Chapter 67: Killer
For a moment they just stared at each other, the oxygen around them almost sapped as time slowed to what was almost a stop.
James did not have any intention of answering the question. Not with words at least.
Kurt… all Kurt could do was ask. There was no Hans to defend him, no soldiers… no distractions. James was not tied up and was hostile where he previously hadn't been. Placed into a situation where he was at a disadvantage, a significant muscular disadvantage, suddenly he became the one of the two requiring a miracle. All of the taunts and all of the atrocities were remembered by the Englishman that stood opposite him. His mother lay dead across the other side of the room, killed by the Nazi Doctor himself, an act that he should never have thought of facing justice for. Sadly, fate was kinder to his prisoner than Kurt himself. He would be held to account. Held to account by the grieving son, wielding a wooden weapon with a look of fury in his eyes.
The winner of the mental battle, James' mind quickly settled on the change to a physical one. He'd already beaten Kurt so well in their mental games, that proving himself as the easy victor in a physical duel, would simply be the killing blow to the Dutch-born Doctor. They'd been foes in a battle for months, since the night that Kurt introduced himself to the young man back in Taranto. Through months of pain, anger, exhaustion and above all, at times, fear, James was standing taller at the end of all Kurt's attempts to thoroughly break him. Kurt thought he'd done so, believing the threat to Erin to be sufficient enough, but he'd underestimated James' resilience. Although his initial compliance was gained after the first taunts, it did not last. Rising above the lies that Kurt told him on a daily basis saw James as the bigger man in more ways than one.
Physically, it wasn't a fair fight. Which Kurt knew.
Which is why he tried to run.
If he could make a break for the stairs, and the outside, he at least held a chance. Banking on Hans' impending arrival, his Lieutenant would be able to stop the Englishman, perhaps without even shooting him. He'd be able to blame James for the killings that took place in the room, albeit through admitting weakness that he'd been disarmed by his prisoner. It was a better chance to take than trying to win a fight with the man anyway. Kurt was no fool when it came to his fighting prowess, which was significantly lower with no gun in his hand. He could fight, fight nastily even, but not against an opponent such as James. He was far beyond Kurt's limits, too muscular to inflict damage on and too strong to be able withstand much damage from him either. Speed, speed was the key.
James was quick too though. Far too quick for his Nazi opponent.
The spoon was back in his jacket pocket. Its time would come.
Before Kurt even turned to run, James telegraphed the movement upon sensing just how fearful the other man had become of him. Months of torture under the very man who now was trying to bolt away from him, remembering the eyes of a sadistic man constantly on him, it felt good to have the boot on the other foot. Throughout all that time, James was sure he'd never been as scared of Kurt as Kurt was at him in those fleeting seconds. Weakness was unacceptable usually to the hardest of Nazi whips, but Kurt found no strength when trying to face his untied prisoner. Alert, and feeding off the older man's fears, James covered the distance between them far quicker than Kurt could have been imagined. The Nazi Doctor wanted to be able to at least get out into the open where he could try to get away, at least until Hans showed up. He didn't even make it out of the room.
Kurt Van Der Heijden was not going to get away that evening. He'd destroyed too many lives… and James was going to make him answer.
Elsa's body was the hurdle that Kurt could net get past, though not for the want of trying. His right foot was already over it when his momentum was ended by the tug on the back of his collar. Yanking him back rather than slowly bringing him back to the room, the Englishman was not prepared to take any chances with the Nazi fighting him off or attempting to trick him. Huffing in a mix of frustration but also shock, Kurt's thoughts were quickly ripped away from the anticipated return of his Lieutenant, and safety, and instead to what might happen to him next. James' grip was so strong on his collar that escaping from his grasp was a task left nullified, the momentum to wriggle away being dead zero. He was going to face the punishment for his crimes.
With a shout, James swivelled on the spot whilst the Nazi was in his grasp, the movement combining with his power to lift Kurt off of the floor. He was lightweight, and lightwork, for the muscular young Captain, who effortlessly threw him into the air. Deliberately doing so to ensure that the Nazi ended up towards the rear of the room, almost exactly in the spot that Hans was stood when they'd flogged him, James' eyes saw opportunity. To some, revenge might have been a fool's game, but to James it was more complicated than that. When so many innocent people had died at the hands of the man that he was fighting, pummelling him into the ground was merely the right thing to do. He would happily become the fool in that world, the fool that would be the vanquisher of the great evil that was his captor.
Kurt rolled when he hit the floor, clattering into the hard stone with a great thud sounding out around the four walls around him. Rolling just the once, he found himself only a couple of feet away from the back wall, James having thrown him well over half of the distance of the room. His stomach gurgled with uncertainty, a very rare emotion for him to experience when he was always so sure of himself. He'd seen the signs of panic in others before, watching those panicking during his experiments in Poland when they realised that they were going to their deaths. The same signs he was now having to recognise in himself, overwhelmingly terrified of the rageous Englishman that faced him in combat. Mentally he was losing or had in fact lost, not that he could admit it to the black hole in place of his conscience. Forever the smart man, an all-knowing James could sense the mental power draining from Kurt as he watched him pick himself up, proceeding to then close the door to the room after nudging Elsa's lifeless corpse slightly out of the way.
Only one of them was going to open that door again, he decided.
Slow in rising to his feet after the startling, jarred impact of smashing into the ground, Kurt was in an unfamiliar world of physical pain too. He was used to being the one giving the pain, not receiving, even if he wasn't a torturer by nature. James was the first man he'd ever been sent to interrogate in that way, but an outsider looking in would have been fooled by his composure during the acts. To anyone else, he would have appeared to have been a natural at handing out such vicious punishment. He was not exposed to being the one on the other end of the punishment though, not physically. If he thought he understood the world of pain from one view, he was garnering a better understanding of it from the side he never usually felt himself.
When he was finally on his feet, there was no time for him to react when the first punch of the night was thrown directly at him. The Doctor was a very talented man in his chosen field, where he'd put into practice the brutal ways of disposing of human life on mass scale. Fighting was not part of that field, consequently failing a feeble attempt to block the punch which made right for his jaw. James never said a word to his adversary as he stepped forward to deliver the strike, the only noise from him being the sharp breaths that seemed to come out of his nose like a fire-breathing dragon. So focused on making sure that the Nazi was suffering as much as those he'd killed had done, the prisoner couldn't care less about what he might have sounded like. Kurt was about to get his comeuppance for everything.
