April 24, 1944
The wretched ringing of the alarm clock sept into Victoria's slumber, eventually tearing her awake. Reluctantly, she extended her arm out under the blanket and fumbled across the nightstand, until she felt the cold, round shape of the alarm clock in her fingertips. She pushed the small lever between the bells to lock the hammer and pulled her arm back into the warmth of her blanket.
After a few minutes of desperate attempts to get back to sleep, Victoria had to reluctantly admit that she was awake. She cracked one eye open and squinted at the clock face. Both clock arms were above the Roman numeral that marked six. The blonde let out a reluctant sigh and opened also her other eye, forming a frown. She'd have less than an hour to get ready before she'd have to leave for duty.
Victoria pushed her blanket aside and rose to sit on the bedside. The room felt cold as the fire in the small stove that was also used to heat the room had died hours ago. Shivering, Victoria quickly slipped into her robe and slippers and walked to the stove. She put a small shovelful of coal into the firebox and started the fire.
Victoria walked to the cabinet and took a coffee pot. She filled the pot with some substitute grounds and fresh water and put it on the stove. She grabbed a cigarette and her trusty Zippo, and lit up, smiling shortly as the warm smoke filled her lungs. Cigarettes, like everything else, were rationed, but somehow, she never seemed to be short on them. Must be perks of the job, she thought as she picked a tiny flake of tobacco from her tongue.
She looked at the other bed in the room, where a messy bunch of dark, almost black hair, was visible from under the blanket. The hair belonged to a young woman named Courtney Wagner, whom with Victoria shared this small stove room, in the attic of an old Victorian era building in Camden Town. Cortney was a German Jew, whose family had moved to United States when Courtney had been ten. Being fluent in both German and English, Courtney spent her nights translating captured and deciphered communication within the German forces at 70 Grosvenor Street, the headquarters of the Office of Strategic Services in London, the same place where Victoria was stationed.
Since Victoria and Courtney worked in different shifts, they didn't get that many opportunities to talk and spend time together. Based on the few occasions that they'd both been off-duty and awake, they seemed to get along all right. Courtney had told her that after the war, she wanted to become a fashion designer. Courtney had been roughly half-way into her studies at Vassar when she'd been recruited into the OSS. Despite being German, she was devoted to bring the Nazi regime down, and to the liberation of Europe. She'd told Victoria that despite all the propaganda, there were also decent people in Germany that didn't share Hitler's views. Courtney's connections to the local black-market dealers had also proven useful, so they usually got something extra to their meager rations.
Victoria took a last drag from her cigarette and threw the stub into the firebox. She took a mug and poured some coffee substitute into it. She took a sip and cringed at the bitter taste of the hot, dark liquid. God, I miss real coffee! Victoria put a couple of slices of bread into the toaster and took a jar of marmalade from the icebox. She had a long day ahead of her, with no certainty of a lunch break, so she'd better to have a good breakfast. She would also make a few sandwiches to help her through the day.
Waiting for the toasts to be done, Victoria caught herself in the mirror that was hanging from the wall. She let out dreary sigh as she realized how much older and wearier her reflection looked compared to the picture that had been taken for the college yearbook a little more than a year ago. She could see several wrinkles on her forehead, not to mention the dark circles that had formed around her eyes. War took its toll on everyone and Victoria was no exception, especially the line of work she was in. Well, it was your decision to come here, Victoria, wasn't it? The sound of the bread slices popping up in the toaster shook her off from her thoughts. No rest for the wicked, she thought as she picked up the warm, crispy slices and continued preparing her modest breakfast.
-ooo-
Victoria took a final look at the mirror to check that her uniform was in order, before she stepped into the staircase. She covered the flight of stairs with feathered steps, hoping that she could slip outside without being noticed by Mrs. Finch, their landlady. The elderly woman had lost her husband in the Blitz a few years earlier, and was living by herself in their apartment, renting the attic room. She was a kind, gentle soul, but she was also extremely talkative and ignorant of the fact that other people might not have time to engage in a lengthy conversation with her.
A few steps before reaching the bottom, Victoria leaned slowly forward to peek into the kitchen to see whether the coast was clear. She sighed in relief as she saw the room to be vacant. Victoriously, she took the last steps to the front door and grabbed the handle.
"Ah, good morning, Miss Chase!" a lively voice said behind her back. "How are you today, love?"
