allowing her free reign as to what she did with her time. Managing to get out and back in before the young mother returned home, it was a successful meeting, the two having finalised the details of James' escape. The transportation from the compound to the port would be provided by Domenico, though he himself would not be present, leaving the vehicle in a secure location ready for them. There would be weaponry and clothing too, disguises for the two of them, to specifications that took the Italian man by surprise. Her faith in him was clear though, not expecting to be disappointed.

Kurt himself was the one to throw a spanner in the works, without knowing that he was doing so. Throughout the week he'd acted strangely, though nowhere near enough to worry Kathy that her plans had been discovered. He'd not acted particularly oddly towards her as such, but in general he was less talkative than he usually was. A telephone call was mentioned, one which she assumed Adolf Hitler was involved in, judging by the reaction that the Doctor gave. Only an interaction with The Führer would elicit such a response from him. His mood told her that it hadn't gone well when Kurt was quiet, but when he eventually opened up to them all, the answer was far different. Hitler was pleased with his friend's work in the extermination experiments, which were ready to be presented to him. He would never leave Berlin to go to Rome though, which meant that it was time for them all to go back to Germany. Kathy knew it would be coming before long, however not as quickly as what Kurt then told them. They would be leaving on the Saturday evening, around just after eight o'clock.

That Saturday was the fourteenth of March.

She really did have only one chance to save her son.

Her plans thrown into question, the day of the operation certainly could not be moved. It could only be put forward anyway, which was not possible as the earliest that the British Mediterranean Fleet would be ready to play their part was the day itself. Fixed with other engagements in the theatre of war, as well as having a number of ships at docks for repairs, they were nowhere near a full compliment before the fourteenth. They wouldn't be on the day either, but there would be enough ships ready to conduct the divisionary assault that would draw Italian attention away from the small port to the south of Rome where James would escape from.

Informing them on the Thursday of that week, it gave Kathy just over forty-eight hours to mull over what she would do. There was no definitive reason to change the escape route or their part of the escape, which was unaffected by the time schedule that Kurt had put into place. They would be arriving at the compound before five o'clock, just as the sun would be setting. With three hours to then pry James from the room that he was held in, her own plan ran along a similar timescale before she knew of their departure. The part of the plan that came into question though, was how she was to dispose of Kurt. When Hans, Elsa and Leo would be travelling with her, her original plan was put to the sword. It did help her to some extent though, as killing Kurt whilst he was driving the car to the compound put her at risk if he veered off too sharply. London wanted him dead, and unwilling to fail that part of her mission, for her own satisfaction more than anything else, she modified the plan in her own head. There was no time to get word back to Smithers, there hadn't been to convey even the slightest detail of her original plan, although Domenico was most likely in contact with them about certain parts of it anyway. A delicate operation that would have been a challenge to pull of successfully even without the time pressure, now balanced on a knife edge.

Waking on the Saturday morning was not difficult at all, the Irishwoman full of nervous energy that threatened to overload her mind at times. Concealing it from the rest of them was by no means easy throughout the day, Elsa noticing her slightly erratic behaviour at times. The young blonde mother did not get around to asking her friend why she was seemingly so nervous, choosing to believe that it was because of the trip back and the confrontation she'd promised to have with Kurt. Proving easier to believe, Elsa let the matter rest in the comforting knowledge that answers would come from Kurt to either confirm her husband as a killer or exonerate him as the man that she believed she'd married. Playing on the hope that she would think that way, Kathy tried to content herself with believing that none of them suspected anything of her plans. Kurt was back to acting himself and Hans was acting no different to than how he usually did around her. She was in the clear… at least until she reached the compound.

Crammed up next to the rear right window in the completely full car, there was nothing luxurious in the journey to the compound, suiting her right down to the ground. Leo cried most of the way there with the unsettling motions of the vehicle affecting him, leaving Elsa to try to calm him whilst the two men spoke to each other in the front. Hans was driving like he was supposed to, Kurt sat in the front passenger seat making fairly innocent conversation for a man who was a mass murderer. Sometimes she wondered if he ever thought about the victims of his cruel work that lost their lives, hoping that he would hold guilt for such crimes. Sadly, he didn't hold the heart nor the conscience that was required to think of others that were his supposed enemy. James was the very proof that could tell the world that Kurt really was nothing more than a complete monster.

To be able to get the time that she needed alone with her boy, Kathy knew she would have to tread carefully when they first entered the compound. Kurt's first act was to quickly send Hans away, back to Rome in fact, to retrieve the pilot of the aircraft that would fly them home. The same man who'd flown them from Taranto to the Italian capital, he'd been called over from Germany, flying the aircraft in that morning before departing for the city where he temporarily was lodged to catch up on the sleep that he needed to. An overworked man, he'd flown from France back to Berlin the evening before, only to be told almost immediately to make two journeys into Italy, first stopping in Venice to perform another duty under the strictest orders. Knowing his identity from the prior journey, Hans would be able to identify and bring him back safely, Kurt's justification for sending his Lieutenant away just as quickly as they'd arrived.

Choosing to stay with Elsa and Leo, Kathy went with them to a building in the middle of the compound, a couple of hundred metres or more away from the one where James was held. Leo's cries subsided, but the young boy was tired, prompting Elsa to ask Kurt for somewhere for him to sleep. A spare bedroom within the soldiers' quarters was their destination, Leo treated to a large bed for himself with it being all that they could offer. A soldiers' barracks was not built to held toddlers but it had to do. Kurt went off to gather the last belongings from his laboratory before they made the journey to Berlin that night, taking them to the hold of the plane that would be flying them home. It could only carry a certain amount of weight, but most of his research that could not go with him would be destroyed anyway. The information that it contained, the truths about the Nazi's that it could have told; Kurt could not afford it to fall into enemy hands, even though Italian soil was not occupied by the Allies.

Spending the time away from him, in almost silence as Leo slept and Elsa caught up on some sleep too, Kathy began to worry that her opportunity might evade her. Leo and Elsa being asleep gave her a chance but getting out of the room without waking them would be a tough ask. The door was a heavy one to the outside, that could not be opened without waking others within the building. A baby so sensitive to such sound would not sleep through it. For a rare time in her troubled life, she begged in her mind for Kurt to return, to prompt a change in circumstance that would see her able to find her moment. Luckily, it was exactly what had happened, though much later than she would have hoped. It was gone half past six when the door finally opened, according to the large clock in the barracks, which hung proudly on the wall. The opportunity that she longed for soon came too.

The reason he'd been longer was not withheld from her. Openly, Kurt told her and Elsa that he'd been to see the prisoner as well as gather his belongings. James was at least still alive, Kathy had told herself, listening into Kurt's plans for the rest of the time they were waiting until Hans returned with the pilot. Pre-flight checks would have to be completed when they returned, the Doctor hoping that his Lieutenant would arrive back by seven o'clock, so that they would be ready to leave by eight. Before then though, he needed to hold a meeting with the Italian soldiers in a building at the bottom to thank them for their efforts in guarding him during his days at the compound, an oddly compassionate decision from an otherwise uncompassionate man. Kathy didn't have time to dwell on his friendliness with the Italians though, as him going to the other end of the compound gave her the chance to slip out.

She made sure to hold the door for him as he left, watching him walk away until he was far enough away from the building, that he would not be able to see if anyone left it. Inside, Elsa was awake and asked the woman that she knew as Lyla to close the door to keep the cold out. Announcing her decision to go for a short walk to get some final fresh air before their flight back to Germany, the blonde never questioned her, only asking her not to be long when they expected Hans back so soon. Lying, deceiving the young woman one final time, Kathy was aware that she was most likely saying her final goodbye to her and Leo. They embraced before she left on her walk, the Irishwoman just about holding back the tears thanks to her superior acting skills that came to the fore when she needed them, as they always did. The unsuspicious Elsa didn't suspect anything, reverting to type, letting her leave without another challenge. Allowing an enemy of the Nazi Empire to proceed with her rescue of perhaps the most valuable asset in play in the entire war around the world.

The building that housed her son, the prisoner that somehow survived multiple rounds of the most horrific torture to fight another day each time, was her only destination. The soldiers could not stop her when they were all in the building with Kurt, presenting her with an even smoother exit than the one she'd planned which involved plenty of deception on her part. They would still have to be quick when Hans could be back at any moment, but the time frame was available for a successful extraction. That building was where she found herself, advancing quickly down the flight of stairs, the key to James' cell in her hand. The time she'd spent at the compound previously was time which Kurt should have never allowed her because during it, she saw where the Italians kept a spare key to the room. Key met lock quickly that night, her short sharp breaths being invisible yet chilling to her, even when the air was mild.

What she saw when she opened the door, made her heart drop.

