The Beginning of my novel set during the second world war.

A chill winter wind blew and stung the pale face which looked out through the  partly open bomb bay door of the aircraft, as they waited for the word to jump. An eternity passed in the ticking of the minute hand on the watch strapped to Harry's wrist. The cold was so intense and felt to Him as though it had entered the very fabric of his being. The original idea had been to fly him by Lysander, just a quick skip across as his controller had said. That was until they had lost three agents in a row, all captured as quickly as they had landed. The German reception committee’s waiting only until the aircraft had left before swooping. And so a chance remark by a senior RAF officer had prompted something a little different and so a new plan of action was formulated. Instead of laying on transport for Harry French, they would use something which would not alert the enemy. And so the Bombay doors were adapted of a Lancaster and once the aircraft, which would be on a normal bombing raid in formation reached the correct spot, the door would be opened and out would drop French, leaving the bomber to carry on its way and its mission.

Harry attempted a third time to light a cigarette against an impossible wind. The man swore under his breath and pocketed the unlit cigarette. The bomb aimer smiled at him from his position spread out on the crafts metal floor. The young man with the ginger hair was peering through a gap in the doors and talking to his navigator. He gave Harry a friendly wave and a thumbs up. French returned the man's good natured gesture and settled a little. He didn't like the cold, nor the shaking of the aircraft, but worse than these was the air-splitting anti-aircraft fire which exploded like a thousand fireworks all going off at once. Each explosion would cause them to lurch and with each movement Harry would be jostled this way and that like a rag doll. He knew the guns were close, because of the way the crew were acting, despite their cheerfulness. He could plainly see the sweat pouring down the desperate young faces and he knew that this was not a good sign.

Another flash and an explosion which shook the craft so hard that it pitched and threatened to pull itself into a dive. The pilot might have looked all of about twelve to Harry, but the kid could fly and proved it by dragging the limping Lancaster out of its intended downward spiral and back onto its former course. Seeing the bomb aimer bend his head to kiss a crucifix which he wore showed just how close they had come and French was both very aware and also very grateful. Still now would come the real test, jumping out of this thing would be something else and he found himself doing what so many sworn atheists had done a million times before, he said a short prayer recalling the words from an almost forgotten childhood  moment of innocent piety. He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and a man pressed in very close to him, the man came round his blind side and looked him full in the face. He seemed to be checking he was all right. Harry French smiled a thin little smile, but all he could manage at that moment. The man seemed satisfied and gripped him by both shoulders and mouthing to him that it was time. Harry felt his stomach drop and his knees threatened to give way for a moment, then as the other man gave him an exaggerated thumbs up, a sign which to French meant it was time to lay down, ready to go out of the open Bombay and allow himself to fall clear of the craft before thinking about opening his parachute. Training school had drilled that little home truth well and truly home with a vengeance. Pulling the cord too soon could end up with your chute attached to the aircrafts tail and that would be very unhealthy as the instructor had cautioned.

The planes Bombay doors were now open and Harry was trying to look through, but the wind was so strong that he could hardly keep his eyes open and even then they were streaming, salt water ran down his cheeks and stung his lips. He began to shallow breathe. Flak burst close by and he closed his eyes for an instant only to feel a sharp elbow in his ribs. The ginger haired youth was mouthing the word over and over.

"Go go go!" Sliding onto his belly he edged himself onto the edge and felt the stinging colder wind pick up speed, just a little further and he was free. As his body cleared the opening a curse formed on his lips, only to be taken away on the fierce night air. He counted in his mind as his stomach took part in its own acrobatic display. Sliding his right hand into the pull and feeling the metal meet his tense fingers, he pulled in one hard jerk! There was an instant like a Hollywood film when the world stood still and He heard someone say.

