Chapter 2
Choosing Family
The next time Frank Miller was going through the
streets of the small French town, it was late in the morning.
The streets were crowded and the German occupation
couldn't drive the merchants and peasants away who had put
up their stands to sell their goods and produce. The place in
which the Coeur de Lion was situated was crowded with
people and as usual on days like this, Catherine had put up
some chairs and tables under an awning in front of her night-
club. It was mainly at her place where the wine-growers met
to discuss and quarrel about their vintages and wines and sale
one or two dozens of bottles of their golden or ruby treasures.
Séverine and Brigitte were sitting at one of the small
tables. The singer of the nightclub was enjoying her breakfast,
whereas Brigitte was enjoying a snack. She'd spread her
napkin on her stomach swollen with a Nazi's child. The young
woman had taken advantage of one of the high-ranking Nazi
soldiers stationed in her town. He'd shown interest in her and
after talking to Catherine she'd decided to start an affair with
the German. Although she'd managed to get to know one or
two things about the Nazis that were of great importance to
the resistance, it meant a big sacrifice for her. That cretin of a
Nazi had managed to make her pregnant. At first, people had
shown her their contempt, but by and by more and more
people got to know the truth and their insults were only
played.
"How is the little one doing?" Séverine asked, putting
her huge cup down on the saucer.
"Don't ask. I wish it were over," Brigitte growled.
"Tell me, does *he* really look that much like Maurice?"
Séverine dipped her croissant into the tepid coffee and
took a bite before she replied to the question. "Hm, oui, but
see for yourself. There he's coming!" With her finger she
pointed in the direction from which Miller came limping. It
was part of their plan that *Maurice* arrived at home in
bright daylight, on market-day, when as much people as
possible could see him. They'd decided that he limp, that
would make the story of his near-death more believable.
Brigitte almost dropped her croissant. They had been
right. That American really looked like Maurice. "Ce n'est
...pas possible ...," Brigitte was lost for words. This was
incredible.
Séverine was the perfect actor then, she raised with a
start, knocking the cup over so that it fell onto the cobble-
stone ground and shattered to pieces. She let out a shriek and
disappeared into the house. Brigitte got up as slowly as
possible. She was really shell-shocked, she didn't have to play.
By now, the people nearby had turned and gazed in awe at the
limping man. Maurice was back!
An old woman let her basket fall to the ground and ran
towards the lost son as fast as she could, spreading her arms
wide to gather the big man into her fragile embrace. "Maurice,
mon fils, my son, you're back!" she cried at a high-pitched
voice. Just as he'd been told, Frank returned the embrace and
played the game.
Just then, Séverine returned from the house pulling
Catherine after her. When Catherine realized what was going
on, she let go of Séverine's hand and weakly whispered her
late husband's name. Once again, tears were filling her eyes,
but no one ever realized that they were real. Except for one
person.
Frank let go of his *mother* to take a few steps
towards the trembling woman. He alone knew that her
reaction was genuine. "Catherine," he said, managing to
disguise his voice in way it sounded like Maurice's. Those
knowing about his true identity were surprised at how French
his French actually sounded, but then they didn't know that
Frank Miller's mother was a Frenchwoman.
The big man gathered all his courage to embrace the
woman and pull her into a tight yet gentle hug. She was
wearing a summer-dress but despite the heat she was
trembling. As he was supposed to he buried his face in the
crook of her neck, deeply inhaling the lavender-scent of her
perfume. Gods, it felt so good to hold her in her arms,
especially after what he'd witnessed the previous night. He
was very well aware that she wouldn't realize his consolation
for what it was: a consolation for the pain he'd caused her last
night and was still causing her.
To his big surprise Catherine returned his embrace
with equal force, melding her body into his. "Don't you ever
leave me ever again! Don't you ever leave me again," she
whispered in his ear.
"I won't ever leave you again," he promised. "Ma
chérie."
The hug broken up, they both felt awkward, but Frank
saved the situation by saying hello to the others approaching
him. Then the whole party retreated to the privacy of the
closed nightclub. "It really is amazing. You look exactly like
Maurice," Brigitte told him again. He believed her, for
Catherine had showed him a photograph of her husband that
had been taken shortly before he'd disappeared.
"Oh, that worked very well!" Jean triumphed. He'd
observed the scene from behind a curtain. He'd insisted on
standing inside for fear he'd spoil everything with his
triumphant grin.
"Oui," Catherine nodded absent-mindedly and
collapsed onto a chair. She opened the box of cigarettes lying
on the table, took one out and was about to light it with a
match, when Frank pulled the cigarette from between her lips.
She looked at him in annoyance.
"You shouldn't smoke, Catherine," he merely said.
"Bravo, she won't listen to me whenever I tell her to
stop smoking," Séverine said, but despite her good intention,
she didn't manage to ease the tension in the room.
"I know very well what's best for myself, merci bien!"
Catherine snapped, tossed the box of cigarettes onto the table
and left the room.
"Oh la la!" Jean made. "Well, I guess she'll calm down
soon. What about some lunch?"
=/\=
Catherine didn't know what had happened earlier. She
was just in rage. What had they done to her, all of them? She
was just a woman after all. Why did she always have to be
strong and brave? Now she realized that she hadn't quite been
like herself ever since she'd received that letter three years
ago. She'd looked for a new task to indulge in, both to soothe
her pain and to make her feel like a worthy person again, to
get rid of her hatred and her anger. And to repress her own
fears. The resistance had welcome her then with open arms.
The work had demanded her strength and all of her
compassion, it made her able to give her strong emotions
about Maurice's death a new, positive direction.