James was alive but tied up and gagged, sat down against the wall of the far side of the room, his overturned bed lying in front of him. Kurt hadn't just been down to the room, he'd been down and trashed the place, turning his hands on her boy by the looks of it. James must have been tied up already, she told herself, or he'd have never allowed himself to get into the state he was in. Blood was dripping from a cut above his eye, where an enraged Kurt had opened up on the defenceless Englishman. His nose also gushed blood, which was pouring out onto the gag that was over his mouth. Seeing her, his eyes appeared to light up, though whether that was because he recognised her or because he relieved to have a saviour, she did not know.

With no time to spare, she ran over to him, bag flying off of her shoulder, immediately starting with removing the gag that was around his mouth. His legs were thankfully untied, his arms tied together at the wrist, behind his back. Before she untied him though, she wanted to speak to him, to let her boy know that she was there to rescue him. The young man that Britain was gambling the safety of a whole fleet upon needed to know how special he was to one person above all. To his loving mother, the agent of Britain responsible for getting him home, to ensure that the war could not be ended by him being directly under the thumb of Adolf Hitler where the entire conflict would come to a premature conclusion.

"James… James…". She called out to him, the gag slowly falling from his mouth.

"Mum… mum it is you!"

His joy in seeing her there almost broke the woman, who should have been delighted to have him calling her name. She should have been absolutely beaming from ear to ear, she knew, but it was hard to after everything she'd done. The torture that was inflicted by Kurt was not always by him, Hans in fact doing most of the damage as well as Kathy herself. She was the one who'd branded him with the Swastika that now adorned his side, his identifying mark that told anyone who saw it that he was the property of the Nazi's. In each other's arms for the first time in nearly three years, it was in fact the first time since the day she'd waved him off as he headed off on his adventure to Northern Ireland. Her cries became weeps very quickly, accompanying James' own sobs that he couldn't hold in despite his best efforts. One of the two women that he missed most dearly in his life, trying to stop himself from showing his emotion was impossible. He loved her so… so much.

"Oh James… my big handsome boy… my boy…". Kathy was yelping into his shoulder. "I love you… I love you so much".

"I love you too mum…". He similarly wept into the exposed skin of her neck. "I… I've missed you so much. I've been so worried".

"No… don't. I… I wan- w-w.. wanted to write… I did but I… I…".

Nuzzling himself into her further whilst his hands were still behind his back, he continued to let his tears flow. He didn't cry that often anymore, not since the massacre that he was an unwilling participant and spectator of. The deaths of the families that day must have sapped his tears, he'd told himself since, until that night when his mother showed herself to him. He was convinced after the day in the old Blacksmith's forge, that she was the woman who was stood before him that day under Kurt's guiding arm. At first his deliriousness caused him doubts that made him think that she was a mirage of his mind, picturing her because he wanted it to be her. Over days of isolation though he'd became convinced that she was there that day, rather than it being Lyla Walsh like Kurt had told him. Wherever Lyla Walsh was did not concern him; his loving mother was there for him, and apart from Erin, it was all that he needed.

"It's alright mum… I… I imagine it wasn't safe to. Not around a man like the Doctor".

"It wasn't!" She quickly insisted through her tears, pulling back so that they were face to face. "There was… no way to… to get a letter to you".

He chuckled. There were two letters he received in Derry that were from her, from the time she was in Switzerland, becoming a Countess. One of the truths that he'd hidden from Kurt under questioning, insisting that she was actually deceased, alongside the father that he'd never known.

"You are not a Swiss Countess then…". Chuckling again, his smile was infectious. "There were letters".

"Is that what they came up with for cover?" She giggled. "Christ, they have been getting slack in London, but that's absolute shite!"

Giggling together like they did in days gone past, for the first time since the day he'd left Erin's side, James found himself feeling as if he were at home. He'd made the various barracks, as well as his quarters aboard the Illustrious his own, but none of them were ever truly home. They did not bring with them the atmosphere that could relax, instead offering tenser energy that came with the territory when there was a war raging around the globe. David's presence was the only slightly credible slice of home life that could be added to those places, but they were best friends who did not have to make each other feel homely. Back in the familiar sanctuary of vitality that was his mother's loving arms, he relaxed properly. At least as well as any man could when his hands were tied behind his back.

"You would have made an excellent countess no doubt…". James gently remarked to her as they pulled away from each other again.

"Ach, I doubt that. I wouldn't know the first thing about it!" She answered, a hint of worry in her voice.

"Mum, I am so proud of you".

Taken aback, the compliment stung the conscience of Kathy Maguire. James often complimented her back at home when they were together, ever the young gentleman around her no matter the situation. His raising was done so with a strange comfort, the pair never wanting for anything, whilst she tried to make him the best version of the young man he could be. His upbringing as a gentleman was one which she ensured would occur, teaching him how to act properly as man. She was never given such lessons when she was younger, but her journey was one of self-taught advice from long before she fell pregnant with him. Approaching every scenario with her own mindset was key to survival for Kathy, as well as the plans that she made whenever she could. Her diligent conditioning of him paid off, her son turning into the most well-respected young officer in the Fleet Air Arm during the early months of the war. It spoke volumes too, not that she knew, that a young Englishman could ensconce himself so easily back in her native Derry without facing the abuse many of his counterparts would. Almost everyone loved him.

Yet she couldn't see how he could be proud of her in turn.

Her exploits as an agent in service to Britain would forever be remembered by the archives of the Intelligence Services, though unheralded by the vast majority. Kathy may not have held the confidence to think it for herself, but to some she was just about the greatest agent they'd ever deployed. They'd learned more about German intentions, as well as the temperament and thoughts of Adolf Hitler himself from her, than they had from any other agent. Alongside the breakthrough with the Enigma decoding at Bletchley Park, she'd provided some of the most critical intelligence to fall into British hands during the war. Her heroics in serving her country had outweighed her duty as his mother though, which came to a head when she was left to brand him with the symbol of their enemy. No son should have even looked at his mother again after such a barbarous act, she decried that in her own mind one night after when she desperately tried to sleep, tossing and turning as the almost dead weight of the world appeared to be on her shoulders. If he'd told her he never wanted to see her again, she would have been upset yet understanding.

He was not though. He was proud of her.

Pride that surely could not have come from his heart which she must have broken that day by the forge, the molten steel pressing into his side to let the love flow from him. He'd been through hell, hell that she couldn't stop no matter how hard she could have tried, but he was still there fighting, with his love for her intact. It was impossible… James was impossible. Her child that was branded as a Nazi while being the furthest thing from it was a miracle that kept on giving. Giving up on his mother did not register once to him after he convinced himself that it was her… far from it. James loved her too much to let the incident break their relationship.

"How… I… I did…". Kathy blurted the words out after moment of contemplation, unable to form the full sentence.

"You did your duty, mum. You did exactly what was right".

She looked away from him, unable to look him in the face, her guilt tearing her away from the son that she loved so dearly. He was already being far too reasonable to her after everything that she'd done, the scars that she'd permanently left with him that were both physical and mental ones. Her only job as a mother was to keep him away from such harm; she'd brought him the very pain that she was supposed to protect him from. How he could stomach the mere sight of her after their initial reunion was beyond Kathy, drowning in her shame as she looked across to the wall at the back where James was once chained, whipped into submission to break in the New Year. An act that failed to break him but left him with a back that would forever show the reality of what happened that night.

"I… I did… to you… I…".

"Mum…". He addressed her sternly, like a teacher telling off a naughty child in the corner of the classroom. "You did not allow your love for me to cloud what you needed to do… what was needed to be done. If you would have refused, you may have killed us both and that would not have helped anyone. We have people who need us… I… I need you too… so please, do not wallow in shame when you have done the utmost for our safety".

James' sentiment was correct, as much as Kathy tried not to admit to herself when she was so ashamed of having caused him to suffer. Her own mind had entertained those thoughts too; she would have most likely seen them both to at the very least significant torture. James would have probably been safe when Kurt still saw him as an asset rather than a liability, which is what she would have been if her identity was compromised. A liability to Britain too if she was caught, there would not have been any hope of escape should she have condemned then. Her loyalty to Britain knocked her duty as a mother to one side, her son coming to terms with it far better than she was. He was right though. They were both needed, alive not dead.

"Does it… does it hurt?" She enquired, almost unthinkably whilst producing a monstrous cack attack. "I… of course it does… I just… is there… I…".

"Not as much as it does watching tears jettison from your eyes, mum. I love you… please do not cry any more for me, I am alive because of you".

"James…". She reached up to stroke his cheek, the two locking eyes. "… I am so lucky to have a son like you".

Left on the edge of a full sobbing breakdown himself, James moved his lips around to kiss the palm of his mother's hand. The loving touch of a caring son that for so long was denied his mother's embrace, it melted her heart further too. The piping hot touch of a molten steel rod pressed into his side could not destroy their bond, neither could the evil doings of Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden. Together they were stronger, a fearsome combination of the brave heroine of a mother that was Kathy, her gentlemanly hero of a young son by her side. Only the bond that the girls back in Derry shared between them could measure anywhere near as closely as the one that they shared together. In the same way as it had with Erin for him, absence and longing only made his heart grow fonder for the tender embrace of both women. It was one down and one to go when it came to the pair.