"Stop the world I want to get off." Then he became aware that it was just in his mind and then it happened. His arms felt as though they were about to be ripped from their sockets. The chute had deployed and billowed out stark white against the night sky. He looked below quickly for any landmarks and could see nothing for his trouble. The night was ink black, his tired aching eyes could make out nothing and then he saw, or sensed he couldn't be sure trees a lot of them. He wondered later how he'd managed to miss hitting them. However it happened he came down in the only clearing in the area. His descent was textbook until the moment of impact and instead of the collapse and roll, he felt his left leg go rigid on impact and the pain shot up his leg like a fire brand in one searing moment of agony, leaving him sprawling on the damp grass. He wanted to close his eyes and wish the day away. He knew this was stupid, yet it was the only thought which he could hold, until he heard a noise, something moving close by. This made his eyes shoot open and the pain of his injury felt itself pushed to the back of his mind, as his hand reached for the P38 pistol at his hip. He blinked his eyes over and over in an attempt to clear his foggy vision. There it was again the same sound. But this time it became clearer and he managed a faint smile it was a train in the distant mingled with an owl. He listened intently for several seconds, but heard nothing else, no sign of man, save for the loud echo of his frightened heartbeat.

Harry French had been briefed as to the area and as far as he could work out, if the train line was ahead then he wasn't that far off course. He had to travel at night and hide out during the day, otherwise he would be an easy target and the risk of bumping into the wrong crowd was too risky, plus you were a dead give away as a silhouette when seen on the horizon. It was get up and start moving, or else give up. Resting both his hands flat on the ground he pushed himself to his feet and limped into the night in the direction of the train he had heard. It became obvious very quickly that his ankle was not going to hold up unless he found a means' to take some of his weight off it. He felt around and found a strong branch within easy reach, with a few twists it came away in his hands. It made crude, but very welcome walking stick and he now found that he could cover ground much faster than before. A sudden noise ahead made him stiffen and instantly freeze every muscle in his body. There it was again yes it had to be human and it was directly in front of him. Harry held his breath and tried to judge how far ahead and how many there were. He couldn't hear any voices and the repeated noise appeared to be one person alone. He could hear a foot fall and then a clicking sound and this repeated. Should he move to the side, or backward? Either way he knew that with his bad ankle he would make a great deal of noise. Whoever this was they were not using a torch, for he could still see little more than his hand in front of his eyes. He pulled his pistol and flicked off the safety catch. With his other hand he felt behind him and found a stout tree trunk to brace himself against. He now took careful aim ahead and waited, as the sound got closer. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears. Then a flash through the black foggy night, then another making up a signal and one he had etched into his memory. It was morse code being flashed from a torch not thirty yards away and it spelled out F.U.S.S.Y the name of his contact, this was too good to be true, but he wasn't about to refuse providence a handshake. Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled out a small torch. He flashed the response back, which was his own codename of L.A.S.K.I. This brought a vocal answer in the shape of a very young feminine voice which addressed him directly in French.

"Are you alone?"

"Yes I'm straight ahead of you, follow the sound of my voice." Within a few moments Harry French was no longer alone. The clicking noise he had heard through the darkness turned out to be no stranger that the gears of the bicycle the girl had abandoned to help French out of the wood. It only took a few minutes to clear the dense thicket of trees. Harry had in fact been very close to the edge of the wood. His ears had served him well and the train line proved to be just yards ahead. After asking that he could support himself, the girl went over and picked up her bicycle. Colette Dupont kept pace with the newcomer and glanced at her watch the time was good and she knew they had plenty of darkness left with which to make their journey. At twenty four she had been with Arnaud Bonnet's resistance group for two long years and as the best courier in the whole area knew every inch of ground. She stood 5 foot six in her stocking feet and looked every part the young upright school teacher she in reality was, from her hair worn in its short bob to her round wire framed glasses she cut the most respectable of figures. Harry French's handsome features were not lost on her pale blue eyes, but this was business and not pleasure, still at least he looked like a man of some substance and would no doubt be handy in a fight. Still his injury would slow things down and because of this; the man could prove to be a liability. Time alone would tell.