The punch hit hard too, knocking the Nazi to the side without sending him directly to the floor. The implant James' fist made when it connected with his jaw was a burning one, the left side of his face almost feeling completely numb in the brief seconds after the initial impact. Kurt was facing the unknown when his usually strong legs were suddenly struggling to support him after the opening salvo, his world being torn apart around him. Trying to shake his head, he saw the uppercut from James' left fist coming towards him, this time without trying to stop the Englishman at all. The Dutchman's nose bore the brunt of the power, a cracking noise sounding as knuckle met nasal bridge at a significant velocity. Unable to hold back any of his punching power, James was making sure that each punch hurt Kurt a lot more than each strike of the whip had done so to him. Striking the Doctor five hundred times wasn't on the agenda for James, but he would almost definitely strike him again.
Thrown backwards yet again by the force of James' uppercut, Kurt was quickly becoming a victim as he suspected he would be. His back struck the wall with almost as much of an impact than when he'd struck the ground and rolled a minute earlier. Every inch of the Englishman's power was being used against him, and already he didn't know how much more that he could take. His usual quick-thinking mind was not working for him in the way that it usually would, the way that would see him recover from any slip he made. His nose gushed blood, much in the same way he'd left James with a bloody nose earlier in the evening. The younger of the two's noses did not break from the punches he'd been served with, but the older man's was shattered. He might not have been a Doctor of general practice, but professional expertise was not required to diagnose himself. All across his face his body screamed out in pain, which would only intensify as James gained the upper hand even further. Kurt needed to think… and to do so quickly.
He didn't have much time at all though, as James loomed up over him again. With his back to the wall and outgunned when it came to power, Kurt was left with one resort only. To fight dirty, a way in which he knew even when he did not use it often. He'd been in fights before when he was younger, one of the advantages of growing up outside of the relative privilege of some of his contemporaries. They were not a noble family by any means, which often left the younger Kurt out on the streets where he learned such techniques. Though whilst he might have first been taught them in the back allies of Berlin by those his age, it was the gutters of London where they were perfected. To supplement his income as a student, when he was not from a wealthy background like his peers, he fought on Saturday nights in the areas that the cops simply would not go. At least to complete their duties. He was by no means a good fighter, but earned enough even when he lost fairly frequently, to be able to ensure he could get by. He could only win if he broke the rules of a fair fight.
Chains were still in place on that back wall, which would have no doubt found themselves clasped around an Englishman if James was to stay any longer in his care. The young Captain could still face them though, even if they would not be around his wrists. Kurt's mind which temporarily deserted him, came back at the right moment, exactly when he required it. Allowing James to come in close enough to him, that close that the Englishman was preparing to haul him up to beat him further, he suddenly lashed out with one of the chains in his hand. The swing was not what it would have been if they were not still latched onto the wall but in such close proximity, James could not avoid them from slamming into the left side of his head, knocking him off balance himself.
"ARGH!" He yelled, the pain shooting through his skull, further blood being drawn from him.
With James suddenly almost immobilised, there was no time to lose. From his almost seated position on the floor against the back wall, Kurt kicked out with his left leg, though not with tremendous power. His aim was not to do significant damage to the legs or knees of the Englishman, but to bring him to the floor. Foot hooked up in a sweeping motion, he took the left leg of his foe away, causing the man to fall forwards onto his face. The tables were turned back in the Nazi's favour once more, this time unexpectedly when he was the weaker man. James might have been smart but there was a touch of naivety in the way that the young man fought, exposing his lack of experience when it came to a proper scrap. He was too much of a gentleman, rather than a fighting man.
Raised to his feet above the Englishman, a familiar scenario was occurring. James was in a position where he was at a disadvantage, with the same Nazi Doctor responsible for his torture, stood over him with a malicious grin on his face. Kurt was not immediately interested in fighting though, because he was still so reliant on his taunts and his words. He could fight dirtier than James could, far more adept at the art of survival than his opponent seemed to have thought he was. The reality was that James hadn't underestimated him at all but was simply caught off guard by a move that he did not quite expect. The chains on the wall he hadn't even considered a weapon, otherwise he'd have used them himself.
"You cannot fight like a man James…". Kurt spoke to him as if he was pitiful, as if there was no blood running from his nose. "Too much of a gentleman… you fool".
Placing a solitary kick into the left side of the young man was a sound idea in his head, but the gulp he produced could have been heard in Paris. Kicking a man when he was down was not an honourable thing to do though it was effective when it was brought to the table for usage. The man on the floor would be hopeless, the kick reminding him of that predicament to make him seem like almost a troublesome dog that belonged on the floor. Kurt couldn't label James the same way, thanks to his quite frankly ridiculous pain threshold. He'd seen it before through various sessions of torture, how James could barely move through some of the most atrocious pain. The molten steel being jabbed into his torso was the only time that the young man found himself completely unable to stifle the screams, but he took more jabs than any other man could have done. Most would have died hanging from the ceiling that day when their bodies were exposed to such burns. Any man other than James Maguire. He never flinched at all Kurt's kick.
Trying not to give away his fears, the Nazi went onto the verbal offensive again, throwing everything he had into trying to break the young man down for what felt like the umpteenth time. James was resilient, but Kurt was persistent. Both men were aware that they were fighting for their lives that night, and unless Hans returned quickly, only one would be able to come away with a future. Kurt's would be a bright one despite having to grovel to Hitler when he would arrive without his prized treasure in Berlin. He would have to say that the young Englishman gave him no choice but to kill him that night, otherwise he'd have escaped into the night.
"I should have done this to your mother…". He chuckled, looking over his shoulder to where her lifeless body resided. "I wished I'd have hurt her more that night I forced her… I do not think that I hurt her enough… the bitch".
Anger rose within the Englishman, his head turned away from his torturer, who once again used his devotion to his mother against him. Determined to ensure that the world was spared from the Nazi Doctor's evil mind, James was back to square one almost, on the backfoot as he slowly turned over to face him. He didn't particularly wish to look into Kurt's eyes, but James could not afford to stay with his back to the man forever. To work out another way to regain the upper hand himself, he wanted to be able to see his opponent. Brute strength may have worked at first, but it was clear that Kurt could resort to underhand tactics in order to fightback. The tactics were not a surprise at all yet unwilling to spend any more time under the control of the Nazi, he was not going to dwell on his own foolishness in being unwise to them when they were used. For the good of the world, his back was going to have come off of the wall, one way or another.
"When I finally find little Erin, perhaps I will do this to her…". Resorting to taunting James about his beloved, Kurt tried in desperation to force his prisoner into submission again. "… but I would stop if you surrender to me. The offer is still there, James, despite what have you done to me. Become my killer, win this war for my Empire, and you can have her all to yourself. You have my word!"
He didn't believe him. James would never believe that he would leave Erin alone, only reinforced by the murders that the man committed that night. A man who would willingly allow his sworn enemy to walk off into the sunset with the woman that he loved… Kurt was not.