However, it hadn't helped her to come to peace with
herself at all. Now that Maurice was somehow alive in Frank
again, and so very real, she had to admit that she'd repressed
her grief instead of overcoming it and taking her life into her
own hands.
Meanwhile, she'd reached the woods in the north of
the town, and the cool shade of the ancient trees calmed her
heated body. She'd been running all the way from her house
until she'd come here, not caring where her feet were leading
her. It was so very quiet here. The only sounds were coming
from the soft summer-breeze rustling in the dark green leaves
of the trees and the singing of the birds. It was as if the woods
didn't care about her pain and so the peaceful silence was
disturbed by her desperate cry of frustration. Then she sank to
her knees, the soft grass and moss cushioning her gently.
Catherine hid her face in her hands, but she couldn't cry. All of
her tears had been shed the night before.
It wasn't just like the Catherine of the Resistance to
run away and cry, but it was very like the old Catherine who'd
been married happily with Maurice to finally let her grief get
the better of her.
What had that American done to her? She'd felt so
much at peace when he'd gathered her in that tight embrace in
the market-place. For the first time in four years she'd felt
protected again, and at peace. She was so tired of being the
strong woman, so very tired. Just for once she wanted to
forget about that damn war, that damn Germans, and just be
like herself, just wanted to learn again what true love meant.
=/\=
Andreas Brückner was standing at the window of the
Nazi Headquarters in Sainte Claire, peeping through the
curtains at the scene that was displaying itself on the market
place. The building that now hosted the headquarters had
been the Hôtel de Ville in peaceful times. When the Germans
had occupied the small town they'd driven the local
administration away and had them scattered all over the town.
Brückner, to whom only the Commandant was superior, had
made himself comfortable in the mayor's office and had
quickly exchanged the picture of Marianne for a blood red
flag with the swastika on it. Other items that once had
belonged to the mayor had disappeared and been replaced by
Brückner's impressive collection of rare art objects.
"Riebel!" he called after his personal attendant with a
voice that was used to commanding others. Riebel, a young
man in his mid-twenties, obeyed immediately and joined him
at the window. "Who is that guy?"
Of course Riebel didn't know, he couldn't know. The
occupants hadn't been long enough in Sainte Claire to know
everything. "I don't know, sir. I'll send for him," he said, ready
to leave.
"Nein!" Brückner barked and waved him back with a
gesture of his hand. "No, Riebel. The guy is obviously well
aquainted to Fräulein Brigitte. Send for her, instead."
"Jawohl, yes, sir." Riebel clicked his heels and quickly
left the pompous office.
Brückner set his tough looking jaw and eyed the scene
suspiciously. It seemed as though Madame Catherine had
welcomed a dear visitor. Then his dark face brightened and an
ugly grin spread over his face. He'd sure have to go and see
his friend tonight.
=/\=
"What ... " Miller looked after Catherine after she'd
literally fled the nightclub. He couldn't imagine what had upset
her so much.
"Don't worry about her," Séverine said coolly. "She'll
calm down."
"Oui, she's pretty uneasy because of this whole
business. I think we should have told her," Jean chimed in.
The small peculiar looking man had just emerged from the
kitchen, carrying an enormous plate laden with cheese and
fresh bread. He put it down on a big table in a corner of the
room where all of them had enough pace to sit and have their
lunch.
"I think I should go and look after her," Frank decided
and was about to get up when the little granny who'd
welcomed him earlier entered the room. "Ah, tu es ici, mon
fils!" she exclaimed in her high pitched voice. Frank sat down
again. He couldn't but state the obvious.
"Madame Leroux." Paul greeted her, only his voice
betraying his feelings. In the short time that Frank had been
knowing him, he'd discovered that Paul the pointy-eared had a
respectable talent for hiding his emotions. But he'd also
learned that he was a wise and very logic man. Frank hadn't
yet decided whether he liked him or not, but it hadn't been
concealed to him that he was a good friend of Catherine's.
Paul's voice sounded somewhat surprised.
The faces of the others could be read as easily as open
books. Each of them was surprised, although Séverine was
taking a leaf out of Paul's book and managed just to raise her
left eyebrow and the peculiar looking jewelry that was
attached to her brow. Frank realized that Maurice's mother
obviously hadn't come very often to the nightclub in the past
four years.
"Maman," he rose again and went to the little old lady
and put an arm around her fragile shoulders to lead her to his
chair. "What has brought you here?" he asked.
"You, mon cher. When I saw that your wife had run
away again I thought I'd come and see you," she explained.
The venom that was in her voice when she talked about
Catherine made it clear that she and her daughter-in-law
obviously weren't the best friends in the world.
"She needs some time of her own, maman," Frank
said. He didn't know what had been going on between the two
women so he tried to be as unbiased as possible. Which, in
fact, wasn't that difficult, for no one had cared to fill him in on
the Leroux family history.
"Pah, that egotistic little bitch! Flirting with your
guests but never caring to give birth to your son, that kind of
girl she is!" she spat. Then she discovered the bread and
cheese and helped herself.
*God, that's it all about!* Frank thought. "Maman,
I've only just returned, so could we please discuss this later?"
he managed to express his contempt for the situation.
Obviously it worked, for Maman Leroux took it that the
contempt he'd expressed had been directed at Catherine. The
others in contrast weren't fooled that easily. They knew that in
fact Frank had expressed his contempt for Maurice's mother.
"Bien, bien, I'll have to leave now anyway," the old
woman said and rose, still chewing on her bread and cheese.
"A bientôt! See you soon!" Then she shuffled out of the room.
"You handled that very well, Captain," Paul nodded. It
was the equal to clapping him on the shoulder.
"Thanks, but you could have warned me about that
dragon beforehand," Frank hissed.