Of course, she was in the corridor! Victoria thought, cringing. "Good morning, Mrs. Finch!" she responded, forcing a smile on her face as she turned to face the older woman. "I'm as good as anyone can be in times like these. Um, my shift is about to start…"
"You know, I still haven't gotten quite used to seeing women in uniforms," Mrs. Finch said, disregarding Victoria's excuse. "Back when my poor Edward was fighting in the Great War, women were serving as nurses and in munitions factories, but now you can see them manning the anti-aircraft stations and doing air surveillance. Lord knows when they're going to put us into the front lines."
"Time will tell, Mrs. Finch, " Victoria said, cracking the front door open.
"Well, as the Staff Colonel's personal secretary, you don't have to worry about such things, dear," the old lady remarked. "I hope Colonel… Madsen, was it, treats you decently."
"Oh, he's not too bad. He can be a bit cranky sometimes, but who wouldn't be in times like these. A lot of people depend on him, so he's a bit stressed out." Victoria wasn't exactly lying, as Colonel David Madsen was her superior officer, and he was indeed cranky. The part of her being Colonel Madsen's secretary, on the other hand, was merely her cover. Not that her actual job was much more glamorous. "But I really have to run now, otherwise, he'll be really cranky."
"Oh, don't let me keep you, love. Off you go then!" Mrs. Finch said, fussing the blonde out of the door. "Ta ta."
"Have a nice day, Mrs. Finch," Victoria said, closing the door behind her.
With swift steps, Victoria began walking towards the nearest Underground station. Luckily, Mrs. Finch didn't hold her up any longer. If she hurried, she just might make it before the next train would arrive. She'd need to switch lines at the British Museum station, and if she'd miss this train, she'd also miss her connection and then she'd be late for sure.
Victoria glimpsed at her watch as she crossed the street. If she would keep this pace, she might just make it in time. Right then, the air raid siren began its desperate howling. Everyone on the street stood still for a fleeting moment and gazed at the cloudy sky, before setting off towards the nearest bomb shelter, which in this case was the same Underground station Victoria was going to.
Damn! the blonde cursed as she changed her rapid stroll into running. So much for getting to work in time. The entrance into the Underground was a few blocks away from her. Hastening her pace, Victoria joined into the stream of people hurrying into shelter. There was no sign of the approaching bombers yet, but it would be only a matter of moments before the bombs would start falling.
The Tube entrance appeared in Victoria's sights just as she heard the first sounds of explosions from behind her. She zigzagged between the running people towards the stairwell when she suddenly heard a child's cry on her right. She cast a glance over her shoulder and saw a little girl, maybe four or five years old, standing next to the wall by herself and crying desperately. For a moment Victoria considered her options. Her main concern was to get to safety; besides, the girl's mother was probably looking for her already. There were still plenty of people on the streets. Someone closer would probably grab her. But what if they didn't? Cursing, Victoria slowed down and, careful not to get run over by other people, made her way to the weeping girl.
"Hi there," Victoria said soothingly as she knelt down to the girl. "What are you doing here all by yourself?"
"I want my mummy," the girl said between sniffles.
"My name is Victoria," the blonde introduced herself, trying to ignore the explosions that were coming closer. "What's yours?"
"M-Mary," the girl sobbed.
"What would you say, Mary, if we went down the stairs to see if your mother is there?"
"O-okay."
"Good girl!" Victoria picked her up. "Hold on tight!" she said to her and began running towards the entrance. She could already feel the blast waves hammering her back as she reached the stairs. Accompanied by flying debris, Victoria flounced multiple steps at a time, trying to keep her balance with the child in her embrace. A few fleeting moments later, she reached the station platform which was already crowded by the people who'd come to seek shelter from the bombs.
As the bombs shook the whole station, making pieces of plaster to drop on people's heads, Victoria stood by the wall, trying to catch her breath, with Mary still tightly in her embrace. The girl was surprisingly calm, considering the situation, but she held tight onto the pixie-haired woman like a lifeline. Victoria looked frustratedly into the multitude that was crammed onto the platform. How was she supposed to find the girl's mother in this crowd, assuming that she even was here and not lying dead under some rubble outside. What if she was dead? What would Victoria do with the girl, take her to work? The old war horse would blow a fuse! But she couldn't really abandon her, could she?
"Mary, sweetie?" Victoria looked at her. "What's the name of your mother?"
"Daisy, Daisy Holcombe."
"Very good," the blonde said approvingly. "Let's see if we can find her." Victoria lifted Mary on her shoulders and began to mingle in the crowd. Luckily, the lights had not gone out for the time being, so she could at least see where she was going. "Daisy Holcombe! I'm looking for a Daisy Holcombe!" she bellowed over the constant murmur caused by a sea of people packed into the confines of the station hall.
