As Oliver flew over London in his Piper J-2 Cub aircraft, he gazed upon the city in disbelief.

What had once been a familiar skyline was now barely recognizable. He could hardly believe what had happened to his former nation's capital and it made his heart seize with sadness.

Of course, he and his pilot had to make sure to keep themselves out of the line of fire, but thanks to his connections and intel due to his own involvement in the armament supply sector, he knew the safest routes to fly.

It had already been a perilous flight. They'd had to stop in New Brunswick and Newfoundland to refuel before they could safely make it all the way across the Atlantic, then again they'd had to set down in Dublin before proceeding on, finally, to London.

The pilot landed the plane with impressive smoothness onto the tarmac at the Hendon Aerodrome.

The aerodrome was still operational for dignitaries and other people of importance who needed to fly in and out of London. Although Oliver's visit wasn't technically essential, he knew enough people and had enough money to have it arranged.

"Welcome back to London, Mr. Warbucks", a fairly young, tall RAF Air Marshal greeted Oliver as he stepped off the plane.

"Thank you. I'm sorry you boys have been having such a tough time of it lately."

"It has been challenging, for certain but we are keeping our heads held high and are hopeful for eventual victory", the young man spoke solemnly but with a lilt of hope and optimism in his voice.

"Good lad", Oliver gave him a square and sincere look before saluting him, which the young serviceman returned.

A town car was arranged to take Oliver to the site of his factory. The whole drive there, he was anticipating the worst as he drove through demolished neighbourhoods. As the car rolled through the cobbled streets of London, he found himself staring out the window in awe of the people who resided there.

There was very little sense of panic or distress, no one weeping or shouting into the air at their enemies. They were all quite simply, getting on with things. Strangers, neighbours, helping each other reconstruct walls, rebuild their shops, their homes, their livelihoods.

People chatted in the street as if everything was exactly the same way it had been that time the previous year, or the year before that. They still smiled and laughed, shared drinks in pubs and shared the news of the day, whether that be the world's current events or what was going on with their own families.

Oliver found himself feeling impressed, moved by their fortitude and resilience.

"We're here, Sir", his driver informed him as the vehicle rolled to a stop.

Oliver peered out of the window and was in shock at what he saw. His armament factory was still standing. It had a few chunks missing from the stonemasonry but other than that, it was largely undamaged.

Quickly climbing out of the car, Oliver ran inside the armory, dozens of eyes immediately clocking him and staring fixedly.

"Mr. Warbucks?" A middle-aged man who had been standing at the end of the production line stepped forward, staring quizzically at Oliver.

"Richard!" Oliver recognized the supervisor.

"What in the world are you doing in England?" Richard asked him in disbelief.

"I-I couldn't get a hold of anyone here. I tried several times, fearing the worst, I hopped on a plane and flew over here. Left New York…the day before yesterday, I think, er…what day is it today?"

"Oliver", the man chuckled. "If that isn't the most exorbitant use of wealth I have heard about of late. You really had to fly all the way here to check on the factory? Why not ask your pal Roosevelt to reach out to someone here?"

Oliver bowed his head. "Well, in truth, I really did feel I had to come and see for myself what's been going on here. I was mightily concerned, not just about my factory, but about my home country too."

"Well, as you can see, we are most certainly still standing. Of course, it's not the same for all of this poor city."

"How has it been for you? It must be terrifying."

The man nodded forlornly. "The nights are the scariest. The Luftwaffe have figured out now that they can see us better at night when we've got the lights on. Churchill's issued blackouts. Doesn't make factory operations so swift when we have to spend precious time making sure the curtains are staying up."

"It's keeping you all alive though", Oliver pointed out.

"So far, so good", Richard gave him a small, coy smile. "I'm sorry to have worried you, Oliver, but we're fine. There have been a few incidents and bombings around the exchange so sometimes phone lines are unpredictable."

"I see. Yes, I should have thought of that", Oliver conceded. "I'm not sorry I came though. I had to see things for myself."

"I understand. Now you can go home. Let me handle things here and if anything does happen, I promise to do my best to get word to you as quickly as possible."

"Thank you, Richard. I know the factory is in safe hands with you at the helm."