Time was not on their side though, having already let at least five minutes go as their reunion continued on. Kathy factored that into her plan for the escape but could not allow any further time to elapse. Hans would have to be delayed if she was to get the amount of time that she wanted with James, which would still not properly be enough anyway. He initiated their progress in escaping that night, by asking exactly what it was that she was going to do. Apart from the way to the train station that he never wished to go back to, which was only a vague pictorial memory when it came to the journey, James did not where they would go.

"Would it be ridiculous of me to assume that we are escaping, Mum?"

"Yes… yes of course, we are". She huffed a laugh. "In a hurry, are we?"

Rolling his eyes at her amused lunacy, it was hardly the time for such tomfoolery when they only held the shortest of windows to get out safely. That was their relationship though, one that broke just as easily into laughter as it did into seriousness. The Captain was in a hurry if truth were to be told, because at the first sign of a potentially successful escape, his mind turned to his beloved. She would have her chance at getting her beloved back, should they make it out alive, and he would get the chance to ask for her hand in marriage. They would have children together to complete the vision of family that his dreams so often brought him during his confinements in both Taranto and Rome. He would be proud to put a ring on her finger… prouder still to be able to announce to the world that Erin Josephine Quinn was his wife, the mother of his children. The dream that finally held a genuine shot of reality.

"My pocket…". He dipped his head down. "Look… quickly".

Kathy's hand reached into the breast pocket of her son's jacket, navigating her way around the spoon which she didn't question the appearance of. Someone back home was sensible, she rapidly decided, providing him with the ultimate weapon to be able to defend himself with. The photograph that was fading but still in reasonable condition was fished out, narrowly avoiding being smeared with the blood that dripped from the cut above his eye. With more time she would have seen to his injuries, but she would have to do so when they got aboard the fishing boat that night, within the relative safety that it would bring.

"She…". A mesmerised Kathy looked at the picture of him with Erin in front of him, leaning back against her son's body. "She is so beautiful".

"Erin… Erin Quinn. I cannot begin to tell you how lucky I am to have her in my life".

"Quinn?" She mumbled. "I knew a Quinn once… Ge-".

"Gerry? He's Erin's father. You might know her mother too, Mary… I would guess her maiden name was McCool".

Mary McCool, or Mary Quinn as she'd become in her absence from her home city, was a woman that Kathy instantly feared. A fearsome woman in her youth, the two parted on just as poor terms as she parted on with everyone else when she left for London permanently. The same woman's daughter just happened to be the young woman that her James had fallen hopelessly in love with during his short few months in Derry, to an extent that she would scarcely believe if he told her the full story of their time together. Fate extended its bemusing hand in her direction again, sod's law dictating that the love that the young couple shared would happen when they were the children of the women that birthed them.

"Y-Ye… Yes…". Agitated, she answered her boy. "But I suspect she would think of me as a disgrace…".

"No". James responded in a split second. "I do not think that she would think that way if she knew how valiant a woman that you are. You are not a disgrace mum… you are an inspiration".

She was sure that he wasn't trying to make her cry again, but the almost sugar-coated words that he spoke sent her giddy with joy. Thinking so highly of his mother for the woman that she'd shown herself to be in acting as an agent for Britain, not a single word was a lie. She was an inspiration to him anyway, but to others she could be seen as a legend if they knew of what she'd done for the war effort. Those details would be hidden away though, probably forever when she would be bound to an agreement with the Intelligence Services. If they would only allow her to tell just one story though, it would cement her as a treasure to not only Derry's women, but the women of Britain. A figure like her would do wonders for a young girl such as Anna Quinn, he thought to himself.

"We best get a shift on…". She shook away her thoughts of pride, the picture returned to the pocket that it came from. "I have this which she should help".

Concealed within her sleeve was a large knife, another incredible act from a woman who would have been a star actress without the events of her life taking over. She'd kept it in there since the early afternoon, long before they got into the car to leave for the compound. Certain that none of the others would notice it missing from the kitchen when they completed a final sweep of the house, the largest one that the Italian home stocked was carefully kept within the sleeve. It was quite painful at times, though she'd been careful to avoid too many sudden movements that would have made her cut into her arm, or worse, wrist.

"You…". James could barely believe. "Mum, I did not think I could love you more than I do now, but you have proven to me that I do not have enough faith".

"Stop it James!" She jokingly told him off. "Now hold still while I get these off".

Leaning over her son, James was almost thrust into her chest when she leant over him, having to lean right back onto the wall to avoiding the two ending up in a most awkward position. Kathy set to work cutting him loose at pace, finding the rope that had been used to tie his hands with to be a thick one, almost like the ones that Fisherman used to moor their vessels with. The knife would cut through them before long, not quite as readily as she'd planned for, but the tool was still the right one for the job. Their bid for freedom was looking all the more promising by the minute, thoughts of home beginning to resonate for mother and son.

They should have known…

"So Lyla, you have finally shown where your loyalty lies".

Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden, pistol in hand, was prepared to deny them that freedom.

---

Close friend and confidante of Adolf Hitler, Kurt Van Der Heijden almost came with his own aura. A scent, as well as sounds, that were distinctly him. His cackling laugh was the most prominent of the latter, making him distinguishable in a room if he were to find something amusing. To those who didn't know him they would not be able to say that it was him by that laugh though, but the way in which he moved around was the telling sign to even those who did not know him so well. His reputation within Nazi Germany was so strong that anyone would be able to recognise the scent of evil that radiated from him. To those who agreed with his cruelty, they could even smell it to. It was that smell that made James realise that their escape plan was short-lived, cut before it could truly get into motion.

Sandwiched against the wall by his mother as he tried to cut the ropes off of him, there was little he could do to warn her that Kurt was in the room with them. The man's footsteps were also familiar to the Englishman, who'd spent months listening out for them whilst awaiting visits from the Nazi. The voice of the man who was a mass murderer with no conscience at all, was one which he'd grown too familiar to as well. No man should have ever been so familiar with it when they were on the end of such vile abuse, but that was James' position in life. Molinari kept him for too long, treated him too well. If he'd have only allowed him to die on that night, alongside David, then he would never have been put through the hell of the months in Kurt's care. The sound of the Dutchman's voice held a similar effect for Kathy too, the voice of her rapist filling her ears, prompting her to stop trying to free James. They were caught, and for her, there was no secondary plan.

Slowly she removed herself from where she covered her son, whose eyes told her of the memories of pain that he was reliving as he sat against the wall. Her hand, placed onto James' upturned bed, steadied her ascent up to her feet, which was sorely required when her legs turned into a wobbling mess. For large parts of her life, Kathy lived in fear, but it had never been greater than the terror she was experiencing on realising that the game was up. Her carefully crafted lies and deceptions, the identity of another woman, was completely corrupted. The Lyla Walsh that she'd depicted was not loyal to Nazi Germany whatsoever, Kurt knowing the truth that since the moment they'd met, she'd been betraying him. His face did not show anger though; it showed a pleased man that was delighted with his discovery. Finding the words was difficult for her but turning to the dastardly man at the door to the room, she would have to face him to try and protect the son that she loved so much.

For almost thirty seconds the two entered a staring match, two gunslingers fighting a duel in another life, though only Kurt was armed and his gun was already drawn. Although Kathy scarcely used it, she had her own pistol that she kept in her bag for such occasions, of which she'd only been in once or twice where the weapon was used as a deterrent, never fired. Killing a man was a different matter, a matter her conscience set her insides alight with. That part of her would go untroubled though, as the pistol was in her bag… which was right next to Kurt's left foot, where she'd thrown it upon entering the room to rescue James. The only way she could defend James was by placing her body in front of his to act as a shield from any bullets that Kurt fired. As his mother, she would not think twice to do it.

"How… how long have you known?"

Her hands were by her sides shaking, her eyes now only on the floor rather than the face of the man that she hated. Wanting to know for how long her delicate plans were truly known for, it was almost another answer that she did not want to have. Kurt could easily lie or tease her with falsehoods but telling her the truth would hurt her no matter the length of time, unless he'd truly only stumbled upon the scene of her rescue by chance. Elsa could have very easily told him that she'd gone for a walk, and on his way to find her, he might have decided to make another trip down to put James through even more pain before their flight to Berlin. Kurt's preference for sedation would have also been another reason for him to be there, to put James out before they got him to the plane. The smug huff that he gave when he finally broke his stare, told her that it was by no means an accident that he was there to catch her.

"For a very long time, Lyla…". He laughed in her face, lowering her spirits further. "You took me for a fool! Did you not think I could see through your mask!"

"You have betrayed your country with what ye have told me!" She bit back, unable to standby and watch him crush her spirt any further. "The British Government knows all about yer sick projects and the strategies that ye have told me! You have taken me for a fool too if ye think I haven't spread the word!"