"Daisy Holcombe! Is there a Daisy Holcombe?" Victoria kept on shouting as she tacked through the masses. This is hopeless! she thought in frustration. She could be dead for all I know. "Daisy Holcombe!"
"I'm Daisy Holcombe!" Victoria heard someone suddenly answer from maybe ten feet away from her. "Mary?" she heard the voice then ask. "Mary! My goodness!" The crowd began to stir as the speaker made her way to them. A few moments later a woman, not much older than Victoria appeared in front of them.
"Mummy!" Mary said, reaching out for her mother, making Victoria almost tip.
"Mary, good heavens, lass!" Daisy said, relieved. "I was so worried about you! Thank God you're safe." She took the girl into her embrace. "Words aren't enough to express my gratitude, Miss…?"
"Sergeant Chase, Ma'am," Victoria responded formally. "At your service."
"Ah, yes, you serve in the American forces, I see," Daisy said, observing the blonde's uniform.
"That's correct, Ma'am."
"Please call me Daisy. You make me feel like I was my mother," Daisy said embarrassedly. "Thank you so much for saving my daughter! We got separated when the bombing started and I couldn't find her anywhere. I don't know what I would've done if I'd lost her."
"I'm glad I could help… Daisy," Victoria responded, slightly regretting her formality. She's hardly older than me.
"Say thank you to the nice lady, Mary," Daisy prompted her daughter.
"Thank you, Victoria," Mary said, smiling.
"That's no way to speak to your elders," Daisy corrected her.
"It's all right," Victoria said, chuckling. "Mary and I are on first name basis already. Please call me Victoria."
"Well, thank you once more, Victoria," Daisy said, following her daughter's example.
The sound of all clear interrupted their conversation, and people began to disperse around them. "It seems Goering's hounds are done for today," Victoria commented.
"I wish they'd be gone for good," Daisy said in frustration. "This blasted war has gone for almost five years now. I haven't seen my Jack since he was shipped to Egypt two years ago. Poor Mary can't even remember his father."
"Well the tide is turning. The Russians have the Nazis already on the run on the eastern front, and we're coming at them in Italy. It'll be only a matter of time."
"I hope so."
"Me too," Victoria concurred. "In the meantime, I'd settle for the next train," she continued, looking at the railway tunnel in frustration. "I'm already late as it is."
-ooo-
Victoria paced frantically along Maddox Street. She was horribly late and her mood was getting grittier by the minute. The train had arrived to the station fifteen minutes after the all clear and she'd only gotten as far as the British Museum. The bombing had damaged the Underground station at Oxford Circus, so the trains of her connecting line didn't go further than the Museum station, meaning she'd have to walk the rest of the way.
Not that Victoria was exactly eager to get to her post. Mr. Smith had, contrary to Victoria's initial assumption, turned out to be a recruiter of the OSS. The Office of Strategic Services was the intelligence agency of the United States, established less than two years ago by President Roosevelt's Presidential military order to collect and analyze strategic information required by Joint Chiefs of Staff, and to conduct special operations. Mr Smith had painted a rosy picture about the world of intelligence and espionage to Victoria, how she'd be able to put her talent and skills into good work and make a difference. The reality of it had been… less glamorous.
Victoria's career had begun interestingly enough, as she'd attended an applied version of the military boot camp. She'd gone through basic combat training, including the use of various weapons. Victoria had actually proven to be especially skillful in the use of the sniper variant of the Springfield '03, showing exceptional marksmanship. Sniping was surprisingly similar to taking photographs in regards of concentration and body control. Victoria had also been given training in sabotage, hand-to-hand combat, use of improvised weapons, survival in hostile conditions, resisting interrogation, ciphering and deciphering and use of various communication devices just to mention a few. It had been demanding, but also rewarding, and true to her ambitious nature, Victoria had excelled in many of the areas.
Her parents had obviously not been very happy with her sudden deviation from her premeditated future. Victoria's father had done all in his power to get her released from her commitment, and when that had failed, he had outright disowned her until she'd come to her senses and agree to marry Nathan. Her mother had tried to be more conciliatory and plea to Victoria's obligation to her family. Victoria had responded bluntly that she didn't want to end up like her, a bitter and cynical high society housewife who's only concern was her image and own position among her peers. That had left her mother completely speechless.