"We're sorry about this, Francois," Brigitte said, using
the French version of his name, "but she never came here after
Maurice and Catherine had married. She didn't like her from
the beginning, but when Catherine didn't get pregnant, she
came to hate her. The whole thing isn't made any easier by
Catherine's outgoing character."
*Nor by her beauty,* Frank added silently.
=/\=
The doors to Sickbay hissed open, but the Doctor
didn't even bother to turn around and see who was entering
his realm. He was busy tending to the broken jaw of a crew-
member with extremely fierce looking Klingon features. He'd
had to sedate him before he'd been able to treat his injuries.
The furrows on the hologram's brow had hardly ever been that
deep before.
"What's it now?" he barked.
"Sorry, Doc," Kim softly said. His face was damp with
sweat and dirty from the work in engineering and holodeck-
programming and his hair disheveled. The young ensign
couldn't remember when he'd last had a good night's sleep. He
was so exhausted that only the adrenaline the Hirogens'
harassment kept pumping through his system made him stay
awake. What was keeping him sane, he didn't know.
The Doctor spun around immediately. "How are you?
Oh, I see," he said when he realized the Asian's looks. "I'll
give you some vitamins and other nutriments."
"Thank you," Harry softly sighed and collapsed into
one of the chairs. "Doc, we have to find a way to end this.
The power necessary for running the programs will sooner or
later lead to an overload in the power circuits that can hardly
be repaired. I'm especially concerned about the health of the
gel-packs. I suspect the Hirogen to have brought a decease
that might infect them."
"I am particularly concerned about your health, Ensign
Kim," Doc murmured in concern. He administered a
hypospray to Harry's neck and shot a load of vitamins into his
system. "You should sleep at least ... "
"I can't!" Harry shouted. Then, regaining his
composure, he repeated that this wasn't an option at the
moment. "Our people need us. Otherwise they'll get killed by
those sadistic games of the Hirogen. The security protocols
are disabled on all holodecks. You've told me yourself that
many of the crew had almost died in historic battle scenes and
stuff like that."
"You are right, Ensign. But you have to take care of
yourself as well," the hologram reminded him. "Have you
already found a way to disable the neural implants?"
Harry snorted. On the one hand, the Doc was
concerned about his health, on the other hand he treated him
as if he too were a hologram. "No," he replied in irritation.
"Well, I guess I can't access the controls either.
Perhaps we'll have to deactivate the devices ourselves," he
stated.
*Deactivate the implants ourselves, sure,* was the last
straight thought he had before his leaden lids closed him off
from the world around him and sent him into deep but
uncomfortable sleep.
=/\=
They had just finished their lunch and were about to
have a drink on Frank when Brückner's people stormed into
the restaurant and demanded to speak with Fräulein Brigitte.
She got up carefully, putting her hand protecting on her
stomach and went two or three steps towards the Nazis.
"Can I help you?" she asked politely.
"Hauptmann Brückner wants to see you," the older of
the two men informed her. It was really amazing how stock
still the two soldiers were standing there, their eyes directed at
a point no one in the room could see but them. Frank turned
around carefully in his chair and eyed them casually. It was his
first encounter with Germans and despite his being the boss he
knew better than to talk to them. It was hard enough to make
the French believe he was Maurice. From what he'd been told
back in the States, the Germans were very suspicious. This
made him smile inwardly. On the one hand they thought of
themselves as being the master race, on the other hand they
were pretty paranoid. So there couldn't be much behind their
oh so splendid ideology.
"May I ask why?" Brigitte urged. She didn't want to
see Brückner at all. Ever since she'd told him she was
pregnant he had been behaving strangely. What's more she
wasn't in the mood to see him. They had plans to make after
all.
"He wants to see you," the one soldier who'd spoken
earlier repeated.
"Just a moment, please!" Frank suddenly chimed in.
He got up carefully as well, playing his role as the big limping
guy very well and pulled Brigitte away from them. The two
soldiers looked somewhat taken aback, but neither of them
did say anything. However, they kept watching them.
When Frank had gotten up, Séverine was about to rise
as well, but soon enough she noticed Paul's eyes telling her to
remain seated. The tall pointy eared African had trusted the
American from the beginning and that meant a lot. He wasn't
the type to trust people easily, especially in these times. So if
he trusted someone, the rest of the Resistance could rest
assured that they could trust them as well.
"Brigitte, try to memorize as much as you can inside
the building, especially where the guards are posted and
where they're keeping their radio, okay? But take care," he
whispered to her. Then, as to make sure the Germans took
their little conversation for a good-bye between friends, he
kissed her on her cheek. Then he said for everyone audible:
"See you later, ma chère."
Brigitte nodded and then turned to follow the two
soldiers. They walked on either side of her as if to make sure
she wouldn't run away. Obviously they were taking their
orders way too literal. *Well, well, I don't think that Brückner
will be overly pleased about this when he finds out,* Brigitte
thought, a wicked grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.
=/\=
After the Germans had left with Brigitte, the four of
them resumed talking about their plans. Frank had gladly
accepted the plan of the Resistance because the US Army
needed intelligence on the situation in Sainte Claire. Since he
hadn't quite trusted the abilities of the Resistance of the small
town—despite Bobby Davies' better knowledge—he'd
deemed it necessary to get it himself. Of course he hadn't
thought of doing the reconnaissance himself at first, but now
he was glad he'd accepted Jean's offer and had told the Allied
Headquarters about it.
And there was another reason for his change of
opinion.
Catherine.
