Chapter 1
The Cost of Doing Right
September 1940
I had known almost as soon as Hitler had invaded Poland that it was only a matter of time before France was invaded next. And with the horror stories I was hearing from those who managed to escape ghettos in Germany, the treatment of those that Hitler called "undesirable" was abysmal at best.
I knew from the word "Go" that my family was going to be among those aiding the resistance. In the saving of several lives, my family had put a target on our backs. But it was the right thing to do, especially with the camps that we had heard whispers about, just the whispers were enough to keep us up at night. No one deserved to live those horrors firsthand. I'd however argue the sex offenders and those who prefer the company of children did, but my say never counted in my father's eyes.
Hence, the creation of the Freedom Railroad around France. After the Western Campaign proved successful for the Nazis, a railway slowly formed from Vichy France, up to us in the occupied area around Calais.
It didn't take us long to find a private dock away from German eyes to smuggle those who had come hundreds, if not thousands of kilometers away to find safety in England. A fisherman, finding a safe route over to our main contacts in Dover, bringing the people to safety and towards trains to London, where they would be safe from most. Although we couldn't exactly save them from enduring Hitler's attempts to Blitz the UK.
It was a fair bit complex, to be fair. Those seeking sanctuary in England would go to have their papers falsified. All belongings that marked them as undesirable were to be destroyed lest they be stopped by Nazis. They'd have to take whole new names for the entirety of their journey and change them back once safe under the Union Jack's protection. From there, they'd move from place to place, pitstops on the way to Calais to rest, to eat, have clothes washed.
My family was one of those pitstops for long road travel. In some situations, Papa also printed fresh papers for those nearby who began to fret for their safety. New papers, stars and triangles destroyed before sending them back to Calais, where our fisherman friend would send them to Dover.
Was it at times dangerous? Absolutely. There were times where we would be spotted by those wearing swastikas. And each time, we'd hide. At least until my brother and I aquired protection.
And as it turned out, I had a rather deadly aim when I was stuck behind a wall.
This was the ritual my brother Oliver and I were performing the night I last saw home. Our small home was just in sight as we neared the home stretch of the journey home from Calais. We had been guiding a lovely Gypsy family out of occupied France to safety. I was still worrying the small blue talisman around my neck as I rode back in.
It was a gift from the mother of that lovely family. "A token of our gratitude." She had told me.
I had tried to refuse it, much like the rest of my family did. "They have already given enough up. They don't need to give us gifts." My mother had quoted after being asked why she refused a beautiful quilt from another woman.
But this time, much like the other times, they are determined to thank us. A home cooked meal, a beautiful quilt (which I was now looking forward to wrapping around myself.) Or, in this case, a talisman. "To protect you, Mockingbird."
I never understood why she called me Mockingbird, and probably never would since chances were slim that I'd ever see her again. But, the gem, labradorite, the lady had said, was pretty. So, I took it, if for no other reason than to get her off with her family.
Maybe the woman was right that it would protect me, I had thought on the way home. If I had known how right she was, I'd probably be spending my time hunting her down to thank her for saving my skin.
The hairs at the back of my neck stood up the closer we neared the house, Oliver and I. Normally, stepping into the small cottage would relax and warm me, send me straight to the kitchen in hopes of a fresh bit of bread that Maman had made and a drink. Sure, corn was typical with the rationing, but I could dream one day we could get some tea, or even a coffee.
But now, the idea of entering the house filled me with dread. My gaze turned to my brother; eyebrows raised as he looked to me as if I was mad. "What is it?" He asked me lowly as he pulled into the house.
As he moved towards the window, I snatched his sleeve. "Lottie, what's gotten into you?" He asked as I began to scan the surroundings. Something was wrong...I couldn't yet pinpoint it, but something was amiss.
"Stay put." I whispered, glancing out towards the village, arm still on Oliver's to keep him from going in. All seemed as quiet as normal, but several dark clothed men were speaking to our neighbors around the fountain.
At first, I didn't see it...then, I saw the red armbands. Nazis.
"Charlotte, I want to -" Oliver warned me.
"Shut up. Stay put." I hissed, taking a step to investigate the house, hand on the old pistol Papa had kept from the last Great War over twenty years previous.
"Charlotte you're -" Oliver froze, as did I, when I heard a bang from within the house. My blood ran cold when a secondary bang filled the echo. Crouching down, I ducked into the bushes my mother had enjoyed tending to so much, and carefully peeked into the window, mouth opening into a silent scream of horror.
The Gestapo had indeed found us. But they had found Mama and Papa first. The two guards stood over the table as my father's body slumped from the table, and down to the floor beside Maman's.
I slipped from the bush and grabbed Oliver. "They're dead. We need to go." I urged, going straight back to the car to start it again.
"Lottie, you're not -" Oliver once again began to speak.
"They're here!" I almost yelled, nodding out to the square. "And they killed Maman and Papa. Get in this car or we will be next! Someone's betrayed us." I ordered, nose burning and eyes stinging with tears I wanted to shed due to grief. But now was not the time. Safety first. Then we grieve the loss of our parents. "Oliver!" I reached and snatched him to drag him into the car. "Drive, dammit! I'm not losing you too!" I ordered him, turning to wait for a pursuit to happen as we hurried back out of the drive and sped off as much as we could.