The two made their way silently along a small track until they came close to a village. At once Colette held up her hand in a gesture of both stopping as well as total silence. French understood and remained where he stood. She looked around and appeared to smell the very air for signs, before indicating with her hand once more that it was safe to proceed. They came to another track running alongside the first and she gestured that they should move down this one and also that they should keep low. The air was still and the night quiet as they at last reached their destination. It was a school house set in its own modest grounds and reached via a single front gate. Its fences and walls were high and French could see that they would make excellent cover. The young woman ahead of him left him with her bicycle and stooped to unlock the gate and once through she locked it once more. Once inside the darkened school house Harry was surprised to find a small group of people waiting for him. The room was in darkness until the woman closed the door and turned on the light showing at once two others sat on chairs. The room itself was large and completely blacked out with heavy material from inside, so that not a single chink of light would escape to betray the life going on inside.  He could make out the faces of two people a man and a woman, the man stepped forward and relieved French of his walking aid. Harry lifted his hand in a sign designed to offer no argument. The man seemed to accept this and sat back down throwing the branch into a corner. Colette taking her coat off looked at the two stern faces.

"My friends this is Laski, he was at the meeting place and appears to have hurt his ankle, can you check this please?" In an instant she had drawn a pistol and had it levelled at Harry's chest. She gestured towards his own gun and flashed her pretty blue eyes. He understood and moving slowly withdrew his own weapon using his thumb and index finger, dropping it on the table close by. The man and woman had got up themselves and pushed him roughly onto a wooden chair. The man remained standing over him with his hands resting on his shoulders while the woman quickly stripped his left foot bare. This caused French to grit his teeth and draw in breath quickly. She looked at his ankle and moved it shaking her head.

"This is bad; it’s broken, not sprained. Did you do this landing?" She addressed Harry looking up into his eyes. He nodded through the pain. Colette addressed Harry once again and made sure her own eyes never left his.

"What is your name?" Harry French felt this to be a loaded question and tried to think fast as to the best way of answering her. She looked impatient.

"Laski" She looked far from content.

"What is your name? Not your code name, anyone could know that."

"Amil Fontou, why do you ask?" He thought he would chance his hand and try her reserves, he shouldn't have. Without warning she slapped his face hard with her left hand, leaving a finger mark, all the while pointing her pistol at him. She made an act of pulling the hammer back on the revolver and with the click the man felt his heart sink, her eyes flickered and he felt sure just for a moment that he had to take a chance.

"Reed my name his Harry Reed London must have cleared me for I know you are Fussy." No breath was taken in the room until the hammer on Colette Dupont's gun was lowered back into its safe resting place. Then she leaned over and handed his gun back to him and kissed his cheek.

"Welcome to France Harry Reed we are glad to have you with us." With this the others came over and greetings were exchanged. Over a welcome bowl of stew, thick bread and strong red wine, he learned that the man worked on a boat captained by Bonnet the head of the group. The woman really took him by surprised. Her name was Lainey and she was an American and had only just got there herself. She was to be the new radio operator, or pianist, as they were affectionately known. The food and company was better than he had expected and the night passed quietly without disturbance, except for a late night visit from a doctor who set his ankle and gave him some painkillers, for which he was very grateful. Sleep came at a late hour and made difficult by having to sleep on a tabletop. The others sat up in chairs, only snatching the odd hours rest in the early hours.

It was 5-30am when Harry was woken by a gentle touch. Opening his tired eyes Colette’s face swam into focus and reminded the man of his circumstances and what had brought him to this point. He raised himself up to a sitting position. The young woman explained that they had to move early and quickly, as the school was in daily use and all evidence of overnight habitation had to be cleared away before the children arrived. Also she went on to explain that because of this no hot food could be cooked and that he would have to make do with cold breakfast and coffee in order to avoid any lingering food smells. With a grateful smile French swung his legs over the table-side and tested his ankle. Colette passed him an old walking stick which the doctor had left for him. This made things better and Harry found that as long as he moved slowly, that he was able to move around quite easily. She led him out into the yard where there was a small water pump. He quickly stripped to the waist and washed and shaved using his kit given the day before when his own Rolls razor and quality kit had been taken from him and left at the manor. The French razor was sharp enough, not new, but good enough and tarnished enough not to arouse suspicion if seen by prying eyes.

Just after 6am with breakfast over the pretty school teacher explained a slight problem to her new charge. She crossed her legs at the ankles and leaned in toward the man sitting opposite.