The woman was incredible. He'd underestimated her
because he'd thought he knew woman. As it turned out,
however, Catherine was none like the women he'd ever
known. Beneath that rough exterior she was presenting to
everyone was beating a hart of gold, he knew this. He'd
witnessed her lonely tears the night before, after all. So he
knew that she needed somebody to love her and make her feel
protected. Her mother-in-law didn't seem to help her in any
way in her grief, on the contrary. There was Paul, of course,
who seemed very close to and trusted by Catherine, but Frank
doubted that she talked about her affaires de coeur to him. On
the other side she was able to turn her feelings into hatred
against the enemy and the passionate protection of her
hometown and so get the strength she needed for leading the
Resistance. *Isn't she aware that she can't go on like this
forever?* Frank wondered. *In a few days the war will be
over. What will be left for her to do then? She'll break into
pieces if she can't turn her raging emotions into strength.*
"Captain?" Paul asked repeatedly. Only when Jean
touched his forearm did Frank realize that he'd been lost in
thought.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Frank apologized. If
he'd been a less self-confident man he'd have crimsoned.
"We were talking about buying that high frequency
oscillator to extend the range of our radio," Jean filled him in.
Frank was immediately all business again. "You can
save your money. Lieutenant Davies will provide us with one.
I understand that this Monsieur Goulot is your contact?"
Paul nodded. "Good. Davies is going to wait at his
place for you tomorrow morning, Séverine. The oscillator will
be well disguised," Frank informed them.
"That is a wise way to proceed. Jean has been checked
on by the Nazis several times this week, whereas Séverine is
quite popular. None of the Germans will suspect her to work
for the Resistance," Paul explained.
"Very well," Frank said, leaning back in his chair.
"I'm hoping Catherine will return soon. The weather
report is due on the radio in half an hour," Séverine said after
she'd brought some more wine. She poured each of them
another glass and sat down again.
"Oui. Naomi will be here soon as well," Jean nodded.
=/\=
When they reached the former Hôtel de Ville,
Brigitte's senses were highly alert. She'd never been to the
Nazi Headquarters of this area before, only few had actually
been there. So she memorized where the guards were posted
and other strategic information which she thought to be
useful, just like Frank had told her to do. But she'd already
made up her mind on possible places to put the radio, for she
knew the former Hôtel de Ville. She'd worked there as a clerk
before the German occupation.
"Herein!" She could hear Brückner shout after one of
her guards had knocked on the door to his office. Having
entered, Brigitte immediately recognized the scar-faced
Commandant. Paul had told them he'd served under Rommel
in North Africa and Schmidt in Poland and was one of the
most cruel Nazis in the whole area.
"Ah, there's your guest," he commented on her arrival.
He appeared to be the perfect gentleman, and although he
seemed polite when visiting the *Coeur de Lion*, Brigitte
knew better than to regard him as what he appeared to be.
"Well, I think I'll leave the two of you alone."
Brückner nodded and performed the Hitler salute.
After the Commandant had left, he sent the two guards away
as well.
"Guten Tag, meine Liebe. Wie geht es Dir?" Brückner
gathered Brigitte in an embrace. Obviously he had taken her
tête à tête with him seriously and had fallen in love with her.
"I'm fine, thank you. My, this is a nice place. Why
haven't you shown it to me earlier?" she asked, looking
curiously around the room. She'd been several times to the
former mayor's office, but then it had looked completely
different. Now the room was cramped with art objects from
all over Europe. Trophies he'd brought from other places he'd
been to during the war. Brückner had told her that gathering
art objects during a war meant more to him than occupying
other countries. When she'd asked him if this wasn't
interfering with the Nazi ideology he'd changed topics. *Pig,*
was the only silent comment on this she'd made.
"You have beautiful things here," she whispered when
she discovered the radio standing on a table in the far corner
of the room. Now she had what she'd wanted. This was going
very well indeed. Then she turned to look in Brückner's face.
He was beaming with pride as if he were a schoolboy. *What
a fool you are,* Brigitte thought.
"I'm glad you like it. But I haven't had you come here
to tell me this." The smile on his face disappeared and he
looked all business. Brigitte squared her shoulders
subconsciously and prepared herself for what was to come
next. Her senses were even more alert than before.
"Ah?" she only made.
"You welcomed a guest earlier," he stated bluntly.
*So this is what you're getting at, pig.* "Yes, we have.
Oh I see, the view you're having from this room is very
beautiful," she said casually and stepped at the window. From
up here one could command a look over the whole market
place that was now busy with traders and buyers, just as usual
on Thursdays.
"Ja, nicht wahr? So who is that man? I've never seen
him here before."
"He's Madame Catherine's husband. Four years ago he
left her to go to America, but he never returned. About one
year after he'd left Catherine received a letter which told her
Maurice—that's his name—was dead," she told him. For once
she was glad she didn't have to lie at him.
"Obviously the sender of this letter was wrong,"
Brückner commented.
"Oui. Catherine has never been the same after she'd
received this letter," Brigitte sighed.
"Well, you're certainly right. She loves him very much,
does she?"
Brigitte didn't answer right away. She wasn't sure. The
news of his death had broken Catherine despite all the
quarrels she and Maurice had been having ever since they'd
known each other. They were so very different from each
other that only few people had thought they would actually be
able to live together as a married couple. Their lives went up
and down at a face pace. The worst of it was that Catherine
didn't get pregnant despite their desire of having a child. This
brought her the wrath of her mother-in-law who'd never liked
her, and made the gap between her and Maurice only bigger.
So they'd deemed it a wise step if Maurice left for a while to
travel and visit some relatives living in the US so both of them
could make up their minds. However, Catherine never told
anyone about her feelings. Only after she'd received the letter
did they know that she was still loving him, maybe even more
that she'd made up her mind about their shared love.
"Yes, she does."