I kept my gaze behind us, pistol ready to fire at any given moment for the inevitable. "Keep your head down and drive." I warned him. "Get us to Calais."
As if on cue, I heard a harsh yelling and squealing of tires. Here they come. The distorted faces of the pair that had orphaned us leading the charge and fired at our own car. "Hold it steady, Oliver!" I yelled, raising the pistol at my hip up and firing right back, pushing hair from my face after the first shot and sinking down. "I need a -" It's Oliver's turn to cut me off as he handed me a blue ribbon to pull my hair up and out of my face. "Thank you, brother." I retorted, quickly tying a ponytail and whipping back around to assess the damage.
To my shock, one of the officers was slumped against the dash of the car behind us. "Did you get him!?" Oliver asked.
"One, surprisingly." I called back aiming for the driver. "Take out the driver and we should be alright." I raised the pistol again to fire at the driving officer as Oliver swerved out of the way to try and lose them. I clung to the roof for dear life and fired again towards the driver.
Bullseye this time. The officer finally slumped over and swerved into a tree. "We're safe for now." I sank back into my seat again. "The officers on foot couldn't catch up without the car and I think there's is toast." I explained as I finally did up my seatbelt.
"You really are our canary in the coalmine." Oliver praised nudging me as I give a sad smile, the grief slowly creeping in as the adrenaline died off. It remained quiet for several minutes as Oliver took one of our backup routes to get to our fisherman friend. We hadn't time to stop and be friendly now.
The shepherds had become the sheep. "We won't be able to go back, will we?" Oliver finally asked.
"Not until the war is over." I replied sadly. "If we have a home when it's over. But it's too dangerous. They killed Maman and Papa. We'll go to England and see what we can do for the war effort there. And avenge them."
Oliver put a free hand on my leg, turning my gaze towards him. "It's going to be okay. We'll figure something out. I'll stay back."
"I'm not losing you too. They'll send you to a camp in a heartbeat." I reminded him. Losing our parents was bad enough. I didn't want to be the only member of our family left. They'd send him off as soon as they learned he was more interested in the company of men. Acceptance wasn't common as I would learn it is in future. Gay men needed to watch themselves.
And I needed to watch out for Oliver. We were now all we had.
"Right." Oliver patted my thigh affectionately. "We'll be okay, though. Especially with our Canary."
The journey back was filled with laughter, tears, and comforting each other as the grief finally set in as we pulled into the old fishing hut, finding that the friendly old man had long gone, only for a prim proper looking woman to be poking around.
"Who the hell is that?" Oliver asked me, turning his gaze to the brunette and back to us.
"I'm not sure but I don't think I'm overly fond of this. Weapon up." I urged, reloading the old pistol as Oliver grabbed the newer one Papa had gotten him before the war started for self-defense. "It's two against one, there's no way she can take us." I nodded towards her as we stepped out.
It was normally us who tended to stick out like sore thumbs, but between two redheads, it was the stranger that had seemed out of place. I pulled my pistol and aimed it towards her. "I don't know who you are, but you aren't exactly welcome snooping."
Strangely enough, the woman flashed a sad smile between the two of us. "Ah, yes, I was beginning to think I was in the wrong place. But considering how defensive you are of this hub it seems that I am." Her accent took me off guard. She was definitely not French in any form. English.
"What is it you're looking for?" Oliver asked.
"An undercover agent has been living here since the German occupation and sent records to the Strategic Scientific Reserve in regard to a French resistance." the woman explained calmly, tilting her head to the side at the sight of the pair of us.
Oliver and my gaze turned to each other, then back to the Brit. "You mean to tell us that Monsieur Allard was -?" I asked.
"An Allied agent? Correct..." The woman paused stepping forward to look to me. "If I'm correct, you were mentioned a fair few times in his reports as well."
"Me? How do you know we're not -?" I began.
"The enemy? No uniform, older weaponry and you're a bit too far from your naval bases east of here to bother coming to an old fisherman's hut." The woman explained, prompting a bit of irritation at the interrupting again.
"Not so fun when you're being cut off is it, petite?" Oliver gave a cheeky smirk.
"Shut up, Oliver." I snapped back.
"I'll take it that you two are Charlotte and Oliver DeLorne, then? We heard the rumours of what happened to your parents, I am so sorry for your loss." The woman replied. "However, we did also hear of your taking out of the officers that had killed them on your way here..."
"Let's rewind and pause, Mademoiselle -" I started again, showing the woman our own paperwork to prove who we truly are. "We may be the DeLornes, but we still don't know who you are."
"Oh, of course, I beg your pardon." The woman fished a badge from her handbag and held it up. "My name is Margaret Carter; I've been sent on behalf of the Strategic Scientific Reserve."
"And what do you want with us?" I asked face creasing in confusion.
"Perhaps it would be better for me to explain myself in a more private location. But to put it bluntly, we would appreciate your services with the Allies."