Story [The Longest Day] Radio Londres | Kessel Run Challenge 2024

Alec able to escape with Anne-Marie guiding him in that one bed story. It's perfect for introducing him.
And that was the film and book I was referring to. In English 'Sarah's key'

 

Thank you all for reading and reviewing!

@WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Thanks! Trust me, Alec is very likeable, and there's someone out there who likes him very much. He'll be back in this thread soon!

@Mira_Jade Thank you and welcome back! I told you that your idea had gained ground, and what you just read is the middle of the story – now I need to write the beginning and the end.

@earlybird-obi-wan Thanks! Alec is officially a character now that he doesn't exist only in my head. You'll see more of him soon!

Thanks again to readers, reviewers and lurkers! Last secret prompt coming right up.

 

Week 10 prompt: Write a story between 100 and 400 words, and include the words ‘diligent’, ‘grandiose’, ‘berate’
Characters: OCs
Genre: Fluff
Word count: 400
Notes: I couldn’t end this challenge without using my absolute favourite Radio-Londres message in a fic, so here’s a companion piece to my week 2 entry, Le bracelet ajoute à votre charme, from the other side of the English Channel. No endnotes this week; there’s nothing to explain about this story that wasn’t already explained in previous ones. As usual, the sentence “Le chimpanzé est protocolaire” is a legit Radio Londres message.

----------------------------------------

Le chimpanzé est protocolaire

London, 5 June 1944

He should have been moved. Or relieved. Or impressed. Instead, he was laughing uncontrollably.

Julien tried very, very hard to get a grip on himself, but he simply couldn’t. From the moment he’d left home – Uncle Tristan was a senior figure in the Resistance, and the English had sent an actual submarine to fetch them and bring them to London – he’d been in a constant state of alertness. He still couldn’t believe that it was that easy to get out of France under the Nazis’ collective nose, and he was looking forward to beginning work the next morning. He was finally going to be a journalist, a proper one, not like the sycophants who worked at the Bordeaux radio station that was controlled by the Vichy government, and where else could he do that beyond the voice of Free France? He was excited and exhausted at once, and Uncle Tristan compounded that by bringing him along to Broadcasting House tonight. The grandiose building. The bustling corridors. The journalists of all nationalities who went about their business in diligent silence, who transmitted real news to every corner of occupied Europe, who gave their compatriots hope… He even got to shake the hand of Pierre Dac for heaven’s sake! It was like being in a dream. No, it was, very literally, a dream come true.

Then the evening broadcast of Radio Londres began and he sat in a corner to listen to the personal messages. He’d heard them evening after evening back home, and he knew that Uncle Tristan had made sure that the message about his little sister’s bracelet was read tonight to let Papa and Maman know that they’d arrived safely. And he listened, very quietly, very seriously, very professionally, without disturbing anyone – he wanted to make a good impression on what was, after all, his first day on the job – until Frank Bauer uttered the words: “The chimpanzee is a stickler for protocol.”

That was when he started laughing, and now he couldn’t stop.

He expected that someone would berate him for cackling so loudly whilst a broadcast was under way, but no. Instead, one of the French journalists who had been chatting with Uncle Tristan came and patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll get used to it with time, lad,” the man said with a grin. “Don’t worry. We all wonder who comes up with these sentences too.”

 

Julien in London and now with his fellow journalists. Listening to those messages that gave hope to all.

 

A very unique way for Julien to get free and a very hilarious message indeed.

 

I loved the unique voice of this French resistance member. The details of the rain, the remembrance of his rescue from Dunkirk, all of it so well done, as I've come to appreciate with your writing. Brava!

 

It means, my dear Pauline, that Maman and Papa have gone, to use the technical term... bonkers. Quelle charmante histoire!

 

Thank you all for reading and reviewing! I'm back with a bonus story today before I post the long vignette starting tomorrow (which is anything but a vignette, but never mind that), but before I get to that a few replies.

@earlybird-obi-wan Thank you! I really wanted to follow-up on that story for week 2, and I thought that the view from London was a good way to go about it.

@WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Thanks! "Le chimpanzé est protocolaire" is, hands down, my favourite Radio Londres message; I couldn't possibly let the KR end without using it.

@Mira_Jade Thank you so much for the extensive review! Here are a few replies to your comments.

I know, right? Cavaillès remains very much an unknown even in France, and yet, if I could choose one person to bring back from that era (other than family) it would be him. He offered so much to humankind, as a philosopher, as an academic and as a fighter, and he would still have had so much to offer if not for his premature death.

As you can imagine, I also love that quote. And you make a resounding point too – when we think of a war of the past, we tend to forget that they were won bit by bit, one person at a time.

Mock executions are horrific. They're a favourite method of psychological torture in totalitarian regimes across history, although I'm not quite sure how much the Nazis favoured them – my sense is that, once they were done torturing people for information, they executed them then and there, but I may be wrong about that.

I loved the picture, and it was actually my starting point when I began to think of a story for this prompt. I immediately knew when I saw it that I wanted to write about a plant wrapping itself around prison bars, and that's how I came up with this AU.

Nobody is going to believe me when I say that I'm not a bloodthirsty person given the number of times I said that I approve of violence in this thread, but really, I'm not. However, I do believe that there are situations where violence is justified, and this is one of them.

I think I mentioned this in my endnotes for the story, but Cavaillès was actually known for having done just that, helping someone else escape in his stead. It's really impressive how all the accounts from people who knew him report consistently his selflessness during his time with the Resistance.

So, fun fact. I had no idea that susurrus was a word in English until you gave it as a drabble prompt to Viari last year. It's actually a word in Greek too (σούσουρο) where it can both mean the low-level amount of noise caused by several people whispering at once and more simply "gossip". It just stuck with me since I saw it, and I was determined to use it at some point

It was very satisfying to write a happy end to this story. I'm glad you enjoyed it!

And you probably know by now that I love writing artists The few artists I've had the privilege to meet in person have such an uncanny ability to reimagine the world through their art, and I'm sure that there were people who came up with stories while trying to imagine what the Radio Londres sentences meant.

Again, I think I said as much in my endnotes, but the Milice were truly the dregs of humankind. Describing what they did to prisoners is so against the ToS that I feel I'm going against the rules by just mentioning it, and I spent a long time wondering how to give a hint towards it in this story. I'm glad to hear that it worked for you, even though I'd rather not think of it too much.

Thank you! To get on my soapbox for a moment, I really feel that gay people have been done a great disservice by the way we remember and commemorate the victims of WW2. We do mention the persecution of homosexuals of course, but the sad fact is that a great many gay people have been forgotten altogether because they couldn't make their homosexuality public, not before the war, not after the war, because homosexuality was still criminalised for decades afterwards. By the time it became socially acceptable to talk about the deportation of homosexuals, the vast majority of survivors were dead, having lived the rest of their lives in the closet and unable to even tell others why they were deported in the first place. It's a case of damnatio memoriae in which our post-war societies were complicit, and it makes me very angry just to think of it.

Haha! To be honest I didn't have a good idea for this prompt in the beginning, and I even considered going for the substitute prompt at one point – until I realised that if I took a random bunch of Radio Londres sentences and strung them together, I had a dream story for the ages

Thanks again! As I told you on PM, this proved to be much more of a challenge than I initially expected. Virtually every named character in the movie is a RL person, and I wasn't always able to figure out a date of death for them. One of the characters I had in mind for this prompt was the priest that is seen speaking in the church at the beginning of the film, and in the beginning I was under the impression that he was a fictional character – until I found a picture of him talking to the Americans, and I realised that nope, he's real too

@Vek Talis Welcome back to the boards, and welcome to this thread!

Thank you! The first prompt worked just. so. perfectly. for me, because it enabled me to set the stage, so to speak, for the stories that would come next. I'm glad you enjoyed it!

The snark is back! Merci beaucoup

And without further ado...

