Plura Ater Nox
Chapter 25
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Author's Notes: I will apologise in advance for the racial dialogue in this chapter. It's only to show the flavour of the time period. I don't feel that way, so don't flame me for what is written. I'm recreating history as it happened. I'm not aiming to offend anyone; I'm just trying to write to be as historically correct as one person can be. However, I am interested to know what people honestly think of this. Don't be shy; I want honest feedback, but no flames please.
Also, I would like to extend thanks to two people who helped me with ideas for this chapter. First to my dear friend Mary Ann who with her distrust of Kepler (Hikitsu) brought on an idea for this chapter and secondly to my dear Mika, who gave me a suggestion for the way that three of the characters are killed here. Thanks guys!
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Sitting in front of the makeshift radio, Angelique sighed. She fidgeted. The other group they spoke with in Germany wasn't replying. They hadn't in a few weeks. They did have correspondence with others in the area, but none with the White Rose, their most important ally who held the most crucial information.
She wanted to hear a voice from the outside, something to reassure her that this dreadful war would soon end. But it seemed that it wouldn't happen.
She sighed morosely and flipped off the channel on the makeshift radio, a thought coming to her mind as she did. "Mon dieu!" She whispered out loud, realising something. If the division of the German army that held post here could create fear to reduce resistance activity, what could they have done in Berlin?
She gasped. The Gestapo. They could have cracked down on any resistance activity that was spawning in the heart of the Nazi empire. But what could they do? She had heard the stories? Could they be any worse than the SS Death Squads that they had heard of?
"Mon dieu…non!"
"Pray all you want, but it is all futile."
"Aimée!" Angelique turned sharply. She rose to her feet to come face to face with her friend and ally, who was also the head of the French resistance in the prefecture of Dunkirk.
"Angelique." The taller of the girls replied, her deep auburn hair falling in her face. Strands of hair had come loose from her otherwise pristine braid. "It is futile to pray now."
Aimée sighed, entering the room and took a seat across from her friend. She stared into her friend's deep violet eyes. Reaching out taking Angelique's hands in hers, she softly added, "I'm sorry, but it seems one of our friends was unable to escape the German's final solution.
"Céleste was found to have Jewish blood in her family, so they took her. They warned that any other women here found to have Jewish blood or be one that hasn't reported in will be promptly deported for the death penalty. Everyone who is must wear the Star of David.
"They missed it the first time around, until they heard her praying in Hebrew. She blew her cover, but now it means the rest of us must be prudent unless we want to end up at Bergen-Belsen – the place I heard them mention when they asked where to have her sent.
"I believe it also means that we have to be careful, for they issued a statement saying that any one found in contempt of the state will be considered an enemy and will be dealt with accordingly."
Angelique paled sufficiently as she listened to her friend speak. Reflexively she swallowed, for she too had disobeyed the German created law that all Jews were to wear the Star of David on their clothing.
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With the two young adults out in the back, burying their old clothing, Kepler stood up. He gazed around, a cold smirk over his lips. Walking to the door, he opened it and motioned for the three other SS Death-squad officers to enter.
The three walked in and saluted their superior.
"Take out the wench. The children are to be left alone. I'll take care of them. The woman is too outspoken. Damn it to hell if she is on Schindler's list, bastard's done nothing for me."
There was a serious of muffled laughter coming from the three officers. They didn't quite care for Schindler's need to have these damned Jews working for him. As far as they were concerned, that race was inferior and deserved the Final Solution.
Hefting the gun in hand, each of the three officers ran for the room. The tallest of the three entered, while two stood at the door. There was a muffled gunshot before the tallest of the three officers emerged and nodded at his colleagues.
Their feet moved quietly over the floor as they returned to where their superior was. Unlike when they ran to the room when their boots made the sounds resembling that of a charging horde, their approach when they returned was far more docile.
Turning as he heard his men enter, Kepler smirked coldly. Despite the darkness, his smirk was obvious through the haze of night. "Sounded like a nice clean kill, a single shot, was it not?"
"It was. Right to the bitch's ugly face." The tallest replied; a gleefully maniacal grin over his expression. While he spoke, his finger caressed the trigger of his gun. He switched it between hands and added. "Now what do we do with her worthless carcass?"
"Leave it to rot."
"Leave what to rot? What is going on?" Arielle asked, as she walked into the room hesitantly. Catching sight of the other German officers, she lowered her eyes and kept her voice lower, moving with added caution.