"Say no… and she will suffer… brutally. There'll be nothing left of her when I'm done with her. She'll cry… and cry… cry for you! But you will have to watch me take away her dignity… and then her life. Oh the noises I can imagine her to make when I am f-".
Effective plans were a given for Kurt. He was the man who'd after all ensured that the extermination program that Nazi Germany was facilitating, was being carried out properly. His ideas, his orders… his plan. His plan to bring James back to his side with the threat to Erin, a threat he still believed existed despite James telling him that he no longer believed it, was one where he gained satisfaction from mocking his captive. The little blonde that would beg for mercy whilst he ravaged her… he'd pictured the scene in his head many times, accompanied by a tied-up James being forced to watch as the tears streamed down his face. He hoped that James saw the same images as he did, yet from the position where he was in, in what Kurt recognised as the prettiest of dreams. Powerless, helpless and above all broken hearted, as he watched Erin being defiled in front of his eyes and no one else's.
Except he was still being outmanoeuvred within the mental mind games that the two shared, yet he could not see it. James did not think that the threats were genuine at all, sticking to his prerogative in his mind when the words filtered into his conscience. It would never stop him defending her honour though, not when he loved her as much as he did. He would have defended anyone who was being seen as just a worthless object, whether it was Erin or a woman that he did not know, but when it was the former, his anger could peak higher than ever. She was the woman that he saw in his dreams, dreams that were not at all like Kurt's pretty ones. The dreams where the two were happily married with children at their feet, watching the world go by in their own little family bubble. Together. No Nazi's and no wars to fight around them. Any man that thought he could belittle her or destroy the dream that he'd built in his own mind, would face the depths of his wrath without anything being held back. Kurt might have called him the fool, but there was only room for one fool in the basement of the building that night, and it was the Nazi who held the title.
Sadly for him, James could fight dirty.
Stance counted for a lot in combat, the wrong weight on the wrong leg proving fatal if there was an overbalance. Punches were not quite as potent in certain positions, nor were kicks if not executed properly because of the stance the aggressor found themselves in. None of these were the chilles heel that James found in Kurt seconds later, a more painful target than any area that either of them previously struck that night. The way in which the Nazi stood was his problem, his stance all wrong, leaving James with the opening that he needed to draw as much possible pain as he could from the man who dared to threaten to lay a hand on his Erin.
The right leg of the young man moved up so quickly that Kurt did not see it, only registering that he'd be struck by the intense pain that came seconds later. His legs apart, James drove his right leg into an area of the male anatomy that was not built to withstand such a powerful boot, especially when the man delivering it was red in the face with fury.
"ARGH!" Kurt shouted at first, before beginning to whimper. "ARGH! ARGHHH!"
Those were the only whimpers that he managed though, as he was soon facing the full fury of a spirited Englishman, who was determined to beat him to a bloody pulp. His verbal assaults ripped aside, his dirty tactics exposed and matched, if not bettered, by his prisoner, there was nothing more that he could do. Every plan that he'd ever made was ground to nothing, because James was now like a tornado in front of him and tornados did not respect the order of human nature. The order in that room changed hands that many times that night, it was if there was a cyclone of tornados but at the end of it, James was the one holding firm as Kurt's face began to feel the pent-up anger that was being released upon it, from months in the making.
One punch quickly turned to two and to three, then four, as James drove his opponent back towards the other end of the room. Every punch was slow and measured, an odd fight but one that paid testament to just how physically superior he was over Kurt. The Nazi did not attempt to resist the punches when his blocks were so weak, hands swotted aside with little effort from the now ungraceful Englishman. There was fury in the younger man's eyes, which burned a bright sapphire as they cut right through the defences of the man who was for so long his captor. Every strike landed was pleasurable for James, who was so far away from his usual self that he almost needed to be renamed. There was nothing gentlemanly about how he was dismantling Kurt, taking him apart as if he was nothing rather than a legitimate opponent.
After a ninth punch, a giant swing of a right hook, Kurt finally fell to the floor. His body exhausted, it could take no more of the punishment that James was preparing to give it. It screamed out at every point of contact where James' fist smashed into his, even from where he'd kicked him in his most sensitive area. There was no holding back when it came to the punches; James hit hard. Their fight was nothing like a boxing match, nor was it a gutter born scrap, yet somewhere in between did lie what it truly was. There was nothing straightforward about how they traded blows, nor was there in the way the younger man threw the older one across the room.
"I cannot fight dirty, can I?" James huffed, kicking the ribs of his captor while he was down.
"ARGH!" Kurt shouted out in agony, knowing his ribs would bruise. "You… bastard!"
Wincing in pain that he'd not felt in some time, Kurt could only resort to foul language to describe the man who should have been in the plane, awaiting take off for the trip to Berlin. Hans still hadn't arrived, leaving his mentor to curse his name when he was being beaten savagely by a wild, and unforgiving James. There was no reason for Kurt to be forgiven either, not after all he'd done. Withholding any aggression from the beating was simply not an option for James. After months of Kurt being determined to make him suffer in the most unbearable ways, the boot was on the other foot.
"How does it feel, the pain?" James started to taunt, in the most ungentlemanly way. "Are you hurting, Doctor? Have I hurt you?"
"You'll…". Kurt started but stopped to cough. "… get nothing from me, James. It… it does not suit you to be so… aggressive".
"You really do not know me well enough. After all of these months where you have tried to break me, I have never completely submitted to you. Now it is my turn to see how you enjoy suffering".
"My killer… exactly how I wanted him…".
The comment prompted James into kicking the Nazi once again, in the exact same spot as the previous kick landed to maximise the pain that the other man's ribs received. Wheezing in agony at yet more violence enacted upon him by the Englishman, Kurt desperately needed an escape route, but he was out of options completely. Hans' return was the only way he would be able to escape the Englishman's clutches, should his Lieutenant choose to believe his version of events. Lying on the ground in pain, for the first time the Doctor was considering whether Hans' loyalty could really be counted upon. Sinking to new lows upon being humiliated so efficiently, Kurt's mind betrayed him, telling him to remember that Elsa was quick to turn her back on her country. If she'd managed to infect her husband with such treason… he could no longer be counted upon to act in the best interests of the Nazi Empire.
"I am not your killer!" A furious James lectured Kurt. "I am Captain James Maguire, 815 Naval Air Squadron, Fleet Air Arm!"
"I HAVE HEARD IT ALL BEFORE!"