Taking a couple of steps forward, Kurt ventured further into the room, stepping over her bag that she'd carelessly thrown away. He was an unending demon of a man when he walked towards her, terrifying her with every breath that he took as well as every single step. Stopping short of her, with some distance still between them, Kurt continued to smile when he could see her as well as James, exactly where he wanted them. The prize Englishman that was to prove more of an asset than he could dare think of, would finally be placed in front of the very highest authority in Nazi Germany to have his future settled. Kurt wanted him to be his killer, his descent into dark evil convincing him that he could turn James into their own personal murderer to be set upon any who dared challenge their beliefs. A value that was beyond his wildest dreams, of which Kurt had plenty, was what James provided, though only Kathy and a few important men in London knew what it was.

"You are stupider than I thought, woman…". He snarled, laughing away once more. "Every bit of information that you received was on The Führer's instruction. And yes… he too has known for a very long time that you set out to spy upon us".

Her meetings with Hitler were long in the past, some before Kurt went on his assignment to Poland and ahead of the formal declaration of war. If he'd known for that long that she was a spy, then it explained some of the questions he put to her, why she found herself having to lie about her thoughts on Britain whenever he brought it up while they conversed. It mattered little though, as she was on the end of her own prediction that she would not enjoy the answer that was given to her by the Nazi Doctor. For so long she'd thought that she was playing him, manipulating him perfectly into revealing key details about German intentions, as well as his research into the mass exterminations of potentially hundreds of thousands of innocents. Instead, he'd kept his cards close to his chest and his knowledge of her true allegiance to only himself and the German leader. The two let her believe for so long that she was diligently fulfilling her duties, waiting for their moment to reveal that they knew she was not as honest as she led them to believe. Her time appeared to have come, on the worst possible night that it could have ever manifested.

"What has the British Government done with that information?" Asking whilst waving the gun in her direction, Kurt could sense the fear in her. "My camps are completely operational, dealing with the enemies of Das Reich, exactly as they should be! Winston Churchill's words cannot hurt them… your weak army sits at home doing nothing! You are a failure, Lyla! It is all that you ever have been!"

"What gives you the right to label her as a failure!" James shouted, coming to his mother's defence. "All you do is inflict pain upon others, you have no right to judge anyone when the judgement against yourself is damning!"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH, JAMES!" He roared, proceeding to fire a shot into the back wall of the room that stung all their ears. "I will deal with you later once I have dealt with this… ugly, deceiving… whore… that stands over you".

Opening his mouth to shout again, James only just saw her hand stretch out in a motion that told him not to. Kathy would not have him castigate Kurt when it was her business, though the notion that her son would defend her honour without hesitation gave her satisfaction that she'd brought him up properly. James defended those that he loved with great passion, no matter who they were to him, family or friend, precisely how she'd taught him to act. He needed to focus on his own survival rather than her honour, the quick movement of her left hand showing him that it was time for his mouth to slam shut again. Understanding her action, James followed the order without question, after leaning forwards to admonish Kurt with a glare. The Nazi either didn't notice or didn't care, his attention returning to Kathy.

"I am surprised that you would shoot me…". She rounded on him. "I thought you always allowed Hans to get his hands dirty in your place? What is it Kurt, can you not bare to have blood on your own hands or do you lack the bravery to admit that you are a killer yourself?"

"Killing is not a problem for me". He replied quickly and chillingly, a shiver ascending the length of her spine. "I have killed before… and I will kill again. The life of one human being does not equate to anything when we have a war where hundreds are killed on the battlefield every day. Death is a normality".

Mentally disturbed was vastly becoming an understatement to describe Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden. Those within the world of science called him mad, illogical and psychopathic, the foreshadowers of the man he'd become since spearheading Nazi Germany's research into mass extermination. They were not fortune tellers nor travellers of time, but those who he'd done his studies with could recognise the evil agenda that bubbled away quietly beneath the surface. Those within his own country, some that were serving Nazi Germany to that day, thought that he was a man of far too many extremes even when he was merely suggesting ideas, not acting upon them. Change came though, and upon finally committing to the killings that were ordered through his work, seeing the trials for himself first hand in Poland was the true turning point. His killing of the nurse he'd impregnated there proved it immediately, ending two lives whilst rarely thinking of the poor woman since. Death did not matter to him… not at all.

"You have a choice, Lyla".

Surprising her, in the mist of being lost in thought about how she would escape from him, Kurt was prepared to give her a choice about something, which she presumed was on her own death. With no way of defending herself, as well as the gun that he held within his right hand, it appeared to be obvious how she would die, but Kurt's horrific creativity was forgotten by her. If he'd been preparing to catch her that night then he might have already set up another means of death for her, with a whole compound worth of buildings to be able to choose from to commit her execution in. The darkest thought in her mind worried for her dignity that he'd already taken the once; as it began to grow back thanks to James forgiving her for what she'd done, Kurt might have been ready to take it all away again.

To a certain degree, she was wrong.

"Hans will be back with us soon…". He began to monologue, pacing around in front of Kathy and James. "You may either die by his hand or I can leave you with the Italians, to do with you what they please. An attractive woman such as you, left here alone with a group of overworked soldiers… I think I know what that will be. The choice is yours".

Instead of Kurt being the one to commit the acts, both of his offers once again avoided his hands becoming dirty. She would have smiled at the thought had the threats not been so clear against her, her own body once again the target of the vicious desires of man. In the perfect scenario, she would choose the first of the two options in the hope that Hans would have a crisis of conscience and refuse to kill her as ordered. Her own life being placed before him might finally break the young man's unwavering trust in Kurt and the regime that he served, unshackling him from the ties that bound him to the wrong side of morality. His redemption could be allowed to take place as Kurt's plans lay broken in front of him, with the gun then turned on the master by the apprentice that would betray him. There was too much to risk with hope though, not when she was faced with her only chance to save her son's life and secure his future. The former she would not choose out of principle either, scoffing at the thought that Kurt would not want her body for himself before he disposed of her.

"Liar!" She screeched at him. "Kurt, you are many… many things… but yer not a man who would give anyone a choice! I do not believe a word of it, ye lying bastard!"

"Such delightful language…". He remarked in his crisp accent, the English falling from his tongue as if he was a native speaker. "… but I will commend you, Lyla, your skills of interpretation are very impressive. You are correct, I am afraid I would not be able to leave you in the care of those soldiers now anyway".

"Why? Why did ye even say it?"

Taking her by surprise once more, she'd not expected the reasoning that he gave. Thinking there was little more to it than him simply toying with her, instinctively she requested more information when he indicated that there was more to it than just that. The soldiers would not leave the compound when their duty was to guard it, and with no one else left behind, she could not be handed over to any other authorities without delaying their departure to Germany. Unless the whole compound was to be abandoned, Kathy suddenly thought to herself, to completely hide the legacy of the atrocities that were being researched and experimented upon there. A grin of pure, unfiltered, demonic energy was slapped across Kurt's face when she caught his eye, goosebumps dotting the skin of her arms at the look he gave her.

"If you recall, I called a meeting with the soldiers in a building down the bottom there. Remember?"

Nodding, she did not try to reply, lost in her own mind to the thoughts of what he was trying to say. The demonic grin only grew wider when she stayed silent, Kurt preferring her to be in almost total fear of him, strengthening his command of the room.

"I wanted to thank them for their efforts and I thought…". He paused, only to chuckle uncontrollably for a couple of seconds, composing himself quickly after. "What better way than to allow them to experience the beauty of the work that I have done for the Empire that I serve. Our meeting was in their specially modified shower facility, you see. Of course, when I say our…".

"You… you gassed them!?" She spoke out in horror.

"Gassed is such an unpleasant term, Lyla. I merely allowed them to experience the gift of my work and an early exit from this war. I have saved them from a bloody death on a battlefield far away... if anything, I hope their final thoughts were all to thank me".

James' face dropped when he cottoned onto what had happened, dismayed by what he was hearing but not shocked by it. Kurt did not require any action to show that he held no qualms in killing vast numbers of people, innocent people. Turning his deathly desires onto soldiers that were allied to his side in the war was nothing out of the ordinary when it came to the sick mind of Kurt Van Der Heijden. Delivering death on such a grand scale was almost a speciality for a man that took pleasure in sending human beings to their demise. He'd loved the innocence that was shown by the Italians when they consented to his request to gather in the shower block. It was a large room at least, but there was also the barracks or another building that was used as the officer's barracks that could have been used. None of them suspected that the same gas that was killing children in the East of Germany and Poland, would be turned against them too.

"Do not be so surprised Lyla!" He scoffed, in the most demeaning manner towards her. "It was my duty. James here is a very important young man to Britain and if any of the soldiers spoke of what happened here… that might be received back in London if the wrong ears listened out to hear what would be said. Loose ends must be tied… not left to… dangle".