"Nothing you'd care about you little Jewish bitch." The tallest offer spat, pushing her against the wall with such a glee for his actions. He didn't care that Arielle was a girl; all Jews were the same.
Crying out, Arielle fell against the wall, her head hitting the window ledge following the impact. Slumping against the wall, the numbing pain that lanced her body caused her to slip down to the floor. The last thing she remembered before she passed out was the cold smirk over Kepler's lips. Tears momentarily hit her eyes before her world blacked out.
"ARIELLE!!" Achan cried out, running into the room at that moment, but skidded to a halt, coming face to face with the four officers that were present. He swallowed, concealing his nervousness beneath a deceitful exterior of rage and contempt.
"You son of a bitch! That's my sister! I don't care what you do to me! But a decent man doesn't hit a girl! You're a damned pathetic asshole!" Achan spat out angrily, taking a protective position in front of his sister.
"Oh?" A mocking laugh came from the officer. "I'm pathetic? You're the little worthless bloodsucking Jewish bastard. If anyone is, you are. Now, shut-up and mind your place you worthless bastard." With that, the officer drew out his pistol and pointed it at Achan's head.
Panic lanced through Achan's body. He needed to protect his sister at all costs, but he'd be damned if he did so by dying at the hands of the men who were part of the SS death squad. He swallowed, trying to think. Perhaps he could instil fear in them if he killed their superior. After all, Kepler had turned on them and betrayed them.
Turning to face the former Genbu Seishi Hikitsu, Achan's eyes darkened in hatred for the man. He couldn't conceal it any longer. With that, he raised his hands, a sizzling green chi forming around his hands, as a sneer caressed his lips.
With this, he formed a snaking layer of ice over Kepler's feet. Unlike when he, as his former incarnate, used it against the Priestess of Suzaku, it didn't climb slowly. Festered by his anger and contempt for the traitor, the ice moved up rapidly, encasing the German officer from head to foot.
Kepler hadn't a chance to move out of the way or summon upon his dark powers he kept concealed in order to fend off the unexpected and strong attack launched by Achan. Instead, the German officer stood in frozen shock, his body slowly shutting down.
This brought a smirk of satisfaction to Achan's lips. He turned to face the other officers. "Now, it's your turn." He raised his hand, preparing to encase them all together when he found himself tasting lead.
The shortest of the officers had raised his gun, shooting the young man at point blank range. "We may not be demonic beings like you, but at least we know our place, you little worthless bloodsucking Jew." He then kicked the young boy in the chest after the boy had dropped to the floor, holding a hand to the gaping bullet wound in his chest.
Achan whimpered in pain. He winced, crying out as he felt the toe of the officer's boot dig into his chest where the bullet wound had been inflicted. It sent a searing pain through his body. He just wish he could die now. The pain was too much.
From the wound, blood dripped slowly, but enough to drain his life from his hands. He turned his head to catch a glimpse of his sister. 'I'm sorry... I wish I could have done more to protect you.' He started to crawl for her, but gave up and collapsed in a puddle of his blood, barely breathing.
Gazing at the boy, who laid in a puddle of fresh and dried blood, the officers sneered. The officer of medium height kicked the boy again, and then turned a gaze to the girl, a twinkling leer in his eye. "She may be worthless, but worth as a whore. I heard my pa tell my brother once, a Jewish girl is a good screw job."
"That would mess up the gene pool. Bitch would be allowed to procreate. Though she does look like a nice screw job. Little Jewish bitch looks like 'em prostitutes that my dad had at work."
The tallest snorted derisively. "Stop thinking about fraternising with this bitch." With that, he made a decisive end to the discussion in a curt manner by hefting his pistol and shooting the girl in the head.
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Sitting in front of General Marshall's desk, Marcus sat back, his hands over his lap as he gazed around. It was quiet, not much happening. His gaze shifted to the window to watch the cloud move over the city. They were in a building that sat on the edge of the city. From their spot in the building, one could look out and see dim flashes somewhere across the channel.
'Another daytime raid by the Nazis.' Marcus thought resentfully, as he recalled the spy he fought. He had bitter memories of that; that and of the Great War and the trench warfare that had spawned during it.
General Marshall re-entered, he was holding a small stack of papers. He addressed his old friend as he wandered in, "it's nice to get to talk about strategy finally and not worry about spies getting information to expropriate into the hands of our enemies."
"It is, isn't it, Dwight?" Marcus replied, standing up and walking to the window. He leaned an arm against the pane and placed his forehead against the cool glass pane. "There has to be something that can be done to stop the damned Nazis. If it's as much a stalemate as it was before, how many lives are going to be lost before people realise that it's going to cost too much in terms of lives in order to get peace?"