Finding energy, Kurt shouted the reply. He'd moved up onto his hands, steadily raising himself off of the ground once more. Watching the Nazi get to his feet, James was determined to see that it would be the last time that he did. When Kurt was next put to the floor, the arrangement would be permanent without a pulse running through the man before James left the room himself. He'd not quite worked out how he was going to kill him quickly without a weapon, but creativity was never something that James lacked. Although he might not have held the brutal imagination of the man that he was squaring off against, he was by no means short for inspiration. If he could extract him back to Britain then he would have made sure Kurt saw the noose, which still wouldn't be enough for the crimes he'd committed. He deserved to die just as brutally as he treated those who he considered inferior. Foolishly, he once again attempted a verbal escape from the situation he found himself, forgetting that there was no hope of victory. One trick pony… Kurt Van Der Heijden's ultimate description.
"You are becoming the man that I wanted you to be…". Kurt laughed, though James did not react, unwilling to satisfy the man's sick desires. "The anger… the rage… the emotion… it fuels you, doesn't it? It makes you want to kill me because it will please you to see death at your own hands. I know that feeling James… I can help you".
"Justice satisfies the hearts and minds of the good man, Doctor Van Der Heijden. Killing you would not please me… it would please the entire world".
Clutching his injured ribs, Kurt cheekily grinned at his unshackled prisoner. James' fists remained clenched throughout, his breath short and sharp, which only made the Nazi smile even more. He wasn't even having to work that hard to make James the monster that he wanted him to be, the realisation coming the moment he let his guards down completely so that the Englishman could lay punch after punch on him. Succumbing to the intense feelings that spurred him on to inflict harm upon the Nazi, James was already shaping himself into the man who would be the greatest killer that they could harness. At least in Kurt's theatre of dreams he would play that role, though when they found out what they really held in their grasp, killing would be one of the furthest things that James would find himself tasked with. Without knowing that though, the progress pleased the very man who looked set to die at the monster's hands.
For a moment there was nothing said between either of them, the two reflecting on their own words throughout the evening. In his heightened state of rage, all James' mind told him to do was to kill Kurt, kill him to avenge the death of his mother as well as the threats he'd placed against Erin. He couldn't think straight at all, a red mist descending that would not go away easily. He was not brought up to become a murderer of men, but his unconditioned and open mind could only think that it was the logical step. That room had seen enough death for one night, but Kurt's needed to take place there too, for the greater good. The Nazi's mind was active as well, but not with thoughts of rage nor with any further thoughts about how pleasing it was to see James becoming the man he wanted him to be. Death was not something that he was ready to admit defeat to, too much left for him to do on the mortal plain. He wanted to be there to see the last Jew die to one of his extermination methods, to be there when the whole word bowed down to The Führer. Kurt would be by Hitler's side, a trusted ally that would hold power and influence in every corner of the world because he was the hero who'd invented the proper way to rid themselves of the Jews.
That was why his mind went to the knife that was strapped to the belt around his waist, the same one he'd confiscated from James' mother earlier that night. The weapon was forgotten by her too, an almost fatal lapse of memory, though it wouldn't have stopped the bullet that entered her chest.
The same weapon that was now missing from the cover on his waist belt.
He'd stopped looking towards James for a moment as he went to retrieve the weapon, turning his head back to his nemesis to find exactly what he was looking for. The very knife that he was going to use to end the Englishman's life, in the hopes of catching him completely off guard, was in the very hands of the man who was supposed to have his life taken away by it. James' smile could make Erin's knees go weak, and it could Kurt's too, but for the latter it was for a very different reason to the former. There was nothing that made him excited over James like she'd been, but instead the terror of facing the angered man in front of him returned in abundance. Every time that Kurt tried to wrestle back the control, to be the one that walked away with his life in their conflict, he'd been knocked back down. Fate was smiling upon the righteous man, Lucifer awaiting the Nazi.
"Looking for this?" James chuckled, a smile wider than he'd ever managed before.
With a heart that pounded out of his chest, the death that he refused to bow to was suddenly thrust in his path without any way of avoiding it. James was dangerous enough without a knife in his hands when he held the muscular power that he did, the weapon only adding to the potential harm that the English prisoner could inflict upon him. The life that he wanted so much more out of was merely a myth he convinced himself with, for the brief few seconds where he'd felt as if he'd held some power again. Those were going to be his final seconds of power though; James controlled the room by having the final weapon left in it, within his grasp. A lesser man would have begged for his life in front of the young man, wishing to live another day even if it meant being held captive with the tables completely turned. Parlay was not an offer that would be extended to Kurt though, and he knew it, not daring to ask after everything that he'd done. The last victim of the malice of Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden, was the very man himself. All the taunts and unnecessary barbarity came back to haunt him when James was in a position that he should have never been in. The gulf of difference between when they'd first met in Taranto, on a cool night where death lingered in the air, to the milder one in Rome where decaying mortality still laced the air with its foul stench, was enormous.
James did not delay the inevitable.
"Here boy…". He treated Kurt like a dog, as Kurt had treated him, coming to rest a hand on the shocked German's shoulder. "Fetch".
Defence was not an option for the Nazi, nor did he attempt any. So paralysed from the fear of the rage of a gentleman, Kurt barely saw the motion anyway, it was done so quickly. The hand on his shoulder was firm, without pinching at the skin, but it ran immense chills through his body in the seconds before James lunged forward with the knife pointed towards him. There were many places where the Englishman could have plunged the blade, but it was directly into the stomach of his torturer that he decided to ram it home. In the same manner as his punches, no power was spared when he drove the knife through the weak fortress of skin that covered the innards. Standing stationery without resistance to the lunge, Kurt was the perfect target for the hatred-driven man that stabbed him. Feelings of contentment followed the blade into the stomach of the Doctor, a melody of the innocent who were finally gaining recompense for what they'd suffered thanks to him.
Air seemed to disappear for the man with the knife in his chest, as the world began to slow around him too. Suddenly the clear view of the back wall that he faced was no longer so clear, vision blurring when the onslaught of pain began. Glancing down beyond his chest revealed an unsettling truth for the Doctor, one which he'd already come to terms with anyway. His death would be coming that night, but it would be slow when he considered where it was plunged into on his body. He would not die instantly like he would have done if James would have targeted another area of his body, or if he'd have hit an artery.
Peeling his eyes away from the man he'd stabbed, James looked first to his left where the scene of a tragic day for the Hartmann family was still very much present. Elsa's body was outside out of view, but her blood still stained the floor of the room, along with the body of her baby son. Leo's death was completely pointless when he could have done no harm to the world, a boy who could not yet even say his first words. Death came to him when it should not have done, when he should have been far away from such a place. Their deaths were not only reminders to the Englishman of all of the innocents who'd died during the war, but also of the depths of evil that the man who he'd just stabbed was prepared to go to in order to have the night play out the way he wanted it to. A murderer of families, who did not even spare the children.