Having completed her training with a rank of Sergeant, Victoria had been stationed to the OSS headquarters in London. She had been assigned into the intelligence analysis unit, where she still was, going through deciphered German messages. Not exactly the kind of adventurous espionage work Mr. Smith had boasted about. Of course, Victoria realized that what she did, did make a difference to the Allied forces war effort, but it was nevertheless tedious and somewhat menial. Victoria wished she could put her skillset into proper use; photographing enemy sites, doing sabotage, handling agents, anything but going through messages day after day from dusk til dawn.
Working for the OSS did have its upsides too. Victoria got to travel at Uncle Sam's expense. Even though she came from a wealthy family, she'd not been to Europe prior to this. Before the war, she'd been too young to travel by herself and to her parents, traveling abroad meant a trip to Vancouver, Canada. She'd also gotten a chance to meet new and interesting people. Her roommate Courtney was one and another was a young woman called Stephanie Gingrich, or Steph, as she preferred to be called. Steph was a member of Women Airforce Service Pilots, ferrying aircraft over the Atlantic to the Allied forces. Victoria had met her when she'd caught a ride to Britain on a B-25 Mitchell that Steph was ferrying.
The quick-witted woman had instantaneously earned Victoria's respect and admiration. They'd met on every possible occasion when Steph had been on this side of the pond. Steph Gingrich was a board game aficionado and she liked to talk about her idea for a new game concept where the players assumed different roles and one player was a game master who designed the map and events of the game session beforehand. Victoria doubted if that kind of game would ever get a foothold, but she didn't have the heart to bring Steph's enthusiasm down. She had also made notice that Steph showed no interest to men even though she was a bachelorette. She always politely turned down all the approaches made by men when they were sitting together in a pub. Victoria wondered often whether Steph preferred women over men, but she'd never confronted her about it. In the end, it was really none of Victoria's business; Steph would tell her if and when she'd feel comfortable enough to do so.
Victoria personally wasn't interested in women in that sense, but she would've been lying if she had said that she wasn't a least bit curious about trying some hanky-panky with another woman. Even though Smith College had presented a couple of opportunities to experiment in that field, Victoria had not seized any of them. In the end, neither of the potential candidates had clicked her the right way for her to indulge her curiosity. Not even Steph did that to her even though she liked her company. Steph could probably sense that in her and hence had not made any attempts.
Ah, finally! Victoria turned around the corner onto Grosvenor Street and saw the entrance to number 70 at the middle of the block. She hastened her pace as she covered the remaining yards towards the entrance. About half-way, a ladder was standing against the wall, with a man at the top, applying blackout paint onto a newly installed window. Seeing that, Victoria took a few sidesteps in order to go around them. To her misfortune, she'd failed to see that someone was coming in a hurry from across the street to the same exact spot she was yielding to. They bumped into each other, causing Victoria to reel towards the ladder. She took a grip from the steps to break her fall, nudging them in the process. Victoria cast an alarmed glance upwards and sighed from relief as she saw that the man at the top wasn't falling on her. Her joy was short-lived, though, as she realized that the paint bucket had slipped from its hanger and was falling straight towards her. Victoria took a few frantic steps back, barely avoiding the bucket, which smashed onto the sidewalk, spilling paint all over, including Victoria's uniform.
Victoria stood there in shock, next to the puddle of paint, looking down at the numerous paint splashes on her coat and skirt. She'd always considered it a matter of honor that her uniform was in pristine condition. Now, it was good for the trash. No dry cleaning could restore this mess.
"Oh dear," a slightly nasal woman's voice said behind Victoria's back. "Art al'reet?"
Her shocked expression slowly turning into an angry scowl, Victoria turned to face the person responsible of ruining her uniform. She was a young woman, roughly Victoria's age, dressed in a navy-blue wool overcoat. Her long dirty blonde hair had been swirled into two victory rolls, a hairstyle that had gained popularity since the Battle of Britain.
"Am I alright?" Victoria snapped. "Do I look like alright? There's paint all over my uniform!"
"Aye, paint's a pain to get off from wool," the woman commented. "Aw dudn'd guess thad you'd be changing yer direction so sudden when Aw hopped on the sidewalk. Good thing you dudn'd get thad bucket on yer heyd."
Even though Victoria had spent almost a year getting accustomed to the various English dialects, she had a hard time following what the other woman was saying. Victoria's rational side tried to tell her that this had been just a freak accident, and it was by no means anyone's fault, but she was already too worked up to listen to her rational side. "Well, maybe you should've paid more attention to your surroundings, then!" she retorted.