"People are foolish in their dreams sometimes. They expect more than the boys can give. Our boys can only do so much in the face of this blitzkrieg that we're being faced with. German tactics have changed so much since the Great War, my friend."
"What are they being faced with? With the technology in this war, what are we able to do? What can our enemies do? Will we get the peace that we're fighting for, or will our boys suffer as greatly as we did. We can only pray that they don't end up in the trenches like we did."
"Reports from the western front speak of no trenches thus far. But, the Germans are more ruthless than before. Penetration is impossible. We only landed men because we found an opening. The French are still fighting, but their resistance spirit is high, ability to is low. They have no army, only civilians."
"Will the Germans spare them or do to the civilians what they are doing to the Jews?"
General Marshall inhaled thoughtfully, as he placed the folder and papers on his desk. He turned to face Marcus' back as he spoke. He listened carefully, absorbing his friend's words before he formulated his response accordingly.
"Only time will tell. Our spies are working to gather information. For now, we can only drive our enemy from Africa and focus on our future plans for attacks. We can continue our raids on bombing German cities and factories, as well as military strongholds. But for how? We are developing a debt that will eventually be too much to pay-off.
"Our allies are helping, but with the American tactics, we are faced with the prospect of a burdening debt because they are supplying us with the weapons we use, as well as our commonwealth dominion of Canada.
"Will they be forgiving in it? Will they outright share and trade arsenal for the sake of the world's future without strings attached? No one can say, but we can only hope that now that the United States is outright involved that their resources will help our drained ones defeat the Germans and drive the Soviets back into the USSR, so that the threat of Nazism and Communism won't cause any more strife the world."
"But, you know that right now the Soviets are less of a threat than the Nazis, even if we don't favour the Soviets and their ideals." Marcus turned his profile to his friend.
He turned it back to the window, his gaze at the ground, watching the soldiers working on a training exercise. "I don't want any more of our men to die. But I don't want the war to go on. So, I guess it means a few more sacrifices. It would take a miracle by God to make it happen."
"I know, but we may have a plan in store to penetrate German lines and land some of our men on mainland, thus giving us a foot in the door even if these men do nothing."
"Explain."
"In an operation headed by Captain Russell Stonewall and Captain JC Andreas, with IRA rank and file and able-bodied men who want a chance to taste war without out-right enlisting, we're sending this group over to slink past German lines and infiltrate."
"Sounds plausible. Have they taken into account the possibility of causalities and other negative factors that come with such an operation?"
"With Andreas as one of the heads of the operation, that is the furthest thing from his mind. He's working on his own agenda. I'd leave those issues of negative factors in the hands of Stonewall."
Marcus nodded knowingly. He turned to face his friend. "So, you're trusting Andreas to head this operation?"
"I believe it was his suggestion in the first place. I did question it, but took back my questions on the realisation that we could penetrate German lines and gather insider details that could help the allies with future operations. The resistance groups in France are slowly falling off the map as the Germans realise what is happening around them. We did need another source, and this does seem like the best for the time being."
"In other words, you had a momentary lapse of reason." Marcus bitterly pointed out, his eyes casting a knowing glance over at his friend keeping his gaze level with General Marshall's.
"No, I couldn't be bothered to listen to Andreas bullshit me." The general replied with a shrug and opened the folder pulling out a sheet of paper, handing it to Marcus.
Taking it, Marcus gave the sheet a succinct glace over. "You've got to be kidding me? He expects that the IRA will honestly cooperate with him on this? It means working with the British, which is the last thing the IRA would ever dream of doing."
"His explanation was that since the IRA were allies of the Germans and the Germans bombed out an IRA stronghold, that is why the IRA is suddenly willing to go to war against the Germans. It's not that they suddenly agree with the British, it's more that they now have it in for the Germans as well."
"He has an alibi for everything?"
"It does seem that way, does it?"
"It seemed to be the closest thing to the truth." Marcus handed the sheet of paper back to his friend and turned back to gaze out the window. He sighed softly, as he watched the rank and file of young men train for what would be the most traumatic time of their lives, of which, most wouldn't survive to tell of.
There was a curt knock on the door before a tall blonde man entered. "Sir!" He gave a curt salute before he moved further into the room.
"Andreas." General Marshall nodded at the Captain. "Has reason finally caught up with you?"
"Reason was always there."
"It was just fleeting."