Looking to his right, he was reminded of the killing of a member of his own family. His mother. Blood soaked Kathy's coat from where the bullet pierced through the fabric into her chest. She'd been the best mother that he could have ever asked for in all of the years of his life, the woman who'd brought him up to be the best possible man that he could be. The beloved gentleman who was so adored back in Derry, where he should have been hated, owed everything to the woman who made sure he never went without during his childhood. A member of the nobility he might not have been, but he was privileged in a way that did not require a country estate or stables to quantify itself. He was instead privileged to have had her as his mother, a privilege that no other living human being in the world could say when he was her only child.
It was in the end, both sights combined, that tipped him over the edge.
Grabbing hold of the handle that was still protruding from the Nazi's stomach, he used his muscle to lift a screaming Kurt with the knife. The Nazi's cries filled his ears, but James could not hear them, the rush of blood around his body creating a drumming sound that drowned them out. There was very little left of the room at that end, but before Kurt could hit the wall, James threw him down, leaving the knife in the man's belly. Landing on his back, the Nazi Doctor could not move, but was not able to anyway when James dived at him seconds later, once again equipping Mary Quinn's wooden spoon that he'd retrieved from his pocket. Mercy was not something that Kurt showed to any of his victims. So he would not receive it either.
He faced the wooden spoon instead.
Trapped, with James's own demonic grin now present across his face, the final moments of Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden's life were playing out. He'd made it to over forty years old, but he would make it no further. Not when a wooden spoon was careening towards him with the full fury of an enraged young Englishman behind it. It would be the abiding memory that took him to his grave, for the rest of his conscious life was to be spent being literally ripped apart by the merciless rage of James Maguire. A spoon was not as sharp as a knife, but with a man like James behind it then the skin was not safe against it. Kurt's neck found that out, the trachea the unwitting target of his lethal stabs. To anyone who knew James, it was not the same man that pleasantly went about his day in almost solitude, that was killing the Nazi that night.
A feral beast took his place.
"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"
He roared, continually driving the spoon into the wound he'd opened up. The normal, calm James very rarely resorted to foul language of any kind, but so blinded by his grief and hatred of the man beneath him, he forgot himself. The gentleman was gone when the beast took over, the very same killing machine that Kurt tried to harness for himself. Against his will, and his better judgement, James completed the vision of the murderer that Kurt held whilst murdering the man. The stab wound would have been fatal anyway, but after two or three stabs of the spoon into the mushy mess that was the Doctor's neck, fatality was all but assured. No longer able to scream and shout, Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden, from Emmen in the Netherlands, close friend and confidante of Adolf Hitler, was dead. Not that James could see it. He only saw red…
"FUCK YOU! YOU FUCKING… FUCKING… YARRGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Stab…
Stab…
Stab..
Stab..
Stab…
Stab…
He must have continued on for another five minutes, hacking and slashing away at the same spot on Kurt's neck. Long lifeless, the Doctor never felt a single impact upon him after the third stab, though his eyes hadn't glazed over fully until at least the fifth or sixth. The hundred or more stabs that followed were wholly unnecessary and would be to any conscience human being who was witnessing the scene from the outside. But to the beaten, tortured and emotionally manipulated Captain James Maguire, every single one meant something. A reply to the beatings that he suffered at the hands of the victim that was now suffering from him, an answer to the torture that he'd dragged himself through and a streak of victory following the horrors he'd been forced to witness. The stabs may have become withered towards the end of the five minutes, as he began to tire and the mist started to descend around him, but they still held meaning. Kurt deserved each and every one of them after what he'd done, not just to James, but to hundreds if not thousands. As well as those that were not yet facing harm because of him but would do so because of the legacy that the man left behind in the East.
The final time that the wooden spoon nestled into the Doctor's mutilated neck, there was no force behind it all. It was more of a prod than a stab, the sort of touch on the shoulder that would be used to garner someone's attention rather than a swift, killing blow. Covered in the blood of the vicious man that he'd killed, James's previously blue jacket was completely dripping of the darkest crimson. The blood breached his hair to, the previously slick backed cut having grown out to curls when he'd not seen the barber since before the start of the New Year. Tears streamed down his face to. James could not put a time on when he'd started crying, but it was only towards the end of his murderous crusade against Kurt's neck that he realised he even was. Anger was not the only emotion that he juggled inside, for it mixed with the deep sadness and torment that his heart was under from what was years of pain. From the very moment he'd left his mother's side before moving to Derry he was in pain, pain which only grew when he'd said goodbye to Erin two and half years earlier and to dizzying heights when he'd watched his mother's death play out in front of him. He couldn't stop the dam that held his entire conscience from bursting apart.
His hands shook when he removed the spoon from the lifeless body one final time, dropping it on the floor beside him. Sat down, he pulled his head up between his legs to cry his eyes out when he finally saw the horror before him. Blamed for a massacre that was not his fault and for the deaths of the others in the room that night when he could have done nothing to prevent them, there was no such shifting of blame to be done when it came to Kurt. James' mind might have worked for him to defeat the Nazi, but it quickly deserted him upon the startling realisation of what he'd actually done. He'd committed a crime that was not out of place for the man who'd been on the receiving end of it, an unwilling apprentice becoming a master thanks to the murder of the one who sought to make him the Nazi's weapon. For five to ten minutes, he'd become a murderous monster.
The feral beast quietly made his exit through his sobs.
James Maguire, the real James Maguire, returned.
As did another voice, one which he thought was completely lost after hearing nothing for so long. Weak but still very much there.
"J… James…".
"Mum!" He suddenly cried, head turning up towards where her body lay. "Mum! Mum!"
Scrambling across what was a short distance between them, he immediately took her into his arms. Denied the chance to earlier that night when his hands were behind his back, he would have one final chance to before she slipped away. He'd known from the moment that she'd been shot that there was nothing he could do to save her. Somehow the reprieve was granted though, so that they could speak to each other one final time, perhaps, he thought, as a payment for vanquishing the great evil of Kurt Van Der Heijden.
"Mum… mum… I… I…".
"My… big handsome boy…". The weak voice uttered in reply. "I… I love you".
"I love you too, Mum". A tearful James sniffed.
He couldn't find any other words to express himself, so tearful from the scenes he'd witnessed that night. With his loving mother dying in his arms, James could do nothing to save her even when he wanted to. While he wallowed in realisation that this was the final time that they would be together, she looked at the blood that was soaking his jacket, and the shirt beneath, some of it even finding its way onto his muscular chest. Her eyes were already wide from the pain that her body was processing, but they widened even further at the sight of her blood splattered son. Following her eyes, he quickly realised why she looked so fearful, seeking to comfort her with the truth rather than allow her to believe that he'd been hurt.
"It's not mine… it's Doctor Van Der Heijden's…". He almost whispered, voice gravelly through the sobs. "He… he's dead".
"Good…".