"Aye, maybe we both should've hed," the woman said back, a slight hint of sting in her tone. "Anyheaw, Aw hev to ged going. I'm running late from a meeting." With that she scurried off.
"Late? Late?!" Victoria huffed after her. "Welcome to the club!" She looked down at her soiled jacket again and let out a frustrated snort. This uniform was ruined for good. She'd have to buy a new one with her meager salary. Victoria raised her gaze and opened her mouth for another retort, but the young woman had already gone out of sight. Sighing despondently, Victoria headed towards the entrance to her workplace.
-ooo-
Victoria looked at her image in the bathroom mirror, turning her head from side to side to see if there were still any paint spots left on her face. Her jacket had received most of the splatter, so she'd taken it off and put it into her locker. Without the jacket, her overall appearance was more or less groomed, save for a few minuscule spots on her skirt and stockings. It would have to suffice for today. She'd visit the nearest U.S. Army supply depot after the end of her shift and get a replacement.
Victoria stepped outside of the ladies' room and made it to her desk. She cast a quick glance at Colonel Madsen's office and was relieved to find it vacant.
"You're late, Chase," Juliet Watson, an analyst who worked on the same shift as Victoria, whispered.
"How very observant of you," Victoria whispered back. "Has the old war horse been asking for me?" She and Juliet didn't like each other too much but they both shared enough professional camaraderie to watch each other's back.
"Nah, he's been in the sit room the whole morning," the brunette answered. "Air raid?"
"Yeah, and then the other Tube line was closed because the Kraut bombs had hit the Oxford Circus station. I had to walk all the way from the British Museum."
"That's tough," Juliet commented. "I was lucky to make it here before the bombing started."
"And if having to walk all the way from the museum had not been enough, I also got paint all over my uniform."
"What happened?"
"Some local bimbo bumped into me when I was arriving at the office. I swayed against a ladder and a bucket of paint almost fell on me."
"Quite an eventful morning, then."
"To say the least," Victoria said sighing.
"Sergeant Chase!" A man's hoarse voice said behind Victoria's back, startling her momentarily, before she stood up and assumed attention.
"Yes, Sir?" Victoria asked as she stood rigidly, facing her superior officer.
Colonel David Madsen stared sternly at Victoria. He was a veteran of the Great War who'd lied his age to be able to enlist. He'd gotten his first combat experience in the Battle of Belleau Wood, and managed to make it through numerous other battles virtually unharmed. After the war, he'd become a career soldier in the United States Marine Corps, gaining an exemplary service record, before he'd been recruited into the newly found OSS. David Madsen was old-fashioned and resolute, but in the very end, he was fair and looking after his subordinates, in his own abrupt way.
"You're late," he said bluntly.
"Yes, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir," Victoria said curtly. No point of making elaborate accounts about the air raid.
"Very well. At ease, Sergeant," he said in a slightly softer tone, allowing Victoria to assume a slightly wider stance and lower her shoulders maybe half an inch. "You have paint on your skirt."
"Yes, Sir. I had an accident while coming to the office," Victoria explained. Of course, he would notice!
"Well, never mind that now and follow me to the sit room," Madsen said, turning on his heels. "As you were, Private," he said to Juliet who had also stood up upon his arrival and was still in attention.
"Sir, may I ask what this is about?" Victoria asked as she was walking swiftly a few steps behind the Colonel.
"There's been a development which requires your special skills," Madsen explained. "It's time to put your training into good use, Sergeant."
Victoria's expression brightened. Was she actually going to be sent out in the field to do actual reconnaissance work? Would she actually be sent to occupied France, behind enemy lines? Victoria had to use all her will power to keep her steps steady and not allow her giddiness to show.
"I'll brief you in detail in a moment, but first I need to introduce you to someone," the Colonel said as he opened the door to the situation room and let Victoria in. "Sergeant Victoria Chase, meet Miss Catherine Marsh." Madsen pointed at the woman who was standing by the large table in the middle of the room.
Victoria wasn't able to hide her bewilderment when she realized that it was the same woman who had bumped into her.
Author's notes:
Welcome back! We jump ahead almost a year, where we find Victoria having settled into her new life. Victoria will also be introduced to someone who she seems to dislike at first glance.
Thank you for your kind comments! They've inspired me to start working on a new chapter. I'll be publishing the chapters in roughly four weeks' interval. Hope my buffer will suffice until I can get the story finished.