Although he might have been revealing the fates of the Italian soldiers to her, Kathy knew that her own future was spoken of in the same terms. She was a loose end who knew about James, needing to be eliminated before the young Captain was placed in front of the judge that was Hitler. If she were to be left alive, free even, then word would spread to London quickly, where further efforts could be made to rescue the young man. In the heart of Berlin, it would be more complicated but they would never give up in trying until the last possible second. That was the British spirit that ran through the nation, a people determined to carry on no matter how intense the pressure that they faced was.

"Look at you…". He turned on her, the Irishwoman shivering. "Oh, you are so scared of me when I stand here with a gun, playing god with you. You sad Irish harlot…".

"And look at you…". James spoke up, unable to hold his tongue any longer. "A desperate, maddened Doctor who only wishes to impress the degenerate that leads his country. You are no man, Kurt".

Strangely, when he was tied up and at the Nazi's mercy, James was winning the mental battle with his captor. He'd taunted him when he'd visited earlier that evening to earn himself the beating that the Doctor gave him, not just the unprovoked attack that his mother assumed to have occurred. The frenzied beating was as a result of Kurt losing his temper with the young man rather than him attacking him to hurt him. Kurt's normal style was more elegant than that, always opting for a slow drawn-out process rather than the brutal assault that befell him that night. That was why another three shots rang out around the large room, this time at the feet of the Englishman. Amazingly, James did not flinch at a single one, staring Kurt out instead to try to push him into making a mistake, finding himself to be mentally stronger once more.

"I said, I would get to you, James!" Kurt's teeth were clenched as he berated the man. "Testing my patience is not wise when I hold a gun, you fool!"

Keeping his mouth shut again, James retreated knowing that he could battle the man if it came down to their mental games beginning again. Seeing his mother defend him so valiantly was spurring him on, finding reserves of mentality that he did not know existed, or at least forgotten were there. His conscience was still fragile, but the sort of bravery that saw him disobey orders to dive into an attack on a tank division, did not just vanish from a man. His importance was much greater than how brave he was, yet if Britain were to evaluate all of their men fighting around the world, few could come closer to his level of resilience. He was truly something else, which Kurt saw too, hoping to turn his unique skill into a weapon for the Nazi's to wield, should his leader allow it.

"Tell me, Lyla…". Kurt once again refocused on her after James' interruption. "Why, when you have served your country in spying on me, would you risk everything for him? It is a suicidal mission that you could have refused, you could have told them that James here was dead? Why would Lyla Walsh choose death for a young officer?"

"I serve my country as you serve yer's…".

She spat out the words at him, her Derry accent coming through clearer. Avoiding his questions, she hoped to delay the inevitable, but Kurt was already beneath the surface, with the truth unavoidably coming soon rather than later.

"Yes… but who are you really? I know that you are not Lyla Walsh. My spy does not know who you are, but you do not fit that woman's description".

Lyla Walsh was not the woman that stood before him, that much was true. The woman before him was one who was acutely aware that her life was reaching a crescendo, the chances of her seeing out that night wavering constantly from possible to impossible. If she was going to die though, she would do it as herself, not as the character that she'd been forced to create to maintain the deception that was utterly useless. Her own merits that she believed she'd achieved were nothing, merely information that the Nazi's felt that they could feed to her to allow her to think that she was one step ahead, when she was in reality two or more behind. For Kathy, there was nothing to lose in revealing her true identity that was hidden from the Nazi.

"Katherine…". She gave her full name, a cold, shuddered breath uttered before speaking again. "Katherine Maguire".

As the name rolled off of her tongue, she closed her eyes, the only way to prevent the tears leaking from where they were building. If her hearing was just a little bit better, she could have proven that she'd heard James' heart drop as she revealed her identity to Kurt, the most dangerous man possible to know such a truth about him. The plan she'd worked through in her head, that progressed so swimmingly up until Kurt arrived, was utterly shattered. Hans was surely a matter of minutes away, such was the delay they'd encountered in being stopped by Kurt, leaving absolutely no room for any escape whatsoever. Her heart dropped as much as her son's, eyes remaining closed so that she did not have to view the look on Kurt's face when he realised who she really was to James. The realisation came almost immediately, but she shielded her son from seeing Kurt too, denying him the satisfaction of looking at either mother or son.

"You… oh… oh… ha! HA!" He revelled in the truth when it was offered. "You are his mother! Oh this is… I… HA!"

Bellyfuls of laughter ripped out of Kurt, almost making him drop the pistol that was in his hand. If he wasn't holding them at gunpoint then he would have been on the floor, rolling around laughing at the pair of them. She'd not only lied to him about her allegiances, but she also lied about who she was too, which the Nazi Doctor quickly worked out anyway. When he spoke of James to her previously, not once had Kurt suspected there to be a familial connection between the two, even when she would not outwardly criticise him or Britain. Katherine Maguire went as far as branding her own son with a swastika to ensure that their connection was not revealed any sooner. The sacrifice of her duty as a mother was meaningless when he would kill her… but Kurt would make sure she knew it ahead of ending her life.

"You… you gave him our insignia…". Kurt almost cried with tears of laughter. "To protect him! Look what is has done! My luck is… it is… what is the word… majestic!"

"What is going on?"

---

James hadn't said anything, trying not to alert his mother or the Doctor to the latest presence that was in the vicinity, but between Kurt's laughs he'd heard the footsteps. They were not a man's, nor was the voice that they belonged to. A different language, the words were spoken in German not English, as opposed to the exchanges between mother, son and Nazi. Only one woman he knew of could have been there that night, the only other woman apart from his mother that he was acquainted with that spoke the language. A voice of great innocence normally, it was one that came upon the scene of a failed escape attempt, stopped by the very same murderer who'd dragged that woman's husband into his dark deeds.

Elsa Hartmann stood in the open doorway, her son Leopold cradled in her arms, evident worry plastered across her face. Kathy's heart, so trodden and trampled already, was crushed further by seeing the woman who'd she already thought she'd said goodbye to for the final time. Hans must have been late, the reason for her visit down to them, where she must have followed the gunshots, the Irishwoman presumed in her own head.

"Elsa!" Kurt thunderingly named her when he turned around, switching to German himself. "How good of you to join us, on such a momentous night. I should have brought wine and some of that Belgian chocolate that you like… you would not believe what I have just discovered".

"I… I heard gunshots… what has happened?" She asked, shaking with worry. "Where is Hans?"

"Hans must be delayed, my dear, do not be concerned for him". Speaking with a sense of calm that was often foreign to him, even James thought his words were reassuring. "No, the gunshots were for another reason. Look around at what you see, tell me, what do you think has happened?"

Elsa noted the upturned bed first, out of place away from the small alcove where it was positioned on the day she'd been present in the room with Kurt, Hans and Leo. James, the English prisoner who'd set the fears off in her head that her Hans was a murderer, was sat on the floor, slightly obscured by the woman that she thought she knew, his hands seemingly tied behind his back from the little she could see of him. She looked towards Lyla, but the Irishwoman looked away from her, almost too ashamed to see her. Her normally warm blood turned to pure ice when she connected thoughts in her mind, ones which were incorrect. She'd have thought her close friend would have waited until they were back in Berlin to confront Kurt on what James had said, to determine whether Hans was truly at fault for any crimes committed, and just what those crimes were. Too frightened to answer in case she was wrong, she fumbled for a naïve one in its place.

"Did… did the prisoner try to escape?"

"You are not that far away from being wrong, Elsa. He did… but he was assisted…". Twisting his head round, Kurt looked Kathy dead in the eye. "By Lyla… no… no, not Lyla… Katherine… Katherine Maguire. James' mother… lying to us all this time about who she really was".

Staring incredulously at the Irishwoman that she thought she knew, Elsa's mind began to falter when Kathy could not hide her guilt. Lying to Elsa was one of the more challenging aspects of her time as a spy, which was a useless waste since Kurt's revelations came to light. She might as well have told her the truth given that he knew anyway, as if Elsa had betrayed her then Kurt would have already been able to tell her that he knew. The whole time that the young German woman thought she was friends with someone loyal to Kurt, and to the ideology of the Nazi's as a whole, she was instead friends with an agent of the very country she was supposed to hate. Elsa herself never participated in the hateful bashing of Britain that her husband enjoyed but could not help but feel betrayed herself as the faith she'd placed in the Irishwoman evaporated.

"Is… is this true?" She almost squeaked, her voice tiny, the question directed to the other woman in the room.

"Yes, Elsa… it is. I am sorry that I have deceived you". Kathy rambled in German. "I never meant to hurt you and I… I care for you. I have always cared for you".

"I… I cannot…".