Musing happily to herself, Kathy could finally go to her death in peace knowing that her mission was taken care of. James still needed to get away from the compound, but she would always have faith in her son to be able to survive, especially having watched him do so through various means of torture. He would return home to Derry to live the life that he wished to lead with the woman that he loved, and though she would not be there to see it, Kathy knew enough of her boy to know that it would happen. Nothing would be able to stop him, for if anything was going to have done so, it would have done so already. It was only Kurt's mortality that concerned her, or rather how he was deprived of it. She'd not been conscious through the brutal murder that her big handsome boy committed, to his great fortune he thought, though she would have enjoyed it nonetheless. Her last assignment was complete, the world a far better place for no longer having Kurt Van Der Heijden alive within it.
A savage bout of coughs drew her away from her thoughts though, her body shaking in her son's arms as he tried to hold her still. Blood soaked through her coat across her chest from where she was bleeding out, the bullet lodged firmly inside without having struck anything critical. Time was not on the Irishwoman's side though, which she knew, but to help her boy he still needed to know certain details of the escape which she was yet to pass to him.
"C…Car…". She croaked, James tightening his grasp upon her as she did. "Next… village… barn… with a ye-yel… yellow d-door".
Coughing again, she coughed up blood from inside, which fell straight back amongst the red legions which were drying around her chest. The pain was almost unbearable, but it would not last for much longer when the horizon closed in rapidly around her. Kathy's fight was one which she'd been on since she was a teenager back in Derry, from well before the fateful night that saw her impregnated until the moment that the very child that started her journey, held her as she lay dying. There was no picturesque scene where birds tweeted around her as she was dying, quite the opposite in what was a dark, dingy basement that stank of death and suffering. Her passing would still be heroic though, especially when James would fight to make it so. A hero of the British war effort, contrary to Kurt's beliefs, Kathy's efforts were not completely in vain.
"B… B… Bo…".
"Shush… it's alright, mum, please…". James begged her. "… do not strain yourself. I've got you… I'll always have you".
Time was fighting against her more ferociously than ever, and Kathy Maguire did not have an answer. All of her spirit was used up, all of the energy delivered into staying alive to attempt to give her son some final details with which he could use to make his escape. It was used too quickly though, running out before all of the important details could be given that would see him on his way. There was nothing she could do though when her body began to fail her, the price to be paid for clashing with one of the Nazi's most vicious subjects. He might have been defeated eventually, but the amount of lives it took for him to be stopped was far more numerous than it should have been. All of the agents sent on the previous mission to rescue James… the hundred or so Jews that died in the train station massacre… all of those who were exterminated at his camps in the east… the pregnant nurse in Poland… Elsa… Leo… and her. An unacceptable casualty rate was what it took to finally end the evil of Kurt Van Der Heijden along with the unbreakable spirt of England's finest.
"James…". She spoke his name again, finding the strength to convey one final truth. "Don't… don't let them… don't let them…".
"Don't let who…". He softly lowered his voice. "Don't let who do what, Mum?"
"Don't let… don't let them tell… tell you… the truth… can't… unsee it…".
He knew what she spoke of. The truth that he didn't even know of, what he'd told Kurt for months, really did exist after all. At any other time, it would have left him completely astounded, but somehow the impact of it was far lower when his mother was dying in his arms. For his whole life, James thought himself to be nothing out of the ordinary. A young man with a single mother who'd raised him in relative comfort in London, with friends that traversed social classes, there was little more in his mind to be seen when it came to what he was. Yet there was something more, Kurt proven completely correct in his belief that Britain were trying to regain ownership of him so desperately to protect him. Whatever the truth was, his mother was using her dying breaths to try to convince him not to go out and seek it. Darkness swelled around the subject in his mind, although thoughts of reimagining the whole of existence were swept away momentarily while Kathy's existence was drawing to a close.
"Mum…". His voice quivered, watching her eyes flutter.
Her right hand which had been drooped at her side came up, Kathy placing it onto her son's left cheek. Affectionately, she was passing on whilst getting to see her big handsome boy properly one final time. He'd taken her good looks genetically, his gorgeous smile warming her heart as it did to most that it fell upon. The creation that she'd given to the world.
Kathy couldn't be any prouder.
"I… love you… James…".
His hand came to her cheek in the final seconds, wiping away the lone tear that found its way out of the corner of his mother's eye. She smiled for a final time too at the gesture, warmth radiating from him as she gave into the intolerable agony that she'd been suffering from due to the bullet wound in her chest. The great actress that never made the stage, nor the screen, there was no fine display of acting prowess when it came to her death, which was no act at all. One of the most important British agents of the war thanks to the information that she provided, and the still relatively undetected spy ring she left behind in Berlin, was dead. Mother, friend, spy and above all hero, Kathy's legacy would only live on through her son and the archives of the British Intelligence Services, confined to be locked away until a day where what she'd done could cause no lasting harm if it were to be told to the masses.
"M… Mu… Mu-Mum!?" He tearfully asked the now deceased body in his arms. "Mum… Mum! No… no… no…. no!"
Bending down, his blood-stained face was buried into her flowing hair as he cried. The tears were violent ones of total, unfiltered anguish at having witnessed the death of the woman who'd brought him into the world. A son watching his mother die was a rite of passage of life when immortality simply did not exist, but one which should have come at a much later stage in the lives of both. Kathy was only just over the forty barrier in age, with years ahead of her in another time when there was no Nazi's, no war and above all, no Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden. Facing up to the tragic event when he was barely into his twenties, James could only weep for the life that was stolen away from them, where she would have played an integral role. One day she would have been a grandmother to the children that he would have with Erin, who would be regaled with stories of her heroism in the face of a sadistic enemy or even just normal tales of a normal life if there was no conflict acting as a backdrop.
The sobs would have continued all night if he'd lost complete control of his emotions, which were hit so hard so often in the years since he'd left Derry. James was many things, some things that he did not know, but he always believed in himself to carry on at the worst of times. He was that sort of a man, resilient and outgoing until there was simply no other way around the predicament that he was in. Knowing that crying into his deceased mother's hair all night would only lead to him being caught in a fight with Hans, James did not stay for more than a minute as he slowly regained his composure. The sole survivor in the room after the events that transpired since Kathy began her rescue attempt, he would not bungle his only chance at escaping the nightmare situation that he was in.
First gathering the spoon up from where he'd left it on the floor, the utensil soaked with a thick layer of Nazi blood, he tucked it back into the pocket of his jacket. It would leave the inside of the garment bloodied, but he didn't care, as nobody else would be able to see the mess that it would leave behind. His mother's bag was also picked up from where it was dropped once he'd navigated the corpse of poor young Leopold Hartmann, the most innocent casualty of them all. With all of the items that he required within his grasp, he also reopened the door to the room, greeted by the unpleasant sight of Elsa's stone-cold corpse that lay just outside it. The bodies of mother and son would remain together for the father to find, as well as Kurt's, but James was not prepared to let her body be destroyed by whoever would find it.