To be continued ...
Choosing Family
The next time Frank Miller was going through the
streets of the small French town, it was late in the morning.
The streets were crowded and the German occupation
couldn't drive the merchants and peasants away who had put
up their stands to sell their goods and produce. The place in
which the Coeur de Lion was situated was crowded with
people and as usual on days like this, Catherine had put up
some chairs and tables under an awning in front of her night-
club. It was mainly at her place where the wine-growers met
to discuss and quarrel about their vintages and wines and sale
one or two dozens of bottles of their golden or ruby treasures.
Séverine and Brigitte were sitting at one of the small
tables. The singer of the nightclub was enjoying her breakfast,
whereas Brigitte was enjoying a snack. She'd spread her
napkin on her stomach swollen with a Nazi's child. The young
woman had taken advantage of one of the high-ranking Nazi
soldiers stationed in her town. He'd shown interest in her and
after talking to Catherine she'd decided to start an affair with
the German. Although she'd managed to get to know one or
two things about the Nazis that were of great importance to
the resistance, it meant a big sacrifice for her. That cretin of a
Nazi had managed to make her pregnant. At first, people had
shown her their contempt, but by and by more and more
people got to know the truth and their insults were only
played.
"How is the little one doing?" Séverine asked, putting
her huge cup down on the saucer.
"Don't ask. I wish it were over," Brigitte growled.
"Tell me, does *he* really look that much like Maurice?"
Séverine dipped her croissant into the tepid coffee and
took a bite before she replied to the question. "Hm, oui, but
see for yourself. There he's coming!" With her finger she
pointed in the direction from which Miller came limping. It
was part of their plan that *Maurice* arrived at home in
bright daylight, on market-day, when as much people as
possible could see him. They'd decided that he limp, that
would make the story of his near-death more believable.
Brigitte almost dropped her croissant. They had been
right. That American really looked like Maurice. "Ce n'est
...pas possible ...," Brigitte was lost for words. This was
incredible.
Séverine was the perfect actor then, she raised with a
start, knocking the cup over so that it fell onto the cobble-
stone ground and shattered to pieces. She let out a shriek and
disappeared into the house. Brigitte got up as slowly as
possible. She was really shell-shocked, she didn't have to play.
By now, the people nearby had turned and gazed in awe at the
limping man. Maurice was back!
An old woman let her basket fall to the ground and ran
towards the lost son as fast as she could, spreading her arms
wide to gather the big man into her fragile embrace. "Maurice,
mon fils, my son, you're back!" she cried at a high-pitched
voice. Just as he'd been told, Frank returned the embrace and
played the game.
Just then, Séverine returned from the house pulling
Catherine after her. When Catherine realized what was going
on, she let go of Séverine's hand and weakly whispered her
late husband's name. Once again, tears were filling her eyes,
but no one ever realized that they were real. Except for one
person.
Frank let go of his *mother* to take a few steps
towards the trembling woman. He alone knew that her
reaction was genuine. "Catherine," he said, managing to
disguise his voice in way it sounded like Maurice's. Those
knowing about his true identity were surprised at how French
his French actually sounded, but then they didn't know that
Frank Miller's mother was a Frenchwoman.
The big man gathered all his courage to embrace the
woman and pull her into a tight yet gentle hug. She was
wearing a summer-dress but despite the heat she was
trembling. As he was supposed to he buried his face in the
crook of her neck, deeply inhaling the lavender-scent of her
perfume. Gods, it felt so good to hold her in her arms,
especially after what he'd witnessed the previous night. He
was very well aware that she wouldn't realize his consolation
for what it was: a consolation for the pain he'd caused her last
night and was still causing her.
To his big surprise Catherine returned his embrace
with equal force, melding her body into his. "Don't you ever
leave me ever again! Don't you ever leave me again," she
whispered in his ear.
"I won't ever leave you again," he promised. "Ma
chérie."
The hug broken up, they both felt awkward, but Frank
saved the situation by saying hello to the others approaching
him. Then the whole party retreated to the privacy of the
closed nightclub. "It really is amazing. You look exactly like
Maurice," Brigitte told him again. He believed her, for
Catherine had showed him a photograph of her husband that
had been taken shortly before he'd disappeared.
"Oh, that worked very well!" Jean triumphed. He'd
observed the scene from behind a curtain. He'd insisted on
standing inside for fear he'd spoil everything with his
triumphant grin.
"Oui," Catherine nodded absent-mindedly and
collapsed onto a chair. She opened the box of cigarettes lying
on the table, took one out and was about to light it with a
match, when Frank pulled the cigarette from between her lips.
She looked at him in annoyance.
"You shouldn't smoke, Catherine," he merely said.
"Bravo, she won't listen to me whenever I tell her to
stop smoking," Séverine said, but despite her good intention,
she didn't manage to ease the tension in the room.
"I know very well what's best for myself, merci bien!"
Catherine snapped, tossed the box of cigarettes onto the table
and left the room.
"Oh la la!" Jean made. "Well, I guess she'll calm down
soon. What about some lunch?"
=/\=
Catherine didn't know what had happened earlier. She
was just in rage. What had they done to her, all of them? She
was just a woman after all. Why did she always have to be
strong and brave? Now she realized that she hadn't quite been
like herself ever since she'd received that letter three years
ago. She'd looked for a new task to indulge in, both to soothe
her pain and to make her feel like a worthy person again, to
get rid of her hatred and her anger. And to repress her own
fears. The resistance had welcome her then with open arms.
The work had demanded her strength and all of her
compassion, it made her able to give her strong emotions
about Maurice's death a new, positive direction.