Watching the blonde's tearful descent as the realisation came over her that she'd been sucked into Kathy's lies, Kurt was experiencing perhaps the greatest night of his entire life. Elsa's life was thrown into disarray by what he'd revealed to her, the Nazi not missing how she clutched Leo tighter to her chest when the betrayal sunk in. Kathy did not lie when she told her that she cared about her, even Kurt knowing that she did when he saw how the two women acted around each other, which made it all the more sweeter for him to an extent. When the two women who were previously so close were now torn apart by who one of them really was, he could count Elsa as a firm ally at his side. Her loyalty to the Nazi way of life was to be proven that night when she would condemn Kathy for what she'd done over a number of years. The perfect night for a man with many more plans for the evening, before they'd even taken off for Berlin…

"You…". Elsa was crying now as she spoke, once again turning her thoughts on Kathy. "You have lied to me… about everything! How… how could you!?"

Still proving her naivety to the world, Elsa could not hide her disappointment in her close friend. They were supposed to help each other, look out for one another, but Kathy was instead a liar who'd not gave her the full picture. Lying was not something that the Irishwoman enjoyed, exactly like her son, but in her line of work it came with the territory. To lie to Elsa was difficult, especially when it was on a daily basis, but it was her duty to deceive the caring young mother. Giving up her secrets, as well as the secrets of Britain were out of the question, not when James needed to be rescued from Kurt's clutches. Bearing no ill will towards the blonde though, Kathy was resigned to a sigh, looking back at her with an answer on the tip of her tongue.

"I am truly sorry, Elsa. I did not know that it was my son… not until recently. How could I rest when he was being tortured… when he could die if I stood by and did not act? I am a mother, Elsa, it is my duty to protect my son".

On the spot, sniffling, crying, Elsa could only look at the floor when she answered. It was her attempt to take in what she was learning, to try to find something else to say. The air was knocked out of her, the breaths not travelling out of her mouth properly when she was in such shock. Utilising her discomfort for his own intentions, Kurt turned his pistol on Kathy. Flinching, and expecting to be shot, he instead walked over to her slowly, his left hand reaching out towards her right. The knife that she'd been using to cut James' ropes with, still found itself within her unshaken grasp. If her mind would have kicked into motion quicker, she could have slashed him across the neck as he drew closer, before disarming him too. Unfortunately, by the time that the option was presented in the abyss of her mind, the knife was in his hand, the Nazi Doctor backing away a lot quicker than he'd approached.

"I think I will keep hold of this…". He laughed. "You do not need it".

Kurt's decision to wear his full uniform, rather than smarter clothes, paid off when he needed somewhere to store the knife. There was a holder on the belt that he wore around his waist, not a perfect fit for the confiscated weapon, but one which operated well enough. Without any means of defending herself at all now, albeit having admittedly forgotten about the knife anyway, Kathy's hopes of freedom only seemed to plummet. To James' dismay, she was crying again stood next to him, forced into sobs by watching Elsa slowly turn on her. The young German woman was rightly aggrieved by the lies which Kathy could not berate for, but she'd hoped that their friendship might make the blonde think twice about disowning her so quickly. Kurt's putrid presence no doubt terrified Elsa though, she thought to herself, perhaps explaining why she was turning on her. Stepping out of line with Kurt was not a smart plan.

With the knife safely around his waist, Kurt glided around the room, pacing without the worries of someone who would pace. He was dancing to his own rhythm in reality, the painstaking melody of the evil manipulations of a man that would be executed on the spot if he fell into the hands of any man who did not care for a fair trial or watching him perish on the end of a rope. Wishing to grind down the relationship between the two women further, he once again turned to Elsa to goad her with Kathy's betrayal.

"She is a traitorous bitch, isn't she, Elsa?"

Feeling as if he was shining like the brightest of stars in the angelic night sky, Kurt waited to hear the words that he wanted, to crack his eardrums with exotic pleasure from the final severing of Elsa's respect for the Irishwoman that he was holding at gunpoint. Along with all of her work as a spy, all of Kathy's work as an adviser and friend to Elsa would be shattered as well. Everything that the older woman had ever done since first moving to Berlin before the war, would have counted for absolutely nothing. Elsa was going to crush the woman that he'd hated for so long for believing that he was a blinded fool, helping him to break her spirit before…

"No".

A small voice, Elsa's small voice, carried the word of damage.

It was Kurt's turn to have the air ripped out of him. Instead of sobs though, his cheeks reddened into rage from what he heard in his native language. If Elsa valued herself then he hoped to have heard her incorrectly or that she'd simply experienced one forgivable moment of madness due to the heightened tensions in the room.

"What did you say?" He asked, frowning out of curiosity whilst still maintaining his anger.

"I SAID NO!" Finding courage from her heart, Elsa shouted at him. "She is doing what she should as a mother! You cannot label her that way when she is trying to help her own son!"

"She lied to us, Elsa!" Kurt shouted back at her. "To me, to you, to Hans… even to Leo, although he doesn't know it! She's a spy!"

"Lyl…". She stopped herself, remembering that it was not the name of the other woman. "Katherine has done her duty as you do yours! I do not judge her by her name, but by her actions. I cannot condemn her when she is the only reason that I have been able to have my child and care for him!"

Motherhood was not an acceptable reason for disagreeing him with, not that any disagreement was acceptable. Kurt could not completely deny Elsa's thoughts, having seen through his own eyes the advice that Kathy gave to her whenever he was with them. Leo's upbringing was as much her work as it was either parent's, even if Elsa and Hans were doing all of the physical work. Throughout they were instructed by the woman that they believed to be their friend, who was in fact a spy. He'd decided not to tell either of them about who Kathy really was, withholding the information from Hans too in the hope that he would quickly turn on the only mother figure left in his life. Playing on his raw pain from having his own mother disown him after his brother Karl's death, Kurt knew he would be able to manipulate Hans even easier. Elsa was not complying as easily, quickly continuing her tirade against the Doctor.

"And how can I support you! I do not wish it to be true, but I think you have turned my Hans into a murderer! Both of you are… horrible… evil… if you can torture a man! Look at him, he is innocent. He does not deserve to suffer!"

"YOU SPEAK OF THINGS YOU DO NOT KNOW!" Kurt bellowed, but did not deter Elsa from the paralysing stare she was giving him. "Why do you betray our Empire, Elsa! Why!? Hans has given you everything and you wish to throw it away for a spy! You can see how she has deceived us for so long, she will do it again! Do you not see it!?"

"She is no murderer, Kurt! I value Katherine's friendship over any friendship that I have ever had with you!"

"TRAITOR!"

"I have stayed honest to my heart, Kurt!" Continuing to battle him, Elsa shouted once more. "How can you have so little heart or conscience! You will face punishment for what you have done and… and how you have corrupted my Hans! I HOPE YOU BURN!"

Shouting ceased in the room, between the two of them at least, Kurt's answer to her being one that she literally could not come back from.

One lone gunshot rang out around the room, the bullet leaving the barrel of his pistol on a clear course despite the rushed aim. He'd not been pointing the weapon at the target until the last second, but the distance between the two was not that great. At such a range it still required some skill to be able to nestle the bullet so cleanly where it could do damage, but Kurt's rage strangely allowed him to focus far better. The collision course that the lone bullet was on was right for the spot between the eyes, Elsa's eyes, the young woman unable to avoid the deathly stroke that sped towards her. Kurt might have been holding a pistol, waving it around to illustrate that he was in charge of the room, yet she'd not expected herself to be on the end of its ammunition when he would normally have wanted to defeat her verbally. The era of verbal battles was over for Kurt Van Der Heijden though, marked by the young woman's forehead pierced into a bloody mask, her baby dropping from her arms as she crumpled to the floor. Death came quick for Elsa Hartmann.

"ELSA! NO!" Kathy cried out, reverting to English in her grief. "NO! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?"

Swivelling on the spot, Kurt pointed the pistol at her with his finger squeezing the trigger. A second bullet was fired, this time towards the Irishwoman who shrieked in terror as she saw him turn to her. From his position up against the wall on the floor, James could not see that Kurt's aim was focused on his mother, her legs blocking him from the movements of the Nazi Doctor. The gunshot nearly deafened him though, as it smacked into the wall right next to his terrified mother. With more time to aim, Kurt had missed his shot, though the chuckle he gave in the seconds after as he watched Kathy cry, told her that it was his intention all along. To scare her, not to kill her.

Any noise from any of the three adults left in the room was soon drowned out though, by Leo's screaming once he'd struck the floor. Falling from a great height, the young boy hadn't fallen straight onto his head by some great miracle, but the impact on his tiny back was enough to send him into hysterics. Children of such an age were not meant to suffer such great impacts upon their bodies that were still growing, his screams more than justifiable. With an instinct that simply would not leave her, Kathy moved forward in attempt to go to comfort the child, but Kurt's pistol was still aimed towards her, stopping her from moving no more than a foot or two further forward to where she was first stood. Tears streamed from her face, rising in intensity when she was forced to stop… because she knew what was going to happen.

Kurt was not in the mood for screaming children.