Positioning the bag around his mother's shoulder, James used his strength to pick up her dead weight, carrying the woman in his arms. To many it would have been a difficult ask to get her up the flight of stairs with such a heavy weight to now carry upon her death, but James couldn't care less how long it took him to do it. His mother was in his arms, and they were escaping the compound as a family, even if she wasn't alive to see it. He'd been done a tremendous turn by Kurt too, which aided their escape massively. Killing every single Italian guard within the compound in order to keep James' identity a secret might have been a masterstroke at the time, but with an escaped Englishman out of his cage, leaving the exits completely unguarded was not the wisest of ideas. There was no plan for if James somehow managed to escape from him, the Nazi never thinking that the young Captain would gain the upper hand again with the threats he made to Erin being in place. At the cost of his own life, he'd found that he did not even hold a single card.
Staggering out into the open air, James breathed it in properly for the first time since returning from the scene of the massacre around a month earlier. His mind reminded him of the young children that died that day as he was walking out, hoping that he'd done enough to settle the score with his inner demons since that day. The nightmares that came with his guilt over the innocents were yet to go away, but in killing Kurt it was one of many aspects of his life that he could only hope would change for the better with the freedom that he determinedly fought for. The front gates were passed without challenge with her body in his arms, the sentries that would usually be there to confront him being dead at the other end of the compound. There was no light at all in the darkness of the countryside around Rome, but in his mother's bag James found a torch, her gun too. Pocketing one and holding the other, the torch shone for a few feet in front of them to show them the way to freedom. Albeit, only one of the two was alive to see it…
The long driveway to what James remembered was the main road, stretched out in front of them, but they would not walk down it. If Hans was to arrive back, which he mercifully hadn't, the only hope would be to hide in the ditches before escaping through the fields to the next village. From vague memory he knew the village that his mother spoke of from the one journey out they'd had, which is why he took the right side of the drive's ditches rather than the left. A right turn at the bottom of the driveway would lead them onto the road which would start to ascend up and over the brow of a hill, the village situated around halfway from the top. Progress was slower through the grassy, and in places muddy ditches, which also set his heartrate going with the potential threat of them being mined. It was a risk that he had to take when his own survival was at stake though.
His muscles were aching by the time he'd dragged them out to the end of the driveway, but James ignored the pain. There was little choice in the matter, for giving in would have left him at a disadvantage, which he was already at when he was carrying the dead weight of his mother in his arms too. Advancing in the ditches that ran up the hill alongside the road, not a solitary car or truck passed in either direction, in what was a quiet corner of Italy. The main focus of the country was in the cities, and further to the south, in the ports. Country backroads on the outskirts of the capital were not the place for many vehicles to be found. Utilising the lack of any attention, James crossed them over to the other side of the road when the village was in sight, believing the other side of the road to be better to be on, when he could vaguely make out the features of a barn in the distance thanks to the thin torchlight.
They'd neared the village when he saw the headlights flickering in the distance. The three hairpin bends on the road up to the top of the hill were beneficial to him, as he could the car coming a long time before the occupants of it could see him or his mother. The grass was still thick right up next to the sign that denoted the village, providing ample cover to lie his mother's body down as well as hide his own. The torch went off and they were left in darkness, but as the car made its way through the village and beyond their position, James made sure to attempt to identify the driver. It wasn't the easiest of tasks when there was next to no light, but he was certain that it was Hans. No one else around would be out at that time of the night anyway. He was correct to; it was the Lieutenant. Held up in Rome, he was running so late that he was worried that Kurt would start a shouting match with him when he returned. What he would find would be far more devastating, but that was his future to deal with, not James'. After being tortured by the young Lieutenant on more than one occasion, he could not find it within himself to care too greatly about the man's emotions.
Once Hans' car was in the distance once more, James rose from the long grass with his mother's body in his arms, almost sprinting with her to cover the distance to the barn that he'd correctly identified from afar. Open and waiting for him, inside was the car that was supposed to be taking him to the small port further down the coast, not that he knew that it was the plan. Opening the boot of the vehicle showed him the lengths that his mother, along with Domenico, had gone to in order to have provisions for every scenario. The uniform of a German officer was not what he expected to find in there, but it made sense when he found the papers that confirmed his new identity that he would show to anyone who challenged him. There was a shovel in the barn too, not that they'd provided it, which would be helpful for the burial of his mother, which he would have to undertake at some point during the night.
A little over ten minutes later, the car pulled out of the barn and onto the main road, the sole live occupant finally somewhat calm. The body of Kathy Maguire lay in stasis in the boot of the vehicle, a temporary measure until her burial site would be located. In the driver's seat, Britain's most important asset set himself on course for the North East, to find the French border and then the Spanish one. Spain was his exit, his only way out, unaware of the elaborate rescue party that was lying in wait to see him back to Gibraltar quickly. They wouldn't see him that night, but the backroads of the Italian countryside would. His knowledge of German would see him so far along the way, a treacherous journey that he'd never once thought of making.
He was coming home though.
Coming home to his beloved.
"This is such a bloody mess!"
Lieutenant Colonel Menzies was facing déjà vu. Captain Smithers too. The pair of them were almost accustomed to their best laid plans falling apart, but they would at least have some oversight over them. The latest problem when it came to the life of a certain young countryman of theirs was one that they held no visibility over though, which it made it considerably more problematic than they wanted it to be. Taranto was one of the nights they'd longed to forget but somehow it was worse than even that November night, which really was quite astounding. They'd not only lost sight of the most important man that they held responsibility over, the only man who could end the war for them by simply being within a few metres of Adolf Hitler, they were contemplating the potential loss of their greatest field agent too.
"Sir, we still do not have the full picture…". Smithers tried to remain hopeful but was cut off before he could finish.
"That's the bloody problem, Smithers!" His superior shouted. "We do not know where James is! Our reports have no sight of him, and the Italians are saying that they've found everyone dead where he was being held! We need to find him!"
"We are limited in what we can do, Sir. I could ask Domenico to…".
"Domenico will not be able to help! Any man who shows his face around that place will be immediately seen as suspicious and we cannot afford to lose him too!"
"Then what can we do, Sir?"
The question was one which needed to be asked, though Menzies didn't want to hear it from his officer. Smithers could not be blamed for their plan not working to how it was supposed to, nor could he, but the two still held the responsibility for ensuring that James returned safely into their hands. The reports from the submarine came first, hearing from the fishermen that neither Kathy nor James arrived when they were supposed to. They waited another half an hour for them, but it became clear quite quickly that no one was coming. The message was then passed through to the Fleet, who never quite made it into an attack position with the warning message received early. Running behind time anyway it was beneficial for them; Admiral Cunningham wouldn't have to sacrifice any ships to save the young man.