A small smile crept over Marcus's lips at that. His friend still held wit, as subtle as it was. He didn't outright laugh, for that would be rude. He did however turn a glance to the other man.
"It hardly was. Sir, you haven't given this a chance to watch it unfold in its fullest. It will work, I can assure. I know it will." Captain Andreas retorted with a respectful tone.
"I never said it wouldn't, I merely said that you had a momentary lapse of reason." General Dwight handed the plans over to Marcus. "Let Lieutenant Faulkner be the judge of it is or isn't."
Turning, Marcus held the document and now fully faced Captain Andreas head on. He still wore a small smile, but instead of an amused one, this one was more along the lines of a knowing one. "I will the judge of it, but I do make my presumptuous statement now and it is: you're a crackpot. You led your men in to foolish wars, letting them die pointlessly and dishonourably, chances are, as history repeats itself, this plan will be Swiss cheese and you'll do the same thing again."
"I could, but will I?" Captain Andreas smirked coldly. "No, I did check it over in regards to precedence. There have been careful precautions taken so the mistakes made with Dunkirk with the French and English won't occur with us. We're landing in Vichy, they are an ally of the Germans, but as of now, unoccupied. If we move quickly and land there, we can get a stronghold before the Germans advance into that region and dissolve the puppet government in Vichy."
"But they do have men stationed there, as well as Vichy armed forces that will fend off any foreigners attempting to make a landing that would threaten the Axis."
"We'll just have to make life difficult for them, won't we? Perhaps a few pointless deaths on their side will damper spirits."
Marcus arched an eyebrow at the captain. "Oh?"
"It seems you're looking for an explanation. I can say it simply, I have two young men who worked as assassins in the IRA and are willing to devote their energy to this." Captain Andreas moved to the door and left for a moment.
He returned a moment later followed by two young men.
"Lieutenant Faulkner, here are the two young men that will be serving our purposed for infiltration: Séamus Kennedy and Brennan Mackenzie."
Marcus gazed at both young men, a look of surprise in his eye. If he was reading their chi right, the pair were Suboshi and Tasuki, the two most stubborn and violent people he had ever known. It did however seem fitting that the two were reincarnated in Ireland and served in the IRA. They had the temperament and the spirit for it.
His eyes moved over the second young man, the redhead. "Tasuki." He whispered. This meant that as of this moment, he had only two more of the Suzaku warriors to find. He knew that Hotohori was one of the heads of the operation. That left Tamahome and Nuriko that were unfound as of this moment.
Looking up, Brennan caught
sight of another old friend. A smile lit
up over his face. "Chichiri! You're here as well? They draft you for dirty work in killing them
bloody murderin' and bombin' Germans?"
"No, I decided to come back from retirement.
I don't want to see any more young men die because of the Germans. It was bad enough with the Great War." Marcus
took Brennan's hand, the pair of old friends shaking hands.
"But try telling that to the Germans."
The five men gathered turned to the source of the voice. In the doorway stood the other head of the operation, Captain Stonewall. His arms were folded over his chest as he leaned against the frame of the door.
"They haven't a care about life. Their leader keeps sending his men to the two fronts, an eastern and a western front. There is a heavy resistance on the eastern front, according to Soviet sources. There are mass deaths on both sides, but both persist in sending troops. Thousands of young men are sent to their deaths. Thus, we must proceed with caution if we are to launch our own offence. If we don't, we will make the same mistake as was done with Dieppe and with Dunkirk – underestimate the ability of the Germans and back ourselves into a corner."
Clearing his throat, Séamus spoke up for the first time, "it is possible, but anything is. God could let the angel of mercy play in our favour. If indeed the Germans are spread over two fronts, what's to say that they will pay attention to a small landing of civilians, especially the IRA? The IRA hasn't officially declared war on the Germans, so we're not enemies of the Germans."
"We fly our flag and land as the IRA, we won't be attacked. We did let the Nazis house at our bases in the United Kingdom." Brennan added, also joining the discussion for the first time.
"We'll go in alone." Séamus declared. "We could take out a few Vichy officials and create a state of chaos in the region, allowing for the men in this faction to land with less worry of a German counter offensive."
"Are you sure that is wise?" Marcus questioned his gaze resting on the two young men.
"Is it any wiser than letting Andreas head the operation?" General Marshall asked in response.
"Who is to say what is wise and what isn't in these times." Marcus turned back to gaze out the window, watching the rank and file of young men training to go to war, only to die needlessly.
To be con't in chapter 26…