"Harry we are going to have to change our plans because of your injury. We were to have you ride a bicycle with me this morning and then go to your safe house. But now it’s impossible. I mean you could never ride a bike, not like this." French managed a weak smile and nodded in mute agreement as she continued.

"So instead we'll risk taking you to a little place we know which is very close. Then we can get you from there later once things are quiet and we can be certain that no Germans are searching this area. It will not be easy for you and you will have to be very quiet, like the grave, you understand?"

"Yes I understand. Colette I am very grateful for all your help and will do anything to make things easier for you. I am so angry with myself over this bloody ankle I really am!" She shook her head and smiled.

"Harry there really is no use complaining about that which has passed, let us instead deal with the day in the best way we are able, yes?" He nodded.

The little cottage as it turned out was very close to the school; perhaps too close to his mind, but they knew what they were doing. They walked him down the lane like old friends laughing and joking as they surrounded him. Once inside the cottage he could see nothing in the way of a hiding place and was about to question the sense of the matter when a method of concealment of genius proportions was revealed to him. Above his head was a wooden rack used to dry the clothes which hung from it in huge folds. One of his helpers unfastened the rack and letting it down stripped it of its clothes revealing a ladder in two parts within the rack. Pulling this out and leaning it against the far wall over the fireplace, the man climbed quickly up to a painting of some forgotten pre-war landscape, which he pulled aside revealing a large hole behind, which he indicated to. Harry French was dumbfounded at the sheer ingenuity of the thing. He quickly exchanged places with the man and crawled into the hidden place behind the picture. The man climbed up behind him and explained that total silence and no movement would alone ensure his safety until they came to get him. He agreed and pulled himself into the dark space, with a tin pot alone for company. The painting was pushed back into place cutting off the last chink of light and plunging both his eyes as well as his heart into darkness.

As the time moved along he could hear voices and laughter, which at least raised his spirits a little. All of a sudden there was total silence and this was something he didn't like. He felt a shiver run up his spine as he heard a loud hammering at the little cottage door and then other voices raised and guttural. Then he heard the sound of boots and objects being moved and dropped, or thrown, he couldn't be certain which. He felt trapped and knew that he had to do nothing, or risk the lives of those below. The noise below went on for at least another half hour and then there was nothing just silence. Harry French felt the need to do something anything. He knew however that he could do nothing and that he must do nothing, not for a long time anyway. These people had so far been as good as their word and he must trust them. The time dragged on and still the silence below remained unbroken. Harry decided that he should try to sleep and at least pass a little time while he waited. He did at last fall into a light sleep and found himself awaked by something. He flicked his eyes open and then silently cursed the darkness. He closed his eyes again and strained his ears for a sound, any sound. Nothing came to him. All was as still as it had been before he fell asleep and just how long ago that had been was anyone's guess. Harry French had had enough of waiting and decided that it was time to chance his hand. Moving a little he attempted to turn his body around, but found the space too narrow. He knew that he would have to move out of the space backwards and once on the edge chance a drop to the floor below. He hope his ankle would stand up to it and be strong enough to get out of the place. He eased himself a little and then heard a noise, which to his ears was as loud as thunder. The sound came from directly beneath him. He gritted his teeth and pushed his hand into his pocket folding his tense fingers around the cold gun and attempting to steady both his nerves and his breathing. French strained his ears, but could hear no voices. In fact all he could hear was a scraping sound and nothing more. He heard creaking and then without warning light flashed in his eyes blinding him, instinctively he dragged the gun from its hiding place, only to find a cold knife blade at his throat. His fingers released their tight grip on the pistol and he held his breath. He felt a small feminine hand pat the back of his and his gun was pushed back into his hand.