It was lunchtime on the fifteenth, a Sunday in hell for the two men of the Intelligence Services. By late morning, whilst dissecting the reports they'd received through their own military, news suddenly arrived through Domenico in Italy, as well as the spies left in Berlin, that there was serious attention being paid to the compound outside of Rome. The spies in Berlin were able to confirm that High Command were concerned by Doctor Van Der Heijden not flying back as planned, without having sent word of any delays the night before. The spies were unaware that it was merely another front of propaganda for those in power, who were already aware of the deaths that occurred via a telephone call from the pilot who was supposed to have flown the Doctor back. A distraught Hans wasn't in a fit state to hold a conversation, left alone with his deceased wife and son, as well as his mentor whilst the pilot made the necessary calls. It was only through Domenico that they knew that the soldiers died along with the other three, and that there were two persons unaccounted for, though it appeared one may have been injured. Smithers and Menzies did not require the ability to see into the past to know that it would be Kathy who was injured, but the extent of those injuries were not known.
A bloody mess it truly was.
"If I may say, Sir…". Smithers looked over nervously to Menzies, who waved him on. "… the most logical place for James to travel to would be Spain. All servicemen know that Spain is their chance to escape from the continent… we both know how many men have returned that way".
"Yes Smithers, but those men aren't being watched by Hitler himself! If they have an idea of who James really is, there'll be checkpoints on every road between Rome and Perpignan! He'll never make it!"
"But they might not know, Sir. If they do not, and with Doctor Van Der Heijden dead… we must think how we can intercept him".
"They might not…". Menzies processed the thought in his head. "You are right, of course Smithers. It is a chance we must take. Alert all of our agents on the French coast to be on the lookout for any British servicemen that they hear of or make contact with".
"Of course, Sir!"
They were in Menzies' office that Sunday, Smithers having been present in London since the Friday evening, staying with his commanding officer. The building was quiet, with only the secretary Lotty present to make them tea and offer a smile or two when she could see how visibly stressed the two men were. She even briefly considered making a serious dent in their biscuit ration, but ultimately decided against it. The Lieutenant Colonel wished that they still had her father present to be able to send him out into the field to rescue the young Captain, a task which would have been almost simple to the heroic former agent. Miracles were required in order to locate the young man, who could have been absolutely anywhere. Logically, Smithers was making sense to his commanding officer when it came to where he thought the young man would go, but Menzies was far too long in the tooth to take it as a given. They could have been dead somewhere else in the surrounding countryside for all they knew, especially when the Italians already believed at least one of them to be injured.
"Should we also inform our friends in Northern Spain? If he is on his way then he could be there within a week without any interference?"
"No, not yet". Menzies replied quickly, no hesitation at all in his voice. "It is far too soon to be thinking of Spain, Smithers. France is where we will cut him off if he can escape from Italy and Domenico will keep his ear to the ground for even the slightest hint that James or his mother have been spotted".
Nodding, Smithers went to leave the room in order to contact all those that he needed to, a long list of contacts in the south of France. If James was on the way to Spain, then he would have to pass through plenty of areas where they held influence that had not diminished despite the war. The agents that they held in that area were long established members of local society who did not look out of place, at least not as out of place as James would if he turned up, Kathy too. Her fine skills as an actress would see them go far if she were still alive, though neither man held out hope for her if she was injured. She was almost an additional bonus despite being one of their most vital agents, which she would have known too when she knew the true value of her own son beyond that of their familial ties.
The senior officer was not done though, which is why he stopped the Captain from leaving. Menzies knew that the day would come when he would have to deliver one specific order to his officer, having even discussed it with the man once too. A man with a young family, a son who was barely a few months old along with a wife who required help to look after the baby, should not have normally been thrust into the danger he was about to be, but that was war. David Donnelly found himself in a similar position towards the start of it, though the Lieutenant Colonel would not mention his fate to Smithers as it would only make the man nervous. He needed him to be resolute… not frightened.
"Smithers, there will be a convey leaving for Gibraltar on Thursday, from Scotland. I am going to arrange for you to be aboard the flagship". Menzies explained himself. "The time for you to set up an operational headquarters there is upon us. If you can evacuate our young Captain there safely, then we will bring him home for good".
"I… I understand, Sir". A dejected, but dutiful Smithers responded, his shoulders slumping.
He was not a man of comfort very often, but even Menzies was willing to make an exception. His hand went onto his Captain's shoulder.
"I will arrange for support for Mrs Smithers and young James…". Menzies spoke of his Captain's family. "… even if it means that I have to look in on them myself, they will be taken care of. You have my word".
The word of Lieutenant Colonel Stewart Menzies was not to be ignored nor was it to be questioned. Smithers, though concerned for his family as he always was, knew that his superior would do right by them should he be killed at any point on his assignment. He was not being told to personally retrieve James, but the trip to Gibraltar was full of danger when U-Boats stalked the waters, as well as other threats that the Italians could pose in the Mediterranean battleground. If it finally brought James Maguire home safely though it would be worth it, especially when he'd dedicated years of his career to watching over the young man, through thick and through thin. Britain's most important asset required rescuing still, and if he was the man to bring about such a result, he would be set for the rest of his life. His family's future could be bright if he could complete the assignment that he started long ago, when the thought of such trouble was nothing more than a distant nightmare.
"Thank you, Sir". He addressed Menzies, dipping his head in appreciation.
"Do not mention it, Smithers…". Menzies gave him a rare smile, at least in the hours they'd spent together. "Now, see to your messages quickly. We must attend on the Prime Minister and the rest of the council to inform them of the latest developments with James".
"Yes, Sir! Do you think we will come away with our lives?"
"I do hope so, Smithers…". Menzies mused, before stopping to stare at the half-empty glass of water on his desk.
Hope was just about all they could muster, especially knowing the likes of questions that they would face in their meeting with Churchill and the others. It had been bad enough after the failure of the Taranto rescue attempt. At least then they knew who he was with…
James was off the radar this time.
"That young man holds the fate of the world in his hands…". Huffing a laugh, the Lieutenant Colonel picked up the glass. "… yet he does not realise what might happen if he decides to give up. God's speed to him, Smithers… or the Nazi's will be on the streets of London before Easter Sunday can be honoured".
The potential fate of billions lay in James' hands, when all he wanted to do was return home to Derry to see Erin again. Most men's odds would be completely unfavourable, but when thoughts of her were spurring him on through the dark countryside of Italy, the world held a chance of survival.
For Menzies and Smithers, all they could do was wait.