However, it hadn't helped her to come to peace with
herself at all. Now that Maurice was somehow alive in Frank
again, and so very real, she had to admit that she'd repressed
her grief instead of overcoming it and taking her life into her
own hands.
Meanwhile, she'd reached the woods in the north of
the town, and the cool shade of the ancient trees calmed her
heated body. She'd been running all the way from her house
until she'd come here, not caring where her feet were leading
her. It was so very quiet here. The only sounds were coming
from the soft summer-breeze rustling in the dark green leaves
of the trees and the singing of the birds. It was as if the woods
didn't care about her pain and so the peaceful silence was
disturbed by her desperate cry of frustration. Then she sank to
her knees, the soft grass and moss cushioning her gently.
Catherine hid her face in her hands, but she couldn't cry. All of
her tears had been shed the night before.
It wasn't just like the Catherine of the Resistance to
run away and cry, but it was very like the old Catherine who'd
been married happily with Maurice to finally let her grief get
the better of her.
What had that American done to her? She'd felt so
much at peace when he'd gathered her in that tight embrace in
the market-place. For the first time in four years she'd felt
protected again, and at peace. She was so tired of being the
strong woman, so very tired. Just for once she wanted to
forget about that damn war, that damn Germans, and just be
like herself, just wanted to learn again what true love meant.
=/\=
Andreas Brückner was standing at the window of the
Nazi Headquarters in Sainte Claire, peeping through the
curtains at the scene that was displaying itself on the market
place. The building that now hosted the headquarters had
been the Hôtel de Ville in peaceful times. When the Germans
had occupied the small town they'd driven the local
administration away and had them scattered all over the town.
Brückner, to whom only the Commandant was superior, had
made himself comfortable in the mayor's office and had
quickly exchanged the picture of Marianne for a blood red
flag with the swastika on it. Other items that once had
belonged to the mayor had disappeared and been replaced by
Brückner's impressive collection of rare art objects.
"Riebel!" he called after his personal attendant with a
voice that was used to commanding others. Riebel, a young
man in his mid-twenties, obeyed immediately and joined him
at the window. "Who is that guy?"
Of course Riebel didn't know, he couldn't know. The
occupants hadn't been long enough in Sainte Claire to know
everything. "I don't know, sir. I'll send for him," he said, ready
to leave.
"Nein!" Brückner barked and waved him back with a
gesture of his hand. "No, Riebel. The guy is obviously well
aquainted to Fräulein Brigitte. Send for her, instead."
"Jawohl, yes, sir." Riebel clicked his heels and quickly
left the pompous office.
Brückner set his tough looking jaw and eyed the scene
suspiciously. It seemed as though Madame Catherine had
welcomed a dear visitor. Then his dark face brightened and an
ugly grin spread over his face. He'd sure have to go and see
his friend tonight.
=/\=
"What ... " Miller looked after Catherine after she'd
literally fled the nightclub. He couldn't imagine what had upset
her so much.
"Don't worry about her," Séverine said coolly. "She'll
calm down."
"Oui, she's pretty uneasy because of this whole
business. I think we should have told her," Jean chimed in.
The small peculiar looking man had just emerged from the
kitchen, carrying an enormous plate laden with cheese and
fresh bread. He put it down on a big table in a corner of the
room where all of them had enough pace to sit and have their
lunch.
"I think I should go and look after her," Frank decided
and was about to get up when the little granny who'd
welcomed him earlier entered the room. "Ah, tu es ici, mon
fils!" she exclaimed in her high pitched voice. Frank sat down
again. He couldn't but state the obvious.
"Madame Leroux." Paul greeted her, only his voice
betraying his feelings. In the short time that Frank had been
knowing him, he'd discovered that Paul the pointy-eared had a
respectable talent for hiding his emotions. But he'd also
learned that he was a wise and very logic man. Frank hadn't
yet decided whether he liked him or not, but it hadn't been
concealed to him that he was a good friend of Catherine's.
Paul's voice sounded somewhat surprised.
The faces of the others could be read as easily as open
books. Each of them was surprised, although Séverine was
taking a leaf out of Paul's book and managed just to raise her
left eyebrow and the peculiar looking jewelry that was
attached to her brow. Frank realized that Maurice's mother
obviously hadn't come very often to the nightclub in the past
four years.
"Maman," he rose again and went to the little old lady
and put an arm around her fragile shoulders to lead her to his
chair. "What has brought you here?" he asked.
"You, mon cher. When I saw that your wife had run
away again I thought I'd come and see you," she explained.
The venom that was in her voice when she talked about
Catherine made it clear that she and her daughter-in-law
obviously weren't the best friends in the world.
"She needs some time of her own, maman," Frank
said. He didn't know what had been going on between the two
women so he tried to be as unbiased as possible. Which, in
fact, wasn't that difficult, for no one had cared to fill him in on
the Leroux family history.
"Pah, that egotistic little bitch! Flirting with your
guests but never caring to give birth to your son, that kind of
girl she is!" she spat. Then she discovered the bread and
cheese and helped herself.
*God, that's it all about!* Frank thought. "Maman,
I've only just returned, so could we please discuss this later?"
he managed to express his contempt for the situation.
Obviously it worked, for Maman Leroux took it that the
contempt he'd expressed had been directed at Catherine. The
others in contrast weren't fooled that easily. They knew that in
fact Frank had expressed his contempt for Maurice's mother.
"Bien, bien, I'll have to leave now anyway," the old
woman said and rose, still chewing on her bread and cheese.
"A bientôt! See you soon!" Then she shuffled out of the room.
"You handled that very well, Captain," Paul nodded. It
was the equal to clapping him on the shoulder.
"Thanks, but you could have warned me about that
dragon beforehand," Frank hissed.