Blinking fiercely against the bright daylight Harry pushed his legs out from the hiding place and felt them guided onto a rung of the wooden ladder he had used before. With difficulty the man made his way down onto the floor of the cottage once more. His helper was a woman, but an altogether different breed from Colette. This young woman stood at least 5 foot eight and perhaps as tall as six feet. She was dark and wore her hair to her collar. She had dark flashing eyes and chose to wear black. She had the air of an assassin about her. Harry silently took in the humourless expression and decided to take her lead. She nodded in way of a greeting and held her finger up to her lips, in a gesture of silence. Leaning close the woman spoke in very good English.
"We are going to cross open ground, pick up that bundle of sticks by the door and carry it across your shoulder; here take this jacket and cap. I will walk ahead, count to twenty slowly and then follow me out of the door, keep a distance and then when you see the truck, put the wood in the back and get in on the passenger side. Don't talk, or call attention to yourself. Nod if you understand this?" Harry responded and the woman turned on her heel and left.

French counted quietly to himself as he pulled on the jacket and cap. Pulling the wood onto his shoulder and moving it into a comfortable position, Harry walked over to the door and upon reaching twenty stepped out. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the bright afternoon sunlight. Then he saw the dark woman she was across the yard doing something with the back of a once white truck. French walked at a fast pace and resisted the temptation to whistle, as he thought it may betray his nationality. In a little under the span of an eternity to his mind, Harry French reached the vehicle. Throwing the sticks into the back, he climbed in alongside the woman, who without looking at him turned on the engine and pulled away. They drove for some miles across featureless countryside. Before pulling into the yard of a low building, where a man was working sawing wood, he looked up as they pulled up. The man walked over and began taking wood from the back. It soon became apparent that Harry would remain with the short stocky man in the faded blue overalls. The woman kissed the older man gently on the cheek and jumped back into the truck. The wood removed she drove away without so much as a single backward glance. The man smiled at Harry and nodded in the direction of the departing vehicle.

"Don't take it personal my friend, that one is a cold fish, what you saw, you know that kiss on the cheek, why from her it is like a night of warm passion from any other woman." And with this he laughed loudly and slapped French on the shoulder. The man whose name was Anton made Harry feel as welcome as the others had before him. He once again ate a good meal washed down with strong red wine. The conversation was much more to Harry's liking. Anton explained to him that rather than a safe house, he all ready had not only a place to stay, but a job as well. Harry was now a grounds keeper of a small private school on the outskirts of the town. There would be no one else to bother him there, just his own company, which he really liked the idea of. Even a little food had been put in the cupboards for him. There was running water and even electricity. Harry smiled and offered his companion a cigarette; they smoked in good humour and drank a toast with the remaining wine, to the freedom of the future and of friendship. It was a good afternoon well spent. Once dusk, but before curfew Anton took French across town and got him settled in his new quarters.

Walking away from the entrance gate he had just locked, Harry smiled a small smile of satisfaction. He even managed a low whistle as he pushed his way through the door of his new home, locking it behind him. He crossed to the little black stove and struck a light causing the gas jet to flare blue yellow in the half-light. Opening a cupboard he found the food and managed another smile, this was good, better than even he had hoped. Not only was he being looked after, but he also had peace and quiet to think things through. Harry decided to make some food, not because he was hungry, but because of that wish to stamp his own personality on his new home. He lit a cigarette as he dropped various ingredients into the little pan of water. French had always enjoyed cooking and was justly proud of his ability to make something good and wholesome from very little. He noticed a stick of rough bread and tore a piece off with his strong fingers, smelling it he was aware of its newly baked freshness. He smiled and imagined Collette being the messenger of such a nice welcome. Looking around he had noticed other touches. The way the kitchen had been freshly scrubbed and the living area with its clean sheeted bed and even a dust free radio, old, yet very serviceable all the same. Yes the man would be very happy here. French spent a very comfortable evening in his own company and decided to explore the next morning, after a good nights sleep.