Richard's smile grew sincere. "Well, since you've come all this way, you might as well take a tour through, eh?"

"Most definitely", Oliver agreed and followed Richard through the factory.

Oliver greeted and thanked the workers there and they thanked him in turn for the employment. It suddenly dawned on Oliver just how many women he had in his employ. The number in the armament far outweighed the men. It was a sign of the times and these women were most certainly grateful to be able to go on feeding their families while their men were at war.

Oliver was impressed by their work as well, they were organized and remarkably efficient. He made a mental note to suggest to Grace when he got home that they work on recruiting more women in their American factories too. He smiled to himself knowing she'd like that idea.

After spending a good portion of the afternoon at the armory, Oliver left in his town car and headed straight for the Savoy Hotel. Richard had advised him that it would not pay to dawdle in town, never knowing when an air raid could strike. Thankfully, the Savoy was one of the safest places to be in London, with one of the most comfortable underground bunkers around.

As soon as Oliver was settled in his room, he called home.

"Grace?"

"Oliver! Thank God. Is everything alright? Are you alright?"

"Everything's fine, Grace. The armory is completely intact. I do feel somewhat of a fool for worrying so much, and…I'm sorry I've put you through this, Grace. I know my coming here has troubled you to no end."

On the other end of the line, Grace sighed, both in frustration and relief. "Yes, it has, but you're safe and you're coming home and that's all that matters. When will you be returning?"

"As soon as I'm able to, I hope to be home the day after tomorrow."

"Well, I look forward to having you back."

"I look forward to being there. I love you, Grace. Please tell Annie that I love her too."

"I will. We'll see you soon. I love you."

"Goodnight Grace."

"Goodnight."

Oliver hung up the phone and released a breath of air. His wife had scared him when she spoke of leaving him. It scared him that she just didn't seem to understand him or his motivations, his need to control things and make sure he was doing his damndest for the war effort.

What scared him more than that though was the thought of losing her and Annie. Initially he'd felt angry at her for saying she would leave and take Annie away from him, but then he thought about what life would be like without them and he knew that that would be a fate worse than anything else, even, personally for him, losing the war.

After ordering room service once he realized he hadn't eaten since morning and he was really quite hungry, Oliver thought about his friend in France, Madame Briet, just across the channel. He wondered how she was doing, hoping she was ok. He wasn't sure if he would even be able to reach her, but thought he might as well try.

He called the exchange to be connected to Marseille, where Suzanne was now living since the occupation of France by the Nazis.

"Bonsoir?" Her hesitant answer came over the phone once his call had been put through.

"Suzanne? It's Oliver. Oliver Warbucks."

"Oliver! What an unexpected surprise. How are you?"

"I'm…fine, I'm in England."

"What?! What are you doing there, Oliver? It is so much safer in America."

"I'm alright, Suzanne. I had feared my armory might have been attacked and I couldn't reach anyone to find out, so I had to come and see for myself."

"Oh, Oliver. I don't know whether you're more brave than you are foolish but I hope you'll be going home soon."

Wanting to shift her concern for him and more interested in the situation in France anyway, Oliver diverted the conversation. "What about you? How are things over there?"

Suzanne let out a long sigh. "Every day I fear the Vichy state is in danger of becoming occupied. The South of France has become so overpopulated with refugees from the North and West, there are food shortages and not enough of anything really."

Oliver's shoulders slumped. "I wish there was some way I could help."

"I would be very grateful for your help, Oliver, but I could not ask that of you, especially not in this situation."

An idea struck Oliver. "Well wait a minute, what if I collected supplies here early tomorrow morning and flew them into some provincial town outside of Marseille?"

"Oh no, absolutely not, I cannot let you take that kind of risk!"

"There wouldn't be a great deal of risk, would there? Not if I'm flying into the free zone. I wouldn't even need to touch down on French soil, I could parachute the supplies in from above."

"Oh Oliver, I don't know. I mean, I am, of course, incredibly touched by your kind offer, but I really think you should get back to America as soon as possible."

Oliver felt a lump come to his throat as he thought about the children in the ghettos on the film Suzanne had sent him the year before. "I don't know if I could go home knowing that you have a problem there that I could help with."