"We're sorry about this, Francois," Brigitte said, using
the French version of his name, "but she never came here after
Maurice and Catherine had married. She didn't like her from
the beginning, but when Catherine didn't get pregnant, she
came to hate her. The whole thing isn't made any easier by
Catherine's outgoing character."
*Nor by her beauty,* Frank added silently.
=/\=
The doors to Sickbay hissed open, but the Doctor
didn't even bother to turn around and see who was entering
his realm. He was busy tending to the broken jaw of a crew-
member with extremely fierce looking Klingon features. He'd
had to sedate him before he'd been able to treat his injuries.
The furrows on the hologram's brow had hardly ever been that
deep before.
"What's it now?" he barked.
"Sorry, Doc," Kim softly said. His face was damp with
sweat and dirty from the work in engineering and holodeck-
programming and his hair disheveled. The young ensign
couldn't remember when he'd last had a good night's sleep. He
was so exhausted that only the adrenaline the Hirogens'
harassment kept pumping through his system made him stay
awake. What was keeping him sane, he didn't know.
The Doctor spun around immediately. "How are you?
Oh, I see," he said when he realized the Asian's looks. "I'll
give you some vitamins and other nutriments."
"Thank you," Harry softly sighed and collapsed into
one of the chairs. "Doc, we have to find a way to end this.
The power necessary for running the programs will sooner or
later lead to an overload in the power circuits that can hardly
be repaired. I'm especially concerned about the health of the
gel-packs. I suspect the Hirogen to have brought a decease
that might infect them."
"I am particularly concerned about your health, Ensign
Kim," Doc murmured in concern. He administered a
hypospray to Harry's neck and shot a load of vitamins into his
system. "You should sleep at least ... "
"I can't!" Harry shouted. Then, regaining his
composure, he repeated that this wasn't an option at the
moment. "Our people need us. Otherwise they'll get killed by
those sadistic games of the Hirogen. The security protocols
are disabled on all holodecks. You've told me yourself that
many of the crew had almost died in historic battle scenes and
stuff like that."
"You are right, Ensign. But you have to take care of
yourself as well," the hologram reminded him. "Have you
already found a way to disable the neural implants?"
Harry snorted. On the one hand, the Doc was
concerned about his health, on the other hand he treated him
as if he too were a hologram. "No," he replied in irritation.
"Well, I guess I can't access the controls either.
Perhaps we'll have to deactivate the devices ourselves," he
stated.
*Deactivate the implants ourselves, sure,* was the last
straight thought he had before his leaden lids closed him off
from the world around him and sent him into deep but
uncomfortable sleep.
=/\=
They had just finished their lunch and were about to
have a drink on Frank when Brückner's people stormed into
the restaurant and demanded to speak with Fräulein Brigitte.
She got up carefully, putting her hand protecting on her
stomach and went two or three steps towards the Nazis.
"Can I help you?" she asked politely.
"Hauptmann Brückner wants to see you," the older of
the two men informed her. It was really amazing how stock
still the two soldiers were standing there, their eyes directed at
a point no one in the room could see but them. Frank turned
around carefully in his chair and eyed them casually. It was his
first encounter with Germans and despite his being the boss he
knew better than to talk to them. It was hard enough to make
the French believe he was Maurice. From what he'd been told
back in the States, the Germans were very suspicious. This
made him smile inwardly. On the one hand they thought of
themselves as being the master race, on the other hand they
were pretty paranoid. So there couldn't be much behind their
oh so splendid ideology.
"May I ask why?" Brigitte urged. She didn't want to
see Brückner at all. Ever since she'd told him she was
pregnant he had been behaving strangely. What's more she
wasn't in the mood to see him. They had plans to make after
all.
"He wants to see you," the one soldier who'd spoken
earlier repeated.
"Just a moment, please!" Frank suddenly chimed in.
He got up carefully as well, playing his role as the big limping
guy very well and pulled Brigitte away from them. The two
soldiers looked somewhat taken aback, but neither of them
did say anything. However, they kept watching them.
When Frank had gotten up, Séverine was about to rise
as well, but soon enough she noticed Paul's eyes telling her to
remain seated. The tall pointy eared African had trusted the
American from the beginning and that meant a lot. He wasn't
the type to trust people easily, especially in these times. So if
he trusted someone, the rest of the Resistance could rest
assured that they could trust them as well.
"Brigitte, try to memorize as much as you can inside
the building, especially where the guards are posted and
where they're keeping their radio, okay? But take care," he
whispered to her. Then, as to make sure the Germans took
their little conversation for a good-bye between friends, he
kissed her on her cheek. Then he said for everyone audible:
"See you later, ma chère."
Brigitte nodded and then turned to follow the two
soldiers. They walked on either side of her as if to make sure
she wouldn't run away. Obviously they were taking their
orders way too literal. *Well, well, I don't think that Brückner
will be overly pleased about this when he finds out,* Brigitte
thought, a wicked grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.
=/\=
After the Germans had left with Brigitte, the four of
them resumed talking about their plans. Frank had gladly
accepted the plan of the Resistance because the US Army
needed intelligence on the situation in Sainte Claire. Since he
hadn't quite trusted the abilities of the Resistance of the small
town—despite Bobby Davies' better knowledge—he'd
deemed it necessary to get it himself. Of course he hadn't
thought of doing the reconnaissance himself at first, but now
he was glad he'd accepted Jean's offer and had told the Allied
Headquarters about it.
And there was another reason for his change of
opinion.
Catherine.