Lowering the gun from being aimed at the Irishwoman, he backed away slowly from her, without ever turning his back to be sure that she would not rush forward to disarm him and help the boy. Leo was lying at the feet of his deceased mother, only a couple of inches from Kathy's bag, which was ignored by Kurt when he drew alongside the boy. When little Leo looked up, he could see Kurt's cheerful, grinning face, that even eased his cries for a couple of moments as the unknowing young boy thought he was going to be rescued by a man he recognised.

Another gunshot rang out.

Leo's screams stopped.

Son died in the same way as mother. Both shot cleanly through the head, dying instantly when the bullets entered their respective brains. The wounds were not ones which could be survived by either of them. A dam of blood built up in the doorway to the room, from where blood poured out of the fatal entry wounds of them both. The Hartmann family was all but destroyed in two shots. Shots which broke Kathy even further. Following the shot that she knew had killed young Leopold, there were no words of castigation that she could find to throw at Kurt. Her shallow breaths were panicked and heartbroken, guilt filling her conscience to almost paralyse the Irishwoman. Her acts as a spy, and her unmasking, had gotten Elsa and Leo killed. Two further innocent casualties in the war, but not from any legitimate wartime activity. They'd been murdered by the deranged psychopath that was Kurt. The coldest of killers.

"Fucking baby…". He swore, in English, spitting on Leo's corpse as he walked away.

Where Kathy could not find the words, her son took her place. Her movement away from him opened up the space for him to see everything that he previously could not, watching the baby boy being executed, unable to prevent his death. He could not be blamed when his hands were tied behind his back, many feet away from where Kurt had been stood over the boy, but it did not stop the caring young gentleman from feeling guilt and grief. He'd been there before thanks to Kurt's actions, forced to witness one hundred or so innocent Jews gunned down by the SS soldiers who were acting under the Doctor's orders. The images of the fallen children still haunted his mind at night, sometimes forcing him to wake in a cold sweat as he relived the moment that they were all killed. Driven by his wish to do right by their memories, he would not let Kurt get away unchallenged for a second time.

"A killer of young children… and now babies! WHAT ARE YOU!" The Englishman shouted, his voice strained.

"No James, I am showing you what you are! This is your fault again, you are the real killer! And you will serve me, and my Führer, in this way until we tell you otherwise!"

"I will never serve you!"

The venom that James produced was truly outstanding, but it did not faze the man that he focused its poison on. Kurt was not prepared to tell the Englishman for a third time that his time would come when it came to a protracted exchange between the two of them, ignoring his refusal to serve as his personal killer. James did not have a choice in the matter as far as Kurt was concerned, though he would be disappointed when they found out who the young man really was. Hitler would never allow him to use James in that way then… his value could not be damaged by committing such atrocities that other Nazi's were more than capable of doing without hesitation. Leaving him be, it was the young Captain's mother where the Doctor's attention was drawn to.

"Oh Katherine… what have you done…". He chuckled away merrily. "You thought you could escape with your son when I was so close by. Or was I to die too? Is that how James is so easily able to kill, he has inherited the gift from his mother".

"You will die, Kurt!" She yelled at him, recovering from her fits of sobs. "When the British Government get their hands on ye, they'll treat ye like ye've treated others! Ye'll die savagely!"

"Ha! Oh Katherine… Katherine… we are all going to die, Katherine!" The trademark cackle splintered her ears, Kurt dominating the room once again. "But I will not die by your hand. Not today".

The pistol that he'd kept down by his side was suddenly raised.

The trigger squeezed for the eighth time that night.

Another bullet was sent darting through the air, finding its home in Katherine Maguire's chest. The velocity of it sent her stumbling back into the wall, her breath catching in the back of her throat as her body reacted to the life within it suddenly becoming drained thanks to the gunshot wound. She'd deserved it, from a Nazi perspective, a spy who'd unsuccessfully attempted to infiltrate and breach the higher echelons of German command to learn their secrets. A traitor who'd promised her allegiance to their way of life when she first arrived in Germany looking for work and finding Kurt, she was shot for her crimes. There was nothing more that Kurt could say to her anyway, wrapping up his dealings with her in mind and in person by the parting shot of his well-aimed pistol.

"MUM! NO!"

In the perfect position to watch his mother's demise, James screamed as she was hit, falling back to hit the wall behind after her legs carried her back the couple of steps she'd previously taken forward. He'd already witnessed the deaths of Elsa and Leopold, the shocking brutality of the latter still in his system when the shot that struck his mother rang out. His ears were burned by it, set alight quicker than his skin was when she'd pressed the Swastika into his side. They'd only been reunited properly for less than half an hour, and yet he was faced with saying goodbye to her for not the first time in his life, but seemingly the last.

With a brain screaming at him to cry, James unfathomably managed to ignore it. He was entitled to, forced to watch his mother be shot by a man who treated death as if it were as simple as making a cup of tea. Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden might not have started out as a killer when he rose in the ranks of the Nazi Empire that he served, but he'd proven that he could do so remorselessly over time. Kathy was another victim of the darkened man, who hid behind his duty as defence for such acts as murder. He was no soldier on a battlefield, fighting against another man. His victims were innocents; defenceless families, babies, young children, pregnant women… and now a disarmed spy, who was meant to be the one shooting him that night. Beating Kathy to it, he shot her first when she could not fight back, no weaponry to fight back at him with when he'd already taken the knife that she used on James' ropes, away from her. James should have been in tears, but when he'd lost so much to the evil man stood before him, he was not going to concede any more.

If anything, he was going to make it his last stand.

"I am going to kill you".

James uttered the sentiment. Not Kurt.

Without any tears falling, rage boiled as his prominent emotion, eying the Nazi with an intense conviction. He was a gentleman, a man who'd killed before but never in cold blood. What he'd seen Kurt do though was breaking that mould for him, making the promise to end the life of the man he watched end so many others, his own mother being one. Kathy hadn't moved since she slumped to the floor, her head faced away from her son who desperately tried not to focus on her in his attempts to stand up to Kurt. The Nazi was laughing at him, trying to get a further rise out of him, taking back the initiative in their mental battle that James held the advantage in earlier that evening. All of their previous encounters where James was tortured were insignificant, except the massacre which could never be anything but.

Kurt's laughter stopped after a few more seconds though, the tone of his voice changing when he spoke again to the more sinister one that James knew best. The master torturer was finally in the room that night, at least in voice having already shown his physical capabilities in the field.

"You could not kill me, James". Kurt snarled, the pistol pointed down at his captive. "Just like your mother, you are no murderer! Such a waste…".

Looking over at her slouched body, Kurt chortled to himself again despite the morose hints in his comment. There were still no moans or groans emanating from the Irishwoman, indicating to both men that she'd passed on, excruciatingly agonising James as he valiantly tried to fight his way through the grief to tackle the man who held him prisoner.

"I really enjoyed the sex, I have to say…". Kurt began, taunting the Pilot about his deceased mother. "One night, your mother didn't want to James. She was so tired… so uninterested but she was so relaxed that I needed to remind her of who she was. That she was a filthy spy. So I forced her, James…".

If James's hands were not tied behind his back tightly, then the Nazi would have never tried to torture his mind with such knowledge, in case he somehow managed to get his hands on him. The Englishman's predicament meant that he was trapped, listening to the story of the night that his adoring mother was raped, from the point of view of the rapist himself. Kurt's crimes extended far beyond murder and torture, a shock to no one who knew him well, except those that did were already lying dead in that room. James was the only other living person left that knew how capable that he was. Hans and Adolf Hitler might have been Kurt's allies, but even they were not privy to the vast depths of evil that his mind extended to. Raping women was nothing to Kurt, treating the opposite sex as little more than objects of sexual desire to quell his lustful thirst.

"Oh how she begged! Begged me to stop!" Wickedly, he erupted in guffaws of laughter at the memory. "I made her sore James… I made her hurt! She was the best slut I've had… your whore of a mother!"

Heavily breathing through his nose, steam could almost be seen flowing out of the young man's ears. Kurt was doing a fantastic job of angering the young man further and further, to the point where he could see some of the veins at the side of the Englishman's head almost popping out. For what must have been the fifth or six time in Kurt's custody, James found himself angrier than he could ever remember being before, reaching new depths of fury thanks to the Nazi that was training a pistol at his forehead. Finding another grin widening his smile, Kurt was now certain that he was having the best night of his life, and possibly the greatest night of the war for Nazi Germany. They were about to gain a new weapon that Britain desperately wanted for themselves but could only continually fail in procuring for their own benefit. The power of the weapon in question defeated that of any weapon in use or being developed. Nothing could end the war as quickly as James being presented on a plate to Adolf Hitler.

"If you think that you can anger me, Doctor… anger me to the extent that I would willingly submit to you!". A shouting James's face glowed red. "Then you have failed to understand who I am!"

"I agree". Kurt huffed another laugh. "But it is who you are that has made you what you are! You will not tell me why you are so important… why Britain want you back so desperately that they would send your mother to rescue you! That's why you will not kill me but will kill for me! That is your life now!"