Harry found his eyes opened before he was aware of being awake. It had to be early for peace and quiet hung in the air like a silent banner and yet something had awakened him from a very good dream. He rolled off the bed and cocked the hammer of the pistol, which had been under the pillow. He blinked the night away from his eyes and strained his ears. He didn't have to wait long, for he suddenly heard a banging on the gate and a high pitched bell chiming in the still morning air. Then he heard a voice calling, but couldn't understand the words, or the language. He pulled on a coat and pushing his gun hand into the pocket made for the outside world. He found a very Ernest looking young man standing at the gate. In an instant Harry took in the field grey uniform of the German corporal. Rubbing his tense fingers against the cold gun metal he approached and forced a smile. French he spoke. German he did not. The moment was saved when the young German returned the smile and announced his intention in very good French. He was assigned to the area and had noticed the curtains had been changed and were drawn. French unlocked the gate and told him that he was very observant. The young soldier grinned. "Before this madness I was a policeman and you know old habits die hard. Now I am very cold and hoped that you might have some tea perhaps?" Harry French smiled and left the gun where it was. Taking his hand out of his pocked he pushed the gate shut behind the man and pointed towards the building ahead.

Gunter was a very likeable young man of perhaps twenty two and someone who did not agree with present choices of the master race. He was quite open about himself, perhaps it had something to do with the warm welcome he had found with Harry, or maybe it was that gift of truthfulness that resides within the young. Whatever reason, or motivation, he was open about his feelings and the fact that he was in the place against his will and better judgement. French liked him and decided that this was a piece of luck far too good to miss. It turned out that because of his former career as a police officer, he had been assigned a sector to patrol and report on and he had hopes of finding a number of places on his beat where he would be able to stop and find warmth, shelter and a hot drink. However despite his manners and friendliness, his uniform had offered him little in the way of a calling card and he had found nothing but fear and hatred. Gunter produced cigarettes and over hot tea the two men smoked and exchanged thoughts and dreams. The younger man was educated and enjoyed art and music and had travelled once to London. This fact made Harry smile and laugh
deep inside himself.  The other man caught the trace of a smile.

"You find my going to London amusing?" Harry caught the look and decided on honesty, well almost.

"Not your going my friend, but the fact that now you are enemies." Gunter smiled and nodded his head several times.

"Yes it is foolishness, it is monsteress. I loved London, it was beautiful and the people so warm and now we are bombing and killing. I tell you my friend between you and I and before God I don't want to kill and will not be a part of this insanity. But if I refuse I will end up in a labour camp, or worse, so you see I am caught as you are. There are many many like me, but nobody listens. No we are just Boche and should be killed. Do we not bleed, are we not sons, brothers, fathers. No we are vermin. Speaking of which my friend I would deal with your rodent problem quickly if you value your food." Harry pitied the youth before him and for once understood the stupidity of all the wars. He nodded and took a drink of the strong tea and then looked up.

"Rodent?"

"Yes you have a mouse, look there are droppings over in that corner and fresh I think." Harry went over and stooping picked up one of the little pellets. He cursed under his breath as he felt the freshness between his fingertips. Gunter crossed to where French was standing. The young man had a grave expression on his face.

"I suppose you will set a trap and kill it. It is the right thing to do I suppose." Harry understood the look on the young man's face and he smiled and shook his head.

"Well yes Gunter that would be the right thing to do, but I don't much like killing things either and so will have to find another way."

"Good, you know my father had a way, perhaps I could show you, do you have a paper and pencil?" French gave him what he asked for and was surprised at the result. Gunter designed a trap to catch the mouse without hurting it. It consisted of utilizing an old tin can and a wooden top with a one way door on elastic. Once the mouse pushed in to get the bait, it would be unable to get back out and could then be released back into the nature. Harry liked it. Gunter offered to show Harry around the town, but quickly decided that it might not be in either of their best interests as the word collaborator was unpleasant to the taste on any sensible person lips. They parted at the gate and Harry told Gunter to feel free to call as often as he liked. French was happy not only a new friend, but also a handy one. Harry French decided to give Gunter plenty of time, before he himself set out to explore his new place of operations. The town was small, smaller that it had looked and was divided like many such towns across Europe by an old part joined by the new. The church was in the centre as was the schoolhouse, where he had first been taken. He noticed Anton coming out of the church with an old woman. He paused and attempted to decide whether he should acknowledge the man, or act ignorant. It was decided for him as Anton made a point of shouting across the street to him. Harry looked up and smiled and waved as he crossed.

"My friend this is my mother." Harry took the little old woman's hand in his and passed a moment in pleasant small talk before moving off on his way. He now at least knew that as a member of the community he should act as such.

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