The woman was incredible. He'd underestimated her
because he'd thought he knew woman. As it turned out,
however, Catherine was none like the women he'd ever
known. Beneath that rough exterior she was presenting to
everyone was beating a hart of gold, he knew this. He'd
witnessed her lonely tears the night before, after all. So he
knew that she needed somebody to love her and make her feel
protected. Her mother-in-law didn't seem to help her in any
way in her grief, on the contrary. There was Paul, of course,
who seemed very close to and trusted by Catherine, but Frank
doubted that she talked about her affaires de coeur to him. On
the other side she was able to turn her feelings into hatred
against the enemy and the passionate protection of her
hometown and so get the strength she needed for leading the
Resistance. *Isn't she aware that she can't go on like this
forever?* Frank wondered. *In a few days the war will be
over. What will be left for her to do then? She'll break into
pieces if she can't turn her raging emotions into strength.*
"Captain?" Paul asked repeatedly. Only when Jean
touched his forearm did Frank realize that he'd been lost in
thought.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Frank apologized. If
he'd been a less self-confident man he'd have crimsoned.
"We were talking about buying that high frequency
oscillator to extend the range of our radio," Jean filled him in.
Frank was immediately all business again. "You can
save your money. Lieutenant Davies will provide us with one.
I understand that this Monsieur Goulot is your contact?"
Paul nodded. "Good. Davies is going to wait at his
place for you tomorrow morning, Séverine. The oscillator will
be well disguised," Frank informed them.
"That is a wise way to proceed. Jean has been checked
on by the Nazis several times this week, whereas Séverine is
quite popular. None of the Germans will suspect her to work
for the Resistance," Paul explained.
"Very well," Frank said, leaning back in his chair.
"I'm hoping Catherine will return soon. The weather
report is due on the radio in half an hour," Séverine said after
she'd brought some more wine. She poured each of them
another glass and sat down again.
"Oui. Naomi will be here soon as well," Jean nodded.
=/\=
When they reached the former Hôtel de Ville,
Brigitte's senses were highly alert. She'd never been to the
Nazi Headquarters of this area before, only few had actually
been there. So she memorized where the guards were posted
and other strategic information which she thought to be
useful, just like Frank had told her to do. But she'd already
made up her mind on possible places to put the radio, for she
knew the former Hôtel de Ville. She'd worked there as a clerk
before the German occupation.
"Herein!" She could hear Brückner shout after one of
her guards had knocked on the door to his office. Having
entered, Brigitte immediately recognized the scar-faced
Commandant. Paul had told them he'd served under Rommel
in North Africa and Schmidt in Poland and was one of the
most cruel Nazis in the whole area.
"Ah, there's your guest," he commented on her arrival.
He appeared to be the perfect gentleman, and although he
seemed polite when visiting the *Coeur de Lion*, Brigitte
knew better than to regard him as what he appeared to be.
"Well, I think I'll leave the two of you alone."
Brückner nodded and performed the Hitler salute.
After the Commandant had left, he sent the two guards away
as well.
"Guten Tag, meine Liebe. Wie geht es Dir?" Brückner
gathered Brigitte in an embrace. Obviously he had taken her
tête à tête with him seriously and had fallen in love with her.
"I'm fine, thank you. My, this is a nice place. Why
haven't you shown it to me earlier?" she asked, looking
curiously around the room. She'd been several times to the
former mayor's office, but then it had looked completely
different. Now the room was cramped with art objects from
all over Europe. Trophies he'd brought from other places he'd
been to during the war. Brückner had told her that gathering
art objects during a war meant more to him than occupying
other countries. When she'd asked him if this wasn't
interfering with the Nazi ideology he'd changed topics. *Pig,*
was the only silent comment on this she'd made.
"You have beautiful things here," she whispered when
she discovered the radio standing on a table in the far corner
of the room. Now she had what she'd wanted. This was going
very well indeed. Then she turned to look in Brückner's face.
He was beaming with pride as if he were a schoolboy. *What
a fool you are,* Brigitte thought.
"I'm glad you like it. But I haven't had you come here
to tell me this." The smile on his face disappeared and he
looked all business. Brigitte squared her shoulders
subconsciously and prepared herself for what was to come
next. Her senses were even more alert than before.
"Ah?" she only made.
"You welcomed a guest earlier," he stated bluntly.
*So this is what you're getting at, pig.* "Yes, we have.
Oh I see, the view you're having from this room is very
beautiful," she said casually and stepped at the window. From
up here one could command a look over the whole market
place that was now busy with traders and buyers, just as usual
on Thursdays.
"Ja, nicht wahr? So who is that man? I've never seen
him here before."
"He's Madame Catherine's husband. Four years ago he
left her to go to America, but he never returned. About one
year after he'd left Catherine received a letter which told her
Maurice—that's his name—was dead," she told him. For once
she was glad she didn't have to lie at him.
"Obviously the sender of this letter was wrong,"
Brückner commented.
"Oui. Catherine has never been the same after she'd
received this letter," Brigitte sighed.
"Well, you're certainly right. She loves him very much,
does she?"
Brigitte didn't answer right away. She wasn't sure. The
news of his death had broken Catherine despite all the
quarrels she and Maurice had been having ever since they'd
known each other. They were so very different from each
other that only few people had thought they would actually be
able to live together as a married couple. Their lives went up
and down at a face pace. The worst of it was that Catherine
didn't get pregnant despite their desire of having a child. This
brought her the wrath of her mother-in-law who'd never liked
her, and made the gap between her and Maurice only bigger.
So they'd deemed it a wise step if Maurice left for a while to
travel and visit some relatives living in the US so both of them
could make up their minds. However, Catherine never told
anyone about her feelings. Only after she'd received the letter
did they know that she was still loving him, maybe even more
that she'd made up her mind about their shared love.
"Yes, she does."
To be continued ...