"Perhaps I will not have to kill you!" James countered. "What will Hans say when he finds that you have killed his wife and son!"

A grinning Kurt was never a good sign. Attempting to force the man into a rash move to cover his crimes, he was met with a look that told him that the evil monster of a human being in front of him, already took care of such a detail. Kurt's plans for the night began long before, unbeknownst to James, from almost the second that they'd arrived in Italy. His mother's death was written on a script that Hitler read whilst eating his breakfast on Christmas morning the year before. The manner in which it was carried out might have been different to the original plan that Kurt had written out for his master, but the deed was completed nonetheless.

"You are right, James. Hans will want to kill the man that killed his wife and baby son. You that is". Kurt mockingly clarified. "But, there is only room on the plane for the pilot and two passengers unfortunately and… you need to be back in Berlin tomorrow with me for a very important meeting".

"Killing your own Lieutenant? You have no shame…". James huffed, angrily shaking his head.

"Hans has been a very useful asset for me… and I will always be proud of him. He is loyal. He will understand the necessary sacrifice that will have to be made… and he will not be apart from Elsa and little Leopold for very long".

The only one who was going to be spared that night, James did not know what to think any longer. Lieutenant Hartmann was almost the most ideal soldier he'd ever met. Fiercely loyal to his commander and his country, he went along willingly with every mission that Kurt gave him, torturing James without once questioning the orders he was given. Only on the day of the massacre did Hans ever find himself feeling significant apprehension when it came to his duties, but he'd made no effort to stop the deaths of the poor innocent Jewish families who'd lined up in front of their SS executioners. The loyalty that he gave Kurt was going to be repaid with a bullet to the head, another needless death with a link to the Nazi's great butcher. Kurt's body count was increasing dramatically by the hour, with first the Italian soldiers, then Elsa, Leo and Kathy, all succumbing to his ungodly acts.

He still remained deluded throughout though. James was earmarked to become a killer in his mind, a man who would murder on his orders because if he did not then those that he loved would die because of it. Erin Quinn was the bargaining chip that stopped James from being able to break free of his cycle of never-ending pain, Kurt knowing that the Englishman could not disobey him if he was to hurt her. There were others in Derry that he could taunt him with too. His aunt and uncle, Michelle, Clare and Orla. The rest of the Quinn family perhaps as well. None of them would quite achieve the same as hounding James with a threat to Erin's life though, not when he loved her as strongly as he did. Except Kurt was not aware of the mental resolve he'd accidentally pushed James towards by shooting his mother in front of him. Reserves of resilience that did not previously exist inside the young man were summoned, telling him of the realistic truths that he should have believed in long ago. If Kurt thought James was going to be his killer, he was badly mistaken.

"Stand up, James". Kurt commanded him. "I do not want Hans to have to see these bodies when he returns. Come my killer, I wish to see his sacrifice outside of this room".

"I'll stand…". James huffed, rising to his feet awkwardly with his hands behind his back. "But if you think I am going to come with you… you are wrong".

Moving forward, Kurt placed the hot barrel of the gun close to the skin on James' forehead.

"YOU WILL DO AS I SAY!" He shouted. "Unless you want me to defile Miss Quinn in front of you… let you watch me make her scream as I take away from her, what I took from your mother!"

Expecting James to either break down from the threat to Erin or try to assault him from the build-up of rage him mentioning her usually did, Kurt was prepared to taunt him more. To delve into the specifics of how he wished to hurt the young Derry woman, all the while knowing that he had no realistic chance of being able to get to her.

On the contrary, James laughed in his face.

He laughed because he'd finally came to the realisation himself; Kurt couldn't harm Erin. Despite suffering through the torture on a regular basis, his mind had been too weak to deal with the threats to his beloved. With his mother ripped away from him cruelly, Erin was the sole source of his remaining love, Kathy's sacrifice suddenly unclouding the fog that made him lose his way. To escape he did not have to start by defeating Kurt physically.

He was going to get out because he was mentally stronger.

"You cannot touch her. It has taken me too long to know it but we both know it is true!" James laughed again, for the first finding Kurt's mask dropping. "All of your threats are baseless, Kurt. You can only hurt those who do not have defences, but Erin sits behind walls… literally and figuratively. If you think you can get to her, you'd have to get through half of Derry first. Your odds do not favour you".

"BE QUIET! AND MOVE!"

"No… no I do not think that I will". James was grinning, ripping the mental ceiling away that contained him, Kurt plunging through the gap it left. "You cannot move me alone… you are not strong enough! All you can do now is shoot me. Kill me".

"SILENCE! You are coming with me NOW!" Wavering, Kurt resorted to treating James like a child. "We are going to Berlin tonight and you will be MY killer and will bow TO ME!"

James was winning. Easily.

Another shake of his head enraged Kurt further, the warmth of the barrel meeting the skin on James' forehead as the Nazi pushed it forward in a blind panic. Kurt was by no means a weak man, but James was far too muscular to drag all the way up the stairs and outside to where Hans must have surely been close to arriving. Spending the entire night in control of the room, killing those who needed to be killed without facing significant threat, his orders from the highest authority were now at risk of going uncompleted… or not being followed at all. Noticing the strain that his refusal was putting upon the Doctor, James persisted.

"Go on shoot me! Fail your precious leader…". James was doing the goading, seriously unnerving the normally unflappable Kurt, who stepped back three or four paces from him. "You cannot bear to, can you? All you have is your friendship with him. Without Hitler… without the war… what would you be?"

"I SAID SILENCE!"

"I CAN TELL YOU WHAT YOU WOULD BE! You would be NOTHING! You are nothing, Doctor Van Der Heijden! A Doctor without patients, a man without purpose! I think you know that you cannot afford for this war to end, because you are terrified that those that you serve will see you for what you are!

"AAAAAARGHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Kurt screamed, squeezing down hard on the trigger with his finger, with the intention of firing multiple shots into the Englishman. James was the bringer of his own demise, but in following in his mother's footsteps of sacrifice, he was going to end Kurt's spell as a trusted confidante of Hitler. Mutually assured destruction that James did not even know he was committing was taking place; Britain deprived of him but without Germany gaining a war ending weapon in the shape of the Captain of the Fleet Air Arm. A noble gentleman until the very end, James Maguire was dying on his own terms with his only regret being that he would not get to make Erin Quinn his wife. When she already believed him to be dead though, it made it slightly easier for him to die in peace, as his final thoughts went to her as the trigger was squeezed.

But fate's kindest hand was extended when it was least expected.

Kurt's pistol was empty. All eight shots already spent between the walls of the room and the bodies already coating its floors. He kept on squeezing and squeezing, shaken when it did not fire, desperately trying to get it to dispense of the rounds he thought were in it. He could not beat James in hand to hand combat… the gun needed to fire.

A mistake was long made.

His control of his bullet count slipped as he'd took pleasure from taking the lives of Elsa, Leo and Kathy.

James was in luck… but he made his own luck too.

Whilst Kurt released his built-up anger, yelling into the air, James finally broke free of the ropes that tied his hands together behind his back. He'd constantly wriggled away after his mother left his side with the knife in her hands, using his brute force to generate enough power to break free. Talking away and staying exactly where he was, apart from when he'd stood, he'd kept Kurt in the room for long enough to loosen himself. His only chance was to jump him, he'd thought, but fate's decision left him in a far greater position. Physically outmuscling Kurt with consummate ease, James towered over his now panicking captor. The same man who'd executed a baby in that very room, was in the one situation where he was by far the weaker man.

His eyes must have widened further than they'd ever done when he noticed James' hands coming free. The young man's chest bulged out of his shirt when he was jolted forward by the motion of his arms coming free again, a chest that was pure muscle as opposed to Kurt's healthy, but unmuscular torso. Throwing the pistol away in a blind panic, the Nazi Doctor was frozen in fear, his mind betraying him to more of an extent than either Kathy or Elsa had.

Reaching into his coat pocket, James only bettered his luck. He'd remembered as he watched Kurt shrink into the weak, pathetic man that he was behind the mask of his evil deeds, that he held a weapon within the jacket. A weapon that was no match for any man, but one that was usually wielded by a woman who was fearsome in her own right.

"Ye never know when it might come in handy".

Her words to him when she handed it over. She was always going to be proven correct.

He removed it from his pocket, wielding it in his right hand as if it were the most elegant longsword that the gentlemen of yesteryear would carry into battle.

Mary Quinn's wooden spoon was that weapon.

Kathy once warned Kurt about wooden spoons, a lesson that he hadn't remembered when one was presented to him. Trying to regain control again himself, to wrestle it away from the emboldened James who was somehow strengthened by his mother's death, Kurt engaged him with a question. A rhetorical one, the Nazi's voice almost cracking as he began something that would have been diagnosed very easily in Derry with the symptoms that he presented.

A gigantic cack attack.

"What harm could you possibly do, with a wooden spoon?"