Suzanne became teary herself. "Oliver Warbucks, you may be a man of steel but you have a heart of gold."

Her words made Oliver even more resolute in his plan. "Please tell me where I can make the drop and I will be there tomorrow afternoon at 2pm."

"Let me get my atlas, I will give you the coordinates."

"Fine." Oliver waited patiently while Suzanne found the location in her world atlas. He wrote down the coordinates for his pilot.

"Oliver, I don't know what to say except thank you, and please, please be careful."

"You're welcome and I will be."

"Bon voyage, mon ami", she ended the phone call with a quavering voice.

…

The next morning, Oliver was up at the crack of dawn to begin arranging and procuring supplies to deliver to the south of France for French refugees. Blankets and warm clothing, toiletries and medicines, toys for the children and canned goods and as many sweets as he could buy without also leaving England deprived of their own limited stock.

He loaded up a great big crate that was only barely light enough for the parachute to carry safely to the ground. It was loaded onto the plane, only just squeezing in through the back cargo door.

Because they had to divert right around the bottom of the South of France, with it being unsafe to fly over occupied France, the flight to the dropoff point just outside of the small town of Aubagne, 11 miles West of Marseille, took close to six hours.

The launch of the parachute was successful and after that, Oliver could only pray that it would be safely collected by Suzanne.

As the plane veered back around to the West, the pilot called out to Oliver that they would need to stop in The Channel Islands to refuel before carrying on towards home.

The Channel Islands were a British Crown dependency which meant they were free and guarded by the British military…at least that's what Oliver thought.

In all his many talks with Churchill, it had never been brought up that the Channel islands had been invaded by the Nazis in June the previous year and the fact that they had been demilitarized at the start of the war had never been officially announced by Churchill. Therefore, it came as a complete and horrific shock when Oliver and his pilot were greeted on the ground in Jersey by German soldiers.

Oliver and his pilot were both immediately pulled into makeshift interrogation rooms by the brutish soldiers.

"What business do you have here?" One snarled at him in a heavy German accent.

"Please…we've only landed here in Jersey to refuel our plane. After that, we'll be on our way back to America", Oliver responded calmly, trying not to aggravate the already heightened officer further.

"You're American? What are you doing in Europe?" The same officer narrowed his eyes on Oliver.

"I am a British citizen. I was born in Liverpool and moved to America when I was fourteen. I wanted to come and see what was going on over here first hand."

"That does not explain why you were flying over the English channel."

"Sightseeing", Oliver shrugged.

The group of soldiers all scoffed and the first officer lowered his head close to Oliver, speaking low and threateningly to him. "You must be very stupid, very rich, or both."

"Well, stupidity is subjective I feel. As for wealth, I suppose you could say I do alright for myself."

"Who are you?" The officer growled.

Oliver thought things through very quickly. He could lie and give them a false name, but he knew they would uncover his true identity the moment they looked at his passport and if he'd told them a lie, the consequences would possibly be even greater than they were already going to be. "I am Oliver Warbucks",

The officer stood back and let out a dark cackle. It certainly wasn't the reaction Oliver was expecting.

"And I'm Albert Einstein", he mocked.

Sometimes Oliver forgot how far and wide his notoriety spread, but clearly these men believed him to be rather important and not someone they would have expected to encounter in this situation. "No, really. I'm Oliver Warbucks. You can check my passport."

The soldier behind him began rifling uncaringly through Oliver's suitcase. He withdrew Oliver's American passport out of it and looked at it before glancing up at the senior officer and saying in German, "It says Oliver Warbucks."

The senior officer snatched the passport out of the other's hand, staring at it for some time before lowering it and saying menacingly, "I will ask you again, Mr. Oliver Warbucks…What were you doing in Europe?"

"I came to see the South of France one last time before it becomes a place I do not recognize", Oliver told him back with a stern conviction.

"Schmidt", the stone-faced senior officer barked at one of his other juniors. "Find some suitable accommodation for Mr. Warbucks in one of our finest suites, won't you? He's going to be checking in for a while."

Oliver swallowed thickly but tried not to let his fear show as two German officers pulled him up roughly from his chair and dragged him through the airport where there was already a car waiting to escort him away.

...