 

Prompt: This story is my entry for the OTP Challenge #33 ‘How They Met’. It uses a loose interpretation of a miscellany of KR prompts elements from weeks 1, 2, 5, 6, 8, 10 and 12.
Continuity: This story takes place in the future of the Victoria AU developed by @Mira_Jade in A Kingdom Where My Love Can Stand, where Queen Victoria marries Melbourne instead of Albert. While the British royal dynasty changes, the rest of world history still takes place normally, so we’re still dealing with Radio Londres and World War II as we know it.
Characters: OCs
Timeframe: 1944, with an epilogue set in 1947
Genre: Sappy romance
Word count: 9412
Notes: I said in my notes for Week 9 (Il y a le feu à l’agence de voyages) that my OC Alec Burton would be back, so he’s back. The amazing @Mira_Jade allowed me once more to come and build a sandcastle in her sandbox, in this case the AU she is developing in her collection A Kingdom Where My Love Can Stand in the Victoria fandom. Here’s your first peek at future generations of the British dynasty she came up with. EDIT: Your second peek, since Mira already posted her own entry for the OTP challenge, which features an earlier future generation: As the Periwinkles Bloom.
Poor Research and Contrivance Warning: This fic turned up on my doorstep and demanded to be written without asking me if I had the time to look into the technical and historical details of Royal Air Force operations in 1944 (I didn’t) or if I cared to learn the finer intricacies of the British monarchy’s protocols (I don’t). The sum total of my research was the movies Is Paris Burning? and Battle of Britain, the first season of The Crown and a bit of Wikipedia, so don’t expect historical accuracy in any shape or form here. Instead, you’ll find a fair bit of contrivance for a classic ‘the princess and the pauper’ romance. I still had a good time writing this story though, and I hope you will enjoy reading too.

I apologise for posting such a long story in a single post. I’ve been racing against the clock to complete this entry before the OTP Challenge deadline, and I only just made it by the skin of my teeth.

-----------------------------------

Il pleut toujours en Angleterre

Diary entry – RAF Clewer, Berkshire, 17 March 1944

The rain hasn’t let up in days, and all I wanted to do this afternoon was scream. Not that I was being rained upon – I was working inside a hangar, and for once there were no leaks that I could see in the corrugated iron roof – but the humidity drove me to the edge of insanity. Everything feels… slick in this weather, and I always fear that my tool will slip out of my hand and that I might cause damage instead of effecting repairs. The fact that I’d spent my day elbow-deep in engine grease was most unhelpful.

Thankfully I was able to complete my assigned task without incident before the plane’s pilot came asking for his craft. I was highly impressed by how carefree he appeared to be. Most pilots hide their intense focus under a veneer of good humour when they prepare to fly into combat, but this particular one seemed genuinely unaffected. He climbed into his Hurricane as casually as if he were off to run an errand.

Flight Lieutenant Burton is a new addition to our squadron; he flies the fighter escort for the bombers that raid Germany at night. Maisie told me that he made quite a name for himself in the Royal Air Force before joining us. Apparently he was among those trained on the job, so to speak, during the Battle of Britain. I am looking forward to working with him in the future. The war has been going on for far too long already and our capacity for optimism is wearing thin. It is a true pleasure to see a friendly face in these difficult times, particularly a face that is still able to offer an honest smile.

Until we win the war, however, I can only hope that the deities that control the weather will be a little kinder to us. Unlike me, Maisie does not return every night to a warm bed and a roaring fire in Windsor Castle. I dread to imagine the cold dampness of the barracks these days, and we need every man and woman on this airfield to be in prime health if we are to do our share on the path to victory.

* * *​

Three weeks after his transfer to RAF Clewer, Alec Burton had grown very fond of the place, and that fondness had a name.

Oh, if someone asked, he would say that he enjoyed the atmosphere of friendly camaraderie among the pilots, or the presence of so many recruits of the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force among the ground staff, or even the fact that the fare in the mess was so much better than on every other base where he’d served since the beginning of the war. But the truth was that, with the squadron flying sorties over Germany every single night, there was no time to socialise or even to sit and enjoy the food. No, the highlight of his days was in the late afternoon, when he came to double-check his plane and found Assistant Section Officer Lamb completing maintenance of the engine.

It puzzled him a little that a commissioned officer would perform this type of work, even in the women’s corps, but, all things considered, it wasn’t the strangest thing he’d seen during this war, and Miss Lamb was a highly competent mechanic.

She also was a charming woman.

At first, they’d barely exchanged a few words. He thanked her for her work, climbed into the craft and inspected the instruments before taking off into the night sky. But as time went by, he began to arrive a little earlier every day, and the few minutes they spent together became a half hour, and then an hour. By his third week on base, he was quite infatuated with her.

After another three weeks, he was hopelessly smitten, and he had one more reason to curse the war that was now robbing him of the opportunity to ask Assistant Section Officer Lamb – Mina – out to dinner.

He suppressed a sigh as he plopped himself into his seat and pulled the canopy shut – but then he saw Mina standing on the side of the landing strip, smiling and giving him the same shy little wave of her hand as every time he left to fly on a mission, and he gave her his warmest smile in return.

* * *​

Diary entry – RAF Clewer, Berkshire, 4 May 1944

My heart sank this morning when I arrived on the airfield and saw that some of our craft had not returned from the night’s raid. The last time this happened, we had lost one-third of our squadron. Our losses are clearly not as heavy this time, but I will never get used to the moment when we have to count our pilots and crew to know how many failed to come home.

I tried not to be too obvious when I marched to the hangars to check if Alec’s Hurricane was there. To my great relief, it was – though I could see that one of the wings was pockmarked with bullets. I quickly inspected the remainder of the planes in my charge and went off to assemble the team I would need to have them all flightworthy by nightfall.

Word is that two Messerschmitts snuck up on our squadron as they returned from their run in Germany and were able to take down two of our bombers before our fighters could retaliate. One of the enemy pilots was Hans Pulß, a flying ace who has more kills of British airmen to his name than I care to count. According to Maisie – heaven knows how that girl always manages to remain on top of every titbit of information – it was Alec who engaged him in combat and prevailed. She said that the group captain wants to submit his name for the Distinguished Flying Cross. Again, I tried to not let my pride show, but I believe that she sees right through me.

It is now midday, and the final numbers have come in. We lost six men last night. One crew was able to bail out and their parachutes were in good working order, but they jumped over occupied Europe. I imagine they will be taken to one of those prisoner of war camps about which I have heard awful things. I can only hope that the war will end soon and that our troops will bring them home.

Back to work now, Assistant Section Officer Lamb! Flight Lieutenant Burton’s plane is not fit to fly right now, and it will not be tonight unless you make it so.

* * *​

Alec was sombre as he made his way to the airfield that afternoon. His comrades had congratulated him with enthusiastic slaps on the back for shooting down Hans Pulß, but he still felt that he had failed those pilots who were killed and those who had escaped death by the skin of their teeth only to land in the waiting arms of the Nazis. He could have done better; he should have done better – and his failure to notice the two Messerschmitts that had emerged from the clouds meant that three of his friends were dead and another three were now headed to a prison camp.

The sight of Mina standing next to his plane lightened his spirits a little. She was wearing her baggy coveralls, and today they were even more crumpled and stained than usual. She greeted him with a formal salute at first, but then she allowed herself a small grin and pointed at the fuselage just under the canopy, where his latest kills had been added. “We even managed to complete the paint job within the day, Lieutenant,” she said in a rather transparent attempt at cheer. “You are ready to fly again.”

He did his best to return her smile, but it was obvious even to him that he failed miserably.

Mina stepped forward and placed her hand on his chest. “Listen to me, Alec,” she said very seriously. “You, and I, and everyone else on this base and in this country, are doing our bit towards our final victory. We are pieces of a larger whole. The fate of the world does not rest in any single individual’s hands, and no one is expected to do the impossible, no matter how skilled a pilot they are. Do you understand?”

It always surprised him that this slip of a woman, this young mechanic on a nowhere airfield, could sometimes speak with the grace and poise of the queen of England, but he knew that she was right. “Thank you,” he said simply.

She grinned again, and this time her smile reached her eyes. “You are most welcome. Now go do your duty for Queen and country so as to hasten our friends’ return. I will see you here again tomorrow.”

* * *​

Diary entry – Windsor Castle, 16 May 1944

My grandmother notified me that, now that my twentieth birthday has come and gone, she will style me an Honorary Commandant of the Royal Air Force. She believes that the time has come for me to assume a more visible role in support of the war effort, and that is a role I cannot fulfil as a simple mechanic on a lone airfield. To that end, she has asked that I attend her immediately in Buckingham Palace and stand at her side in an investiture ceremony for heroes of our armed forces.

I am of two minds about this. On the one hand, it is true that the country’s spirits direly need to be lifted until a major military development indicates the turn of the tide. On the other hand, this new style will complicate things at RAF Clewer. I can, of course, not relinquish my duties as a mechanic given the shortage of manpower across England and, indeed, across every country and nation in this war; yet this unexpected promotion entails the sort of pomp and protocol that will be detrimental to the smooth operation of our base. It will also make it more difficult for me to work as Mina Lamb, as my face will be recognizable to all once the newspapers begin to publish my picture day after day. I am under no illusion that many at Clewer know precisely who I am, but they all have the good grace to feign ignorance. For the first time in my life, I feel that I was able to make friends on my own terms. This is something I will sorely miss once the game is up.

I must say that I do experience a brand of giddiness at the idea of being in London. I have been kept away from the city of my birth since the Blitz, when Mummy and Papa took me to Windsor Castle. While I am eager to see the capital again, I also dread what I might find there. Hopefully my grandmother will allow me to visit the East End once my role in the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force is made public. Having served in the WAAF for more than two years, I do feel that I would be able to look the people who lost their homes in the face and stand there as proof that the royal family is contributing our share not only in words and ceremony but also in action and fact.

I rang Maisie tonight and asked her to let Alec know that I was called away for a few days. She promised to leave a note on his Hurricane after maintenance tomorrow. I am already so looking forward to seeing him again upon my return. My daily encounters with him have become an inextricable part of my life over the past several weeks, and I already miss him.

* * *​

Alec couldn’t help but stare in awe as the Lord Chamberlain briefed them on the details of the ceremony that would follow. Being born to a middle-class family on the outskirts of London, he had – obviously – never entered Buckingham Palace before, nor had he ever contemplated the possibility that he would. Yet here he was, together with a group of other air force, army and navy officers, and not only that – he would receive the Distinguished Flying Cross from Queen Victoria II herself.

He forced himself to not fiddle with the special pin that had been attached to his uniform jacket for the Queen to hang the decoration. Mina had been away from Clewer for the past few days and he hadn’t been able to tell her of this development or to seek her advice for his frayed nerves, but he could hear her voice whispering in his ear right now, chiding him that he deserved the award and that he would know to accept it with the grace that was expected of such a remarkable subject of Her Majesty. It was said that, under her exterior of strength and tenacity, the Queen was the kindest person in the country; the squadron commander had told him that she made small talk with every single one of the officers she honoured and that it was surprisingly easy to answer her questions about one’s place of origin, career choice and family. Alec could only hope that he wouldn’t make a fool of himself trying to remember the name of his own mother if the Queen inquired about her health.

His turn to enter the grand ballroom finally came, and, with a final deep breath, he made his way to the foot of the stand where Her Majesty was waiting for him. He couldn’t help but notice that she was as small-bodied as rumour had it; even on the officials’ platform she was barely taller than him – but suddenly his eyes fell on the young woman in a commandant’s uniform who stood behind her, a young woman whose face was all too familiar.

Mina.

He was so astonished that he forgot for a moment that he should bow to the Queen. It was Mina’s sharp gaze and the faintest of nods that she gave in his direction that reminded him where he was and what he was doing. Somewhere very far away, someone was reading his citation, and a pair of small, gloved hands were pinning the cross to his chest.

Only when he caught the glimmer of mischief in the Queen’s eyes was he able to bring his attention back to the here and now. Clearly Her Majesty had noticed that he was staring, and she seemed to find it very entertaining.

“Congratulations, Flight Lieutenant Burton,” she said. “I understand that you are assigned to RAF Clewer. Therefore, you must be acquainted with my granddaughter.”

* * *​

Diary entry – Windsor Castle, 31 May 1944

The worst of my honorary ‘promotion’ to Air Commandant is over. The press quite literally besieged RAF Clewer for the first several days and I had to interrupt my work every now and then to pose in my coveralls next to the aircraft I was mending, but our squadron commander was able to put an end to it with a few well-chosen words. According to Maisie, he pointed out that an incommensurate level of attention to this particular airfield was tantamount to an open invitation for the Luftwaffe to come and raze it to the ground, and it seems that the journalists took his admonishment to heart. So far the name of our base has not even been published in any newspaper that I know, and it was agreed that smaller, more discreet visits by members of the press would be organised on a regular basis.

As for the pilots and crew, after the initial shock, it only took a week for those who were not yet aware of my identity to get used to the new circumstances, and I must note that my identity was less of an open secret than I thought. I believed that the rumour mill ran amok as soon as I left the airfield to return to Windsor Castle every evening, but it seems that I was wrong and that those in the know did not discuss it with their friends and colleagues. The major change is that everyone addresses me as ‘Your Royal Highness’ now – except Maisie, who was more than relieved when I told her that she should still call me Mina and who makes a point of doing so even in public. I am willing to wager that she is a republican at heart. However, this royal business does not seem to affect people’s attitude anymore. I have even found myself on the receiving end of gentle ribbing by some of our pilots who like to go on and on about the illustrious attention that is paid to their planes. It is all done in good humour, and it seems that my sudden notoriety has, indeed, lifted everyone’s spirits in the darkness of this never-ending war.

The one person who does have difficulty adjusting is Alec. It is not only that his behaviour is more formal and respectful now – not that I ever sensed any sort of disrespect emanating from him when he knew me as Mina Lamb – but he has become distant. He does not come early in the afternoons anymore unless he has a particular request pertaining to his aircraft; he has steadfastly refused to address me as anything other than ‘Ma’am’; and even when he is around he will not engage in idle chatter anymore. He remains silent, formal and… yes, distant, and it breaks my heart.

All my life I have been taught to be confident and assertive in my interactions with others and to confront problems and difficulties as they arise. But I was never Princess Wilhelmina Victoria of Wales in my interactions with Alec. I was only ever Mina, and Mina is self-conscious, awkward and hopelessly romantic. She cannot count on Wilhelmina’s help in this situation because Wilhelmina is totally inept at matters of the heart.

Oh well. I will simply have to get on with it. I do not intend to spend the rest of the war wondering how to talk to Alec when I could actually be talking to him. I can only hope that I will not make things worse.

* * *​

Alec made his way reluctantly across the airfield. The weather was overcast with a light drizzle of rain and the grey skies matched perfectly his dour mood. He could still not believe that he’d had the gall to flirt with royalty, and while he knew his place, he was still so smitten with Princess Wilhelmina that the mere sight of her pained him now that he knew what could simply not be.

Like every evening, she was waiting for him in the hangar where his Hurricane was parked, wiping her hands on a rag as she completed her maintenance duties. He gave her the customary bow and muttered “Your Royal Highness” as a greeting, but instead of answering him in the awkward way he had become accustomed to over the past several days she held her head high and looked him in the eye.

“Ma’am,” he began, “I wanted to mention that there was an unusual ticking sound from my engine last night. Could you please verify –”

“I found it and fixed it, Alec,” she interrupted. “There were a few bolts that needed tightening. You are ready to fly.” She took a step closer to him. “However, since take-off is still an hour away, I was hoping that you and I could have a talk.”

He had been dreading this moment, but as he stood there in the hangar he knew that there was no escape. He shifted awkwardly on his feet and waited for the princess to speak.

“I would like to apologise,” she began. “I did not know that you would be among the honourees on that day in Buckingham Palace. It was not my intention to make you feel that I… that I was hiding something for you in order to make you appear foolish or gullible. I…” Her voice trailed off.

“You have nothing to apologise for, Ma’am,” he said as steadily as he could when it became clear that she didn’t know how to continue. “Disclosing your identity is your prerogative, and I would be a fool to not understand the very peculiar conditions that govern your presence on this airfield. I was surprised to see you there, yes – but I have no reason to believe that it was your intent, and even if it were, it would be out of place for me to comment on it.” He took a deep breath. “It is I who should apologise for my lack of manners on that day. I am unaccustomed to royal pomp and protocol, and I know that it showed.”

She observed him for a moment. “So you are not… angry at me?”

At this, Alec allowed himself a smile. “Certainly not, Ma’am.”

“Then why are you so cold and distant all of a sudden?” she challenged.

Alec tried hard to ignore the cold fist that was crushing his heart. “My father owns a small textile factory in Surrey, Ma’am. You are the future queen of England. You cannot be seen befriending someone so below your standing.”

She gave him an impish smile, but there was a thread of steel in her voice. “Does the future queen of England not have a say in whom she chooses to associate with, Alec? Because I’ll have you know that she has a mind of her own.”

He bowed his head at the reprimand. “Of course, Ma’am. That’s not what I meant. I –”

“I like to make my own decisions regarding the people I spend time with,” she interrupted before he could complete his sentence – not that he knew how to complete it anyway. “And after the time I had spent with you, I was hoping that we had formed…” – she hesitated – “a bond of friendship.”

“But friendship is not what I sought with you,” he blurted before he could think better of it. “Ma’am,” he added as an afterthought.

There was a long silence as they stood in the hangar looking at each other. Alec finally took a deep breath and spoke again – after all, the horse had bolted now, and he might just as well get on with it. “Please do not misunderstand me, Ma’am. The bond I had the privilege to form with you was never a casual flirt for me. Had it not been for the constraints placed upon us by the war, I would have sought to know Mina Lamb better in the hope that my love would eventually be reciprocated. But this is not possible now, and –”

He was silenced by the touch of warm lips against his own, and for a moment he forgot where he was to hold her tightly in his arms. He was shaking like a leaf in a storm when they finally let go. “Mina Lamb reciprocates your love already,” she said quietly but firmly. “As for the future queen of England… it would be entirely outrageous if she weren’t allowed to love someone who has done so much for our country.” He went to speak but she silenced him with a finger on his lips. “Not a word. Matters of royal protocol are within my remit, and I will address them when the time comes. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

She frowned. “Mina.”

He hesitated, however briefly, but a sense of elation was washing over him and a silly grin spread on his face. “Yes. Mina.”

* * *​

Diary entry – RAF Clewer, 2 June 1944

God Almighty, God Almighty, please let this not be true.

I arrived on the airfield minutes ago to find that half of our craft are missing. Our squadron was decimated during their latest sortie, and Alec’s Hurricane has not returned.

I came to the hangar to stand in the precise spot where we exchanged our first kiss last night, and I do not know if I should scream, or cry, or pray.

Please let this not be true.

* * *​

Alec didn’t know how he should expect things to unfold as his parachute brought him to land in the garden of a rural home, but he certainly didn’t expect this.

The inhabitants of the house – a middle-aged couple and their son and daughter – came out to meet him and, upon hearing that he was with the Royal Air Force, invited him inside, rolled up a carpet to reveal a trapdoor and told him to hide in the cellar until they came for him.

The next morning, the trapdoor opened and they told him that the Gestapo had gone and that he could come out. The man had prepared a set of civilian clothes and he began to explain in broken English that he would take him to Paris. Thankfully Alec could speak French quite well – his father had had several clients in France before the war and he had made sure that his only son was well-prepared to take over the family business when the time came – and the conversation became much easier from that point forward.

It turned out that his hosts were members of the French Resistance and that their contacts in Paris had already been informed that a downed English pilot needed to be evacuated back to England.

It was a long journey to Paris, not so much for the distance but because Alec was passed from guide to guide in a myriad modes of transportation – a hay carriage, a delivery truck, an ambulance, a tandem bicycle – to avoid detection by the police and the Gestapo. Once he was in the city, he struggled hard not to gawk. He had always wanted to visit Paris and the city that lay before him was so extraordinary that the pictures he had seen could not do it justice – but postcard pictures didn’t carry the ominous aura of makeshift fortifications, Nazi uniforms and omnipresent red flags emblazoned with the swastika. Paris was grandiose, yes, but it was also the capital of a defeated nation, and Alec understood in that moment that the people who were helping him were the bravest people in the world. To them, the war was not only at night, when they flew sorties over Germany only to return to the safety of England in the morning – it was there all the time, in their homes, in every aspect of their lives, and they were winning it every day, one rescued pilot at a time.

His final guide led him to a small apartment near the Louvre and told him to make himself comfortable. There was food in the pantry and soap and water in the washroom; he would stay here for a few days until a courier came to fetch him and take him to his next destination. His evacuation was tentatively planned on 5 June.

His first thought as soon as he was alone was to sit at the desk and write to Mina, to let her know that he was fine. His hand was halfway to the inkpot when he realised that he had no way of sending the letter, and he dropped the pen with a despondent sigh. Still, he thought – it could be worse. He could have been captured by the Germans, and in the end, 5 June was only two days away.

* * *​

Diary entry – Windsor Castle, 6 June 1944

These past few days have been the most bizarre, the most anguished and yet the most exhilarating time of my life.

Maisie found me crying in the hangar after I realised that Alec had been shot down. She obtained permission from our squadron commander to escort me back to Windsor – “our presence here serves no purpose at all if there are no planes for us to repair,” she told him with her incomparable common sense, and he had nothing to answer to that. Once we arrived home, she found my mother’s private secretary and pestered him to track down everyone and anyone who would take an interest in Alec’s fate. Within a few hours she had set the wheels in motion and I received a call from my grandmother, who merely asked: “Is he the one?” before letting me know that she would get back to me as soon as possible.

If Alec ever mentions again the inadequacy of commoners in royal circles, I will have him know that Maisie from RAF Clewer was able to achieve more, from the moment she set foot in Windsor Castle, than the future queen of England ever could, miserable as I was.

After an agonising 48 hours, we received word that Alec has been rescued by the French underground. He is alive and well and he is hiding in Paris. My relief was such that I began to giggle uncontrollably. Maisie gave me the most ironic grin in her repertoire and left to return to the airfield. I don’t know that I will ever be able to thank her enough for the support she gave me.

Then, on Sunday, I was told the strangest thing. I was to listen to the Free French radio programme on the BBC on Monday evening. If I heard the sentence: “It’s always raining in England” – a highly appropriate one given the ghastly weather we have had these days – I could be confident that the Royal Air Force would send a Westland Lysander to bring Alec home during the night. When I expressed my surprise to Mummy that such a thing is even possible, she told me that Sir Winston Churchill has set up an entire organisation to guide and assist the underground movements since 1940, and that the RAF has been running an airmail and passenger service throughout the war.

The future queen of England had no idea whatsoever that the air force of her country was landing planes in occupied Europe. In fairness, Mummy will be queen before me, and she knew – but the irony of the fact that I was recently styled an honorary commandant of the RAF does not escape me.

On Monday evening, we all dutifully sat around the wireless to listen to Radio Londres. It is the most peculiar broadcast indeed; the first segment consists of a series of disjointed sentences which are intended as prearranged secret messages for the French Resistance. It went on for a very long time, and my sentence was never uttered.

I struggled hard to fight back tears when Mummy took me in her arms and told me that it likely meant that the operation was simply postponed. She pointed out that the weather is awful, with torrential rain and gale-force winds, and that the plane that was to collect Alec could probably not take off tonight, let alone land in France and return under these conditions. She took me to my room and tucked me in bed as if I were a small child, and she advised me to sleep.

Of course, sleep did not come, and I was tossing and turning when I realised that the sounds of the night had changed. The wind and rain were letting up, and I could hear instead a murmur that grew louder and louder, as if a large convoy of trucks were driving nearby.

I got up and opened the window, and I saw dozens – no, hundreds – of planes in the sky, all flying towards the east, and suddenly I understood. It was the invasion. Our troops are moving to liberate the Continent at last.

I have not been able to sleep at all but I have prepared my uniform and coveralls and I am ready to return to RAF Clewer at daybreak. The future queen of England will wallow in her sorrow some other time, but the services of Assistant Section Officer Lamb are needed on the airfield, and she will help in any way she can.

* * *​

Alec had been hiding in the Hôtel du Cherche-Midi for six days, and he hated it.

To say that things had not gone according to plan was a major understatement. The Resistance cell that was to smuggle him out of Paris and send him back to England had been captured on the very day of his planned evacuation, and it was only the quick thinking of the courier who was escorting him out of his safehouse that had spared them a similar fate. Anne-Marie had acted swiftly and decisively, leading him to this small hotel that was intended as a refuge for such situations, and he could only commend her for her courage and her efficiency. After a few days of lying low, she had gone out to make contact with other survivors of her group, and he was left alone in the hotel room… doing nothing.

He hated the fact that he was essentially a burden to this brave young woman in the very moment when she should have been planning how to help those of her friends who had been arrested by the Gestapo instead of looking after a useless English pilot.

He also hated the fact that he wouldn’t be able to go home for quite some time. The Allies had landed in Normandy in the morning of 6 June, and he was quite certain that the RAF had no planes to spare to recover downed pilots now that the invasion was underway. It vexed him to no end that he was sitting out the liberation of the Continent, and it vexed him even more that there was nothing he could do about it.

What he hated most of all, if he was honest with himself, was being away from Mina with no means to communicate with her. It was a selfish thought of course, and he berated himself every time it crossed his mind, but it was painfully true and he couldn’t prevent it from rising to the foreground every now and again. For lack of anything better to do, he had settled on the hotel room’s tiny couch and was drawing a sketch of her when the agreed knock on the door told him that Anne-Marie was back.

The Resistance courier ambled in, sat at his side and glanced over his shoulder at the drawing. “Is that your sweetheart?” she asked.

Alec sighed. How could he even answer such a question? “After a fashion, yes.”

Anne-Marie gave him a curious look but she could clearly see that he wasn’t willing to elaborate. She patted his shoulder instead. “It’s a lovely portrait. Now, let me tell you what I found.”

The news she brought was not good, but it wasn’t all bad either. He would have to remain in Paris for some time – he had assumed as much – but a substantial part of the Resistance group had slipped through the Gestapo’s fingers and they were rebuilding their activities already. “We’ll come up with a better hiding place for you,” she concluded. “I don’t know if we’ll be able to evacuate you, but the Allies are coming. One way or another, you’ll be back with the Royal Air Force soon.”

He forced a smile. “If I’m going to stay here, I might as well make myself useful,” he said as he made his decision. “Other than planes, I know a fair bit about engine mechanics, explosives and radio transmitters. How can I help?”

* * *​

Diary entry – Windsor Castle, 14 June 1944

RAF Clewer is such a hive of activity these days that I am thoroughly exhausted when I come home in the afternoons. The aircraft and pilots we lost on 1 June have been replaced and the squadron is now flying sorties day and night. Together with the Americans and the Canadians, our troops have secured the beaches of Normandy and are slowly making progress into the hinterland. I was told that we suffered heavy losses in the first days of the landings, but that we have now succeeded in connecting the beachheads and that it is highly unlikely the invasion force can be pushed back to the sea.

Of course, my impatience to see our armies advance into France does not only have to do with my deep desire to finally see an end to this war, but also with my yearning to see Alec again – although this is something I could never admit to anyone when the fate of the entire world is at stake. I must be particularly cautious to not show it around Mummy, who has begun to express her reluctance at seeing me so besotted with a commoner now that I am no more a sobbing wreck.

The mysterious agency established by Sir Winston in 1940 to assist Resistance movements on the Continent has been in touch to inform me that Alec is still in Paris. They said that the people who rescued him recruited him as a radio operator – which, I suppose, is as good a way as any for him to contribute to the war effort under the circumstances. Maisie was greatly concerned about this, as joining forces with the underground means that Alec will be considered an irregular if he is captured, and the Gestapo are known for their cruelty. However, she agreed that it is a brave choice and, to be quite frank, I would be disappointed if Alec chose to sit out the final phase of the war.

Most importantly for me, Alec’s new position means that he is in contact with London daily and that there will be no more of these anguished times when I have no idea of his whereabouts. I can only hope that his group’s security precautions will ensure his safety until our troops reach Paris.

* * *​

The little room that the Resistance group had rented for Alec was located in the garrets of an upper-class apartment building on the Seine, and while the window was small, it offered a panorama of Paris that he never grew tired of. He wasn’t allowed to go outside, as his identity would become obvious to anyone who heard his accent in French, and his confinement to this tiny space was beginning to grate on his nerves – but he was safe, he was making himself useful, and he had an eagle’s eye view of what was possibly the most beautiful city in the world. Anne-Marie came twice a day to bring him food, books and messages to transmit to London; she always stayed a little to keep him company and after two months of this routine they had become fast friends. All in all, he shouldn’t be complaining.

He put the finishing touches to a new portrait of Mina – Anne-Marie had procured coloured pencils and drawing paper for him, and he was happy to dedicate time to his hobby now that he had better materials to work with – and stood up to admire the sunset from the window. The sun was sinking under the Seine behind the Pont de l’Alma with glorious colours, and the gilded statues of the Pont Alexandre III sparkled in the evening light. He had just noticed something that came across as very unusual indeed under the steel arch when three evenly spaced knocks on the door told him that Anne-Marie had arrived for the evening contact.

He ushered her in and led her to the window. “Look at that,” he said, pointing at the Germans who were busying themselves along the length of the bridge. “This isn’t right.”

She frowned as she tried to understand. “What are they doing?”

“They’re laying charges,” Alec said coldly. “And look over there,” – he pointed at the Pont de l’Alma – “they’re doing the same. They’re preparing to blow up the bridges.”

The young woman was visibly horrified, but she maintained her composure. “Please send the messages to London immediately. I can’t keep you company tonight, I need to get this information back to my leadership.”

She was sombre when she returned the following morning. “The Krauts placed explosives everywhere. The rumour is that they plan to destroy Paris.”

“Do you think they’ll do it?”

She took a deep breath. “They’re doing it in Warsaw already. But the Resistance decided to fight back. The streets are full of posters calling for an insurrection. I don’t know what will happen.”

Alec took a deep breath and pointed at her purse. “Give me the new messages. I’ll send them, and then we should move the transmitter to a safer place. There have been lots of unusual comings and goings in the neighbourhood these past few days. It’s time to make ourselves scarce.”

* * *​

Diary entry – Windsor Castle, 23 August 1944

After Warsaw, Paris has risen up against its occupiers and I can only tremble for Alec’s fate.

We have heard of strikes, shooting, barricades and German tanks roaming the city for the past four days, and in truth we do not have a clear picture of what is happening – but we know that in Warsaw, the Nazis are determined to crush the fighting spirit of the Polish Home Army, that they have slaughtered entire neighbourhoods and that they are destroying buildings and monuments mercilessly while the Red Army remains unable to advance. I cannot, I will not contemplate that the same might happen in Paris. General Patton is said to be only miles away from the city, the Second Free French Armoured Division is with him, and I believe – I want to believe – that Général Leclerc will do everything in his power to bring assistance to the Resistance who are now fighting for their lives.

One additional reason for me to fidget day and night is that, in the chaos that is unfolding in Paris, the radio connection with Alec was lost. Mummy’s secretary tells me that I should not understand this to mean that Alec has been captured or killed. Many radio operators have suspended contact with London these past few days, and it is likely that they, like Alec, are seeing combat on the ground. Mummy constantly chides me for my undisguised anxiety; she tells me that it was an immense privilege to be able to receive regular updates about Alec’s well-being, a privilege that others are not afforded at all. I know that she is right, but it does not ease my anguish in the slightest.

I hate the idea that I am here, commuting to RAF Clewer and occasionally visiting this or that site in my dress uniform to bolster morale only to return to the safety and comfort of Windsor Castle in the evening, while Alec is out there risking his life. He is a trained soldier, of course, while I am nothing but a spoiled princess, but I wish that, as a princess, there was something I could do other than wring my hands in despair and pray to God that he is safe. But I have no way to be actually useful, and all I can do is to pray again.

* * *​

On the fifth day of the uprising, rumour had it that the Second Free French Armoured Division was about to enter Paris, and Alec’s concern that the city would go up in flames only grew. He had seen the pictures of Warsaw in collaborationist newspapers that touted the progress of the SS against the Polish Home Army, and he didn’t put it past German High Command in France to impose the same fate upon the city that was slipping through their fingers.

He and Anne-Marie had been assigned to a barricade not far from the Sorbonne, and after a half-hearted engagement that morning the neighbourhood had become eerily quiet. He stood there, hugging his rifle as the minutes trickled by, until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“We have to do something about the explosives on the bridges,” he said as calmly as he could. If the Second Armoured Division is driving in from the south as we have been told, they’ll need a way to cross the Seine.”

The man who was in command of their group – he had given his name as Thomas – eyed him carefully. “Our explosives expert” – he nodded towards Anne-Marie as he lowered his voice – “had to leave and join the maquis in Limousin to evade the Gestapo. The rest of us… we’re as likely to blow up the bridges as we are to remove the charges.”

Alec shrugged. “I know how to do it. Well enough that I won’t send us all flying sky-high, at any rate. But I’ll need cover.”

Thomas consulted with his men for a few minutes and returned to him with a small detachment. “Go,” he said simply.

The next several minutes went by in a blur. All Alec could remember was sneaking down rue Dauphine and running to the Pont-Neuf while the world around him erupted into a cacophony of shooting once more – and suddenly, he was on the other side of the river, his arms aching from hanging under the arches and scrambling hand over hand to get through. Another Resistance unit pulled him off the bridge and bundled him away behind their barricade. “Are you crazy?” one of his rescuers shouted.

He shook his head. “I always wondered what that was like,” he said once he managed to catch his breath.

The fighter gave him a puzzled look. “What?”

“To be a combat engineer,” he said. “I always wondered what it’s like. Now I know that I hate it.” He stood up. “Cover me. I need to get to the next bridge.”

* * *​

After four years spent looking over her shoulder in fear of the dreaded “Halt!” that meant the Gestapo had found her, Anne-Marie found it extremely odd to be out and about without a care in the world, but she certainly wasn’t complaining. That morning, she woke up early and went to fetch Alec from his room above the Seine, and she dragged him to the Champs-Elysées where General de Gaulle and his troops would begin their parade across the city.

A jubilant throng had assembled on the sidewalks and spilled over into the adjacent streets; people were waving French, British and American flags and brandishing signs that read ‘liberation’ and ‘long live the Republic’. The crowd erupted into a deafening roar when the general rekindled the flame of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and the roar evolved into a thunderous chorus of the Marseillaise as the Second Armoured Division began to march down the avenue.

Anne-Marie was determined to see the forces of liberation with her own eyes, and she elbowed her way to the front row, pulling Alec behind her. By the time the parade had passed they had shouted, cheered and sung themselves hoarse. They followed the victorious army towards Notre-Dame for a while, but the nervous exhaustion of the past several days – years, really – was beginning to weigh on her, and when they reached the roundabout halfway down the Champs-Elysées, she told Alec that she needed to rest on a bench for a few minutes. She made sure to choose one that offered an unobstructed view to the Arc de Triomphe on one side and the obelisk on Place de la Concorde on the other. “This is your first day as a tourist in Paris,” she told her friend. “I want you to enjoy the sights.”

They sat on their bench in companionable silence. A newspaper kiosk a little to the side was already receiving the day’s special editions, and Anne-Marie sprang to her feet again – she wanted a newspaper as a memento. She dug into her purse for a coin as she chatted happily with the vendor when an unexpected sight caused her to freeze in her tracks. “Come here!” she shouted at Alec. “They have the papers from London, like before the war.”

She had already opened the morning edition of the Times with trembling hands and was shuffling through the pages in disbelief. “It’s over,” she repeated with tears streaming down her cheeks. “It’s over at long last, it’s –”

For a moment she thought that she might burst into sobs of relief at holding material proof that England wasn’t just a faraway ally anymore, but her eye caught a picture of a woman in a ceremonial uniform on one of the inner pages that drove all other thoughts from her mind. Her jaw worked for a moment, but no sound came out, and she finally handed Alec the newspaper. “She… you…” she stuttered, “you… your sweetheart – the woman whose portrait you draw all the time – is the Princess of Wales?”

“Princess Wilhelmina of Wales,” Alec said, as if he were correcting her. She frowned, prompting him to explain: “The actual Princess of Wales is her mother.”

Anne-Marie stared at him in disbelief. “You’re an English nobleman and you never told me?”

At this Alec laughed. “Oh, no, not at all. I’m the son of a small business owner from Surrey – in English parlance, a commoner. I was taught good enough manners to fool you, apparently, but any lord or lady back home would see right through me.”

This didn’t make sense. “You can’t possibly be one of these strange men who become infatuated with a woman they’ve never met… are you?”

It made him laugh even harder. “I should hope not. I actually know her. We were assigned to the same airfield back home and… well, we like each other.”

She was utterly dumbfounded. “I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I, if I am to be entirely honest.”

They stood there looking at each other for a moment, and Alec laughed again before offering her his arm. “Here’s an idea,” he said. “Let’s go for lunch, and I’ll tell you all there is to know about Mina.” He paused and added pointedly, “And you can tell me about a certain explosives expert who evaded the Gestapo in Paris and went on to join the maquis.”

* * *​

Autumn was coming to England. A faint drizzle of rain fell over RAF Clewer as the Westland Lysander that brought Alec home made its final approach. He could see that the entire squadron and the maintenance crew were assembled on the airfield. The fact that General de Gaulle himself had received him to award him the Ordre de la Libération for demining single-handedly the bridges of Paris had been front-page news – in truth, it was only two bridges, but the press didn’t seem interested in this type of detail when they were looking for a hero – and his comrades were clearly eager to see the man who had brought such renown to their little outfit. As soon as he climbed out of the craft, he was greeted by a round of applause followed by a chorus of God Save The Queen.

He made his way towards the squadron leader, shaking hands as he went, and he prepared himself to give a formal salute and say the customary: “Flight Lieutenant Burton, reporting for duty,” when the one person he longed to see stepped out of the ranks and came to meet him between the two rows of pilots and technicians.

Mina visibly couldn’t care less for protocol, royal, military or otherwise, in that particular moment. She leapt into his arms, and they exchanged a passionate kiss.

He vaguely registered the stunned silence, but then someone wolf-whistled, and the assembled crowd erupted into more cheers and applause.

* * *​

Diary entry – Windsor Castle, 30 September 1944

My grandmother has agreed to my request that Maisie and Anne-Marie be made members of the Royal Victorian Order for personal services to a member of the royal family – namely, to me. I do not know how I would have survived the past several months without them, and it is only fair that we honour them properly. Anne-Marie will be travelling to London next month for the ceremony, and I am very much looking forward to meeting her and thanking her in person for keeping Alec safe.

Grandmother also told me in private that Sir Winston Churchill has proposed Alec for the Victoria Cross for his role in the liberation of Paris, and that the announcement will be published any day now. She did not say it in so many words, but I understand that Sir Winston is very supportive of the idea that a princess of England should be allowed to marry a commoner. I will admit that I am a little intimidated by the fact that everyone is already discussing my marriage – the speculation in the newspapers about the announcement of my betrothal to Alec is unrelenting – but it is par for the course given my status, and I should probably have thought of this when I leapt head-on into a public display of affection upon his return.

I am hoping that the award of the Victoria Cross will somewhat assuage Mummy’s concerns. I can see that she is uneasy about all this and she has told me as much. She fears that the press will hound us to the extent that our love will collapse and that I will be forever heartbroken. I took a leaf out of Maisie’s book and told her that the opinion of a few journalists matters little when we have survived a war against Herr Hitler. It made her laugh, but I know that she worries. I overheard her telling her private secretary that he must ensure that Alec is portrayed as a hero in every newspaper in the land. The fact is that public opinion is already on our side, as far as I can tell, and while it might take some time to iron out the legal intricacies, I am determined to not back down.

In the meantime, however, I must call the laundry service to prepare me clean coveralls for tomorrow. The war is not over yet, and there are still planes to repair.

* * *​

Paris, 1947

When Anne-Marie collected her mail from the concierge that morning, most of it was the usual fare of bills and letters from family and friends, but one envelope stood out. It was larger, the paper was thicker and smoother, the stamps were foreign – and, most importantly, it was emblazoned with the grandiose sigil of the British Crown.

She opened it with trembling hands and extracted the card it contained. It read:

“The Lord Chamberlain is commanded by
The Queen to invite
Mademoiselle Anne-Marie Girard, M.V.O.
to the Ceremony of the Marriage of
Her Royal Highness The Princess Wilhelmina of Wales
with
Wing Commander Alexander Burton, Royal Air Force
at Westminster Abbey
on Thursday 20th November 1947 at 11.30 o’clock a.m.”
​

For the past several years, newspapers around the world had diligently reported every rumour of the romance between the second-in-line to the British throne and the war hero who had distinguished himself as a pilot of the Royal Air Force and a combatant of the French Resistance. Those who clung to outdated traditions consistently berated the princess for stooping to befriend a man so below her standing; those who advocated for a royal family in step with the times touted Alec’s wartime record to present him as the ideal candidate for a prince of the people. To Anne-Marie, none of this mattered. As far as she was concerned, the monarchy was an outdated institution, and the only reason she had followed the debate like one of the serialised romance novels that the newspapers published when she was a child was that the man with whom she had shared the heady days of the liberation of Paris was a friend dear to her heart. She grinned happily at the thought that Alec would spend the remainder of his days with the woman he loved.

She glanced into the envelope and saw that there was another slip of paper inside. It read:

“Dear Anne-Marie,

As you are probably aware, our marriage will be rather unconventional as royal weddings come. We were wondering whether you could help us break the fetters of tradition a little more by being one of the bridesmaids, together with our friend Maisie from our air force base during the war. In any case, we are very much looking forward to seeing you again, and we will be happy to host you for a few days in Balmoral after the ceremony.

Love,

Mina and Alec.

P.S.: The mysterious explosives expert who joined the maquis is of course invited as well.”

The end

-----------------------------------

Endnotes

Spoiler

As I said in my opening notes, there isn’t much historical accuracy and realism to be found in this story, but some elements are factually true.

To begin with the AU component that I borrowed from @Mira_Jade, this is a ‘verse where Queen Victoria married Lord Melbourne instead of Albert, resulting in an entirely different dynasty. At this point in history, Victoria’s granddaughter Victoria II is queen in this AU; she will be followed by her daughter (referred to as “Mummy” in the story) and then her granddaughter Mina. Also, Victoria changed the law of male primogeniture to absolute primogeniture, so the heir apparent to the throne would be the Princess of Wales if it were a girl, as is the case here. I deduced from it that Mina, being the daughter of the Princess of Wales, would be known as Princess Wilhelmina of Wales, the way William and Harry were styled before their father’s ascension to the throne last year. Also, since Victoria married William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne, Mira_Jade and I agreed that the family surname would be Lamb-Hanover, to parallel the current surname of the RL royal family, Mountbatten-Windsor.

And now, from the real world:

Clewer is an actual place in Berkshire, not far from Windsor Castle. In RL, then-Princess Elizabeth was evacuated to Windsor at the beginning of the war, as it was safe from German bombers, and she spent the war there. I actually borrowed quite a bit from her RL history for this story. She was appointed an honorary colonel of the Grenadier Guards in 1943 and a second subaltern (equivalent to second lieutenant for men) of the Auxiliary Territorial Service in 1945, where she trained as a driver and car mechanic. The rank of assistant section officer that I gave Mina in this story is the equivalent in the Women’s Auxiliary Air Force, both of these institutions being the women’s corps of the British military during the war.

The line about being able to “look the East End in the face” is borrowed from Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother, who famously said after Buckingham Palace was bombed during the Blitz: “I’m glad we’ve been bombed. It makes me feel I can look the East End in the face.”

The Distinguished Flying Cross, the Victoria Cross and the Royal Victorian Order are real awards in the UK. The first two are military honours and are awarded at the government’s recommendation; the latter is at the discretion of the sovereign and is awarded for personal services to a member of the royal family. The Ordre de la Libération is the highest honour pertaining to the liberation of France and the second-highest overall in France after the Légion d’Honneur. There is a lesser honour, the Médaille de la Résistance, that was awarded to a much larger number of people, but for the purposes of this story I had to go big or go bust.

The Hawker Hurricane is a British fighter aircraft from World War II. I have no idea if it had the range to fly all the way to Germany and back, but it’s true that Hurricanes (and other fighters) flew escort for the less-nimble RAF bombers.

The organisation tasked with assisting Resistance movements in occupied Europe was the Special Operations Executive. In conjunction with the Royal Air Force, it did actually ensure an airmail and passenger service throughout the war, which in reality continued to operate after D-Day (with a short gap in services for the few days after the Normandy landings, obviously). There were several downed pilots hidden by the Resistance in the suburbs of Paris around the time of the liberation, although not in the city proper.

The Warsaw Uprising led by the Polish Home Army began on 1 August 1944, a few weeks before the liberation of Paris. It ended in tragedy, with the city being entirely emptied of its population and destroyed by the Nazis. Whether the Red Army was unable or unwilling to intervene is apparently still debated among historians.

The battle for the liberation of Paris took place on 19-25 August 1944. It began with an uprising orchestrated by the Resistance and ended when the Second Armoured Division of the Free French led by General Leclerc took control of the city. The famous parade when General de Gaulle walked down the Champs-Elysées took place on 26 August; in RL the end of the parade was disrupted by German snipers who were still active in the city. It’s said that there were two million (yes, million) people on the Champs-Elysées on that day; therefore, sitting on a bench on the Rond-Point was clearly not an option. I highly recommend the movie directed by René Clément Is Paris Burning? that retraces the story of the liberation in great detail (including the political squabbles between the various factions of the Resistance). It does take a few liberties with history, but nothing cringeworthy, and the photography of Paris in the film really shows that it’s one of the most beautiful cities in the world.

There was indeed a German plan for the destruction of Paris, and charges were laid not only on the bridges but also on all major landmarks and monuments. The German commanding officer of Paris, General von Choltitz, never gave the order to execute the plan, although that may be because he had already lost control of Paris and was simply unable to do it. Of course, there were no ridiculous heroic feats of Resistance fighters climbing under the bridges to remove the charges. It also seems rather unlikely to me that a fighter pilot would know how to disable explosive charges and to operate a radio transmitter, but what do I know?

I’ve read in two different WW2 memoirs by people who were in London on 5 June 1944 that they realised the invasion was underway when they heard and saw an armada of planes in the night sky. Since Windsor isn’t very far from London, I imagine people there would have heard it too.

It’s true that the Nazis refused to consider Resistance fighters as combatants. They deported captured Allied soldiers and pilots to POW camps and captured Resistance fighters to concentration camps, even if the Resistance group was officially militarised. It’s an understatement of epic proportions to say that they had a rather loose interpretation of the laws of war anyway.

I have no idea how soon British newspapers were first delivered to Paris after the liberation. I promised you contrivance in my opening notes, and contrivance is what you got.

Lastly, the sentence “Il pleut toujours en Angleterre”, i.e. “It’s always raining in England” is a legit Radio Londres message from 5 June 1944. It also happens to be true. It’s always raining in England, or at least it always was whenever I was there

 

A great AU where the royals will be quite different. Nice details about how Alec joins the resistance

 

SQUEE! SQUEE! I love Mina and Alec. Their love journey is indeed bold but not surprising given Victoria's own choice. Victoria and Melbourne makes so MUCH SENSE in Mira_Jade's hands. And Mina as future Queen, you know she's going to be a woman of her own mind Having read Periwinkles Bloom already ( ) I am intrigued by the reasons why Mina is the Heiress Apparent. That means something very daunting happened to her older siblings.

A superb entry to the OTP challenge @Chyntuck --

 

@WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Thank you! I'll be back with a detailed reply tomorrow, but I just want to clarify that this Mina isn't the same Mina as in Periwinkles. In my story, the queen is an elderly Victoria II, the daughter of Victor (and you-probably-guessed-who ) and Mina is her granddaughter, so we're several generations later and nothing daunting happened to anyone

 

Awesomeness! I do love how these fandoms dovetail so exquisitely. And thanks for the clarification.

 

I've read up to here and so far your entries have been amazing. I wish I'd gotten to read them all when they came out.

This one smacked of the death of romance and had to be commented on. Beautifully portrayed. They managed to remain hidden for a while, unfortunately, not long enough. Had they stayed hidden for a few more weeks, the Allies might have come through to liberate them. Très excellent comme toujours.

 

Good morning! It's time for the long vignette, which I'll be posting in four instalments over the course of the week. But first, I need to thank everyone for reading and reviewing and write up a few replies.

@Mira_Jade Thanks so much and welcome back! Take all the time you need for reviews; you have a lot going on and this week is the final stretch of the KR.

@earlybird-obi-wan Thank you! Yes, this is a very different royal family from the slow-motion train wreck that currently sits on the throne of England As you see I went into full blockbuster mode about Alec's role in the liberation of Paris, but hey, what's fanfic for if we don't get to do that from time to time?

@WarmNyota_SweetAyesha Thank you! Mira_Jade is doing such a great job at developing her AU that I simply couldn't resist adding my bit to it when she offered that I come and play in her sandbox.

Yes she will! It's been so much fun trying to imagine how Great-Great-Grandma could have left an entirely different mark on her successors. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

@Vek Talis Thank you so much for taking the time to catch up with my little stories! I'm very attached to the tale of Isabelle and Cécile that you mentioned. In RL the Nazis were arresting and deporting people from France en masse during the last months of the war, even when it became quite clear that they were losing – and it wasn't even to use them as hostages, as an awful lot of these people were ultimately killed. There's indeed such a tragic irony to the idea that these were people who had survived the bulk of the war only to be captured at the very end.

Thanks again to all readers, reviewers and lurkers! And now (drumroll) the long vignette is coming up.

 

Week 12 prompt: Write a story of 2000+ words in which two or more characters exchange letters with one another. There should be no additional narrative framing.
Characters: OCs
Timeframe: 29 October 1943 - 6 June 1944
Genre: Spy fiction
Word count: 12,465 (posted in four parts)
Notes: This story comes with extensive endnotes – and by extensive, I mean extensive. However, you don’t need to read them in order to understand what happens here. What you do need (and even then, not really) is to have a basic knowledge of the geography of Normandy, and in particular of the Cherbourg peninsula, so here are two maps. The first one shows where the Manche district, which encompasses the Cherbourg peninsula, is located in France. On the second one, which is a close-up, I circled in green the four locales where the story takes place (Caen, Carentan, Valognes and Cherbourg). It also features the landing beaches of D-Day, so that you get a picture of how close these places were to the kaboom action when the Allies landed. Without getting into the details of French territorial administration subdivisions, Caen is a regional capital of sorts for Normandy whereas Cherbourg is a smaller capital for the Manche district. Carentan and Valognes are lesser towns.

Spoiler: Location of the Cherbourg Peninsula

Spoiler: Detailed map – Click to enlarge

Many thanks to the Kessel Run Brainstorming Circle whose participants helped me figure out a number of details for this story. Extra thanks to the wonderful @amidalachick for helping me out of the corner I’d painted myself in – twice – and to the always helpful @Sarge for giving me the expression ‘supervising officer’ that helped me out of yet another corner. And extra-extra thanks to @Mira_Jade and @devilinthedetails for beta-reading this behemoth – you’re the best!

Jump to: Part I (this post) – Part II – Part III – Part IV – Endnotes

----------------------------------------------

Il fait chaud à Suez

Part I

From: Grandma
To: Mother
Date: 29 October 1943

ALLIED COMMAND REQUIRES INTELLIGENCE ABOUT GERMAN FORCES IN CHERBOURG PENINSULA – STOP – UNIT NAMES NUMBERS EQUIPMENT SUPPLY LINES ROTATIONS OFFICERS – STOP – ANY NEW INSTALLATIONS TO BE MAPPED AND MONITORED – STOP – DETAILED QUESTIONNAIRES AND EXPERT WILL BE AIRDROPPED NEXT FULL MOON – STOP – PLEASE INDICATE PREFERRED DATE AND DROP SITE – STOP – UNTIL VICTORY – END

---

From: Mother
To: Grandma
Date: 29 October 1943

WELL RECEIVED – STOP – CHERBOURG PENINSULA ALLOCATED CODENAME FARM REPEAT FARM – STOP – PREFER AIRLINK TO AIRDROP AS TWO AGENTS WHO BLEW COVER IN OUISTREHAM MUST BE EVACUATED TO ENGLAND – STOP – WILL CONVEY DOCUMENTS OF GREAT INTEREST TO ROYAL NAVY – STOP – PLEASE CONFIRM OPERATION CODENAME REMEMBRANCE ON LANDING STRIP CODENAME HINTERLAND IN NIGHT FROM 11 TO 12 NOVEMBER – STOP – RADIO LONDRES MESSAGE THE MAPMAKER WILL COME – END

---

Caen, 30 October 1943

My dear children,

Your grandmother has been in touch and inquires after the many visitors that you have been entertaining as of late. She is somewhat concerned that you are being far too hospitable and that you are letting them take over the farm. I have, of course, been trying to put her mind at ease, but you know how curious she can be. I will tell you more about her questions during my upcoming visit after Remembrance Day. Before I come and see you, however, I will be visiting my in-laws in the hinterland who have exciting plans for outdoor activities with their children. If I am lucky, I may even be asked to play the piano for them!

Love,

Mother

---

Caen, 3 November 1943

Dear Grandma,

I am writing to you in the hope that Operation Remembrance will indeed be an airlink rather than an airdrop and that this letter will reach you in London together with our documents and the two agents from Ouistreham. As the situation stands, I cannot convey to you its complexities via telegram on the single radio transmitter that we are currently able to operate.

As you are no doubt aware, the Abwehr and the Gestapo have been extremely active in our region over the past several months. While we have avoided contact with other Resistance groups wherever possible in order to safeguard our activities, it is impossible to not take note of the myriad arrests that took place across Normandy, and indeed across France. My educated assumption is that the vast majority of intelligence networks in our sector have been decimated through a combination of infiltration, radiogoniometry, surveillance and sheer bad luck. I attribute our survival to the fact that we are such a small outfit and that we have essentially been operating independently from our central organisation in Paris, which, as you know, faces issues of its own. However, given our two agents’ unfortunate encounter with the Gestapo in Ouistreham (and it must be said that they escaped by the skin of their teeth), I cannot exclude that we are already being followed, and that, no matter what precautions we take, we will be next to fall.

In my last meeting with my group’s central leadership, the motto was ‘decentralisation and compartmentalisation’. While I cannot speak for other regional units, I have every reason to believe that these principles kept us alive in Normandy (with the above caveat). I therefore wish to take things one step further and restructure our unit in order to allow my agents a larger degree of autonomy and thus protect them from each other and also from myself. The three officers who manage intelligence-gathering in the subsectors of Cherbourg, Valognes and Carentan (codenames ‘Eldest’, ‘Youngest’ and ‘Daughter’ respectively) have proven time and again their skill and competence. I recommend that each one of these cells be allocated a radio transmitter and an operator, so as to enable them to send intelligence directly to you in London instead of this constant back-and-forth between the local level and Caen, where the slightest mishap is bound to expose us to the Abwehr sooner or later.

Similarly, I would like to request that the Special Operations Executive give priority to establishing contact with our subunit in Rouen. The local radio operator has been seeking to open this line of communication at great personal risk for over two months but hasn’t managed to strike the correct frequency. Meanwhile, my counterpart there (codename ‘Father’) is fully prepared and equipped to pursue his work entirely independently from me as soon as his transmitter is operational. In this configuration, I would maintain leadership for Manche and Calvados, whereas Eure and Seine-Maritime would report to Rouen. I am attaching an organisational chart to illustrate my proposal. I do not claim that it is by any means perfect; however, my experience so far has been that the benefits of isolation of local services far outweigh the shortcomings of fragmentation.

Lastly, and on a happier note, I am pleased to report that the new setup to transfer funds through dead drops has encountered no hitches and that our payment system is operating flawlessly. I would be grateful if a future airdrop could include a few items for newborns, as several of our agents and couriers recently had the joy of welcoming new members to their families. Sadly, penuries in the local market didn’t allow us to provide them with the customary gifts.

In the hope that my requests will be met with approval,

Until victory,

Mother

---

From: Abwehr Normandy Regional Command, Caen
To: Abwehr Headquarters, Paris
Date: 8 November 1943

Attached is a complete report of the various surveillance and infiltration operations led by Oberleutnant Schäfer in the western sector of Normandy, including the full list of arrests or summary executions for resisting arrest.

It is the professional assessment of our counterintelligence experts that the principal infrastructure of the so-called Resistance in Normandy has been disbanded. Our radiogoniometry service is aware of only six active illegal radio transmitters at this point – one of which is located in the very city of Caen – and we will be closing in on them in the coming weeks. Furthermore, two terrorists managed to slip through the fingers of the Gestapo in Ouistreham at the end of October, but not before they could be identified. It is assumed that they are currently in hiding. Oberleutnant Schäfer is monitoring their friends, family and other known associates in order to locate them.

I recommend that Oberleutnant Schäfer be considered for promotion and request 200,000 francs in cash to proceed with payment of informants and other local agents in this new phase of the operation.

Heil Hitler,

Oberst Dietrich Jansen
Commanding Officer, Abwehr Normandy

---

From: Mother
To Grandma
Date: 12 November 1943

OPERATION REMEMBRANCE SUCCESSFUL – STOP – OUISTREHAM AGENTS EVACUATED – STOP – RECEIVED QUESTIONNAIRES AND EXPERT CODENAME NIECE REPEAT NIECE – STOP – WILL EXAMINE DOCUMENTATION TODAY AND PREPARE BRIEFING – STOP – GIVEN IMPORTANCE OF REQUEST WILL PERSONALLY ESCORT NIECE TO FARM TO ESTABLISH WORK PLAN WITH AGENTS – STOP – THANK YOU FOR CASH CHOCOLATE AND CIGARETTES – END

---

Carentan, 24 November 1944

Dear Mother,

You will be pleased to hear that your niece has settled down and is contributing to the life of the farm most efficiently. Indeed, she has helped us reassess the worth of our land in ways we never expected.

Please tell Grandma that she was right all along: some of the fields that we deemed poor and let lie fallow are perfectly adequate for growing buckwheat. As a matter of fact, our neighbours have come to the same conclusion and are already excavating the fields that border my homestead to the north. Your niece insists that we begin to plough as soon as possible so as to be ready for the spring.

I’m sure both you and Grandma will be happy to know that your children and grandchildren are enjoying their time together and that their partnership is proving fruitful.

Much love,

Your daughter

---

From: Mother
To: Grandma
Date: 30 November 1943

EXCAVATION WORKS FOR NEW GERMAN INSTALLATIONS REPORTED IN FARM SECTOR – STOP – APPARENTLY ON YET-UNUSED LAND – STOP – AGENTS INDICATE AREA NORTH OF SUBSECTOR THREE FOR AERIAL RECONNAISSANCE AND PHOTOGRAPHY – STOP – AWAITING FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS – END

---

From: Grandma
To: Mother
Date: 4 December 1943

FOLLOWING RECONNAISSANCE FLIGHT HIGHLY INTERESTED IN NEW EXCAVATION WORKS AND INSTALLATIONS IN FARM SECTOR – REQUIRE AA DESCRIPTION OF INSTALLATIONS BB DETAILS OF ROAD AND RAIL NETWORK CC BEST COORDINATES FOR BOMBARDMENT OF SUPPLY LINES DD NATURE OF EQUIPMENT TRANSFERRED TO AREA EE ANY DISTINCTIVE MARKINGS ON EQUIPMENT FF IF POSSIBLE AT ALL NAMES AND RANKS OF OFFICERS SUPERVISING PROJECT – STOP – WE EXPECT SOME INSTALLATIONS ARE LAUNCH RAMPS AND OTHERS PLATFORMS – STOP – PLEASE LOOK OUT FOR BOTH – END

---

From: Ministry of Armaments and War Production, Berlin – Office of Reichsminister Albert Speer
To: Organisation Todt – Einsatzgruppe West, Paris
Attn: Egon Landsberger, Technical Advisor, V-Weapons Programme
Date: 5 December 1943

Herr Landberger,

With regard to your recent progress report pertaining to the construction of V1 and V2 launch ramps and platforms in the coastal area from Cherbourg to Calais, the Reichsminister wishes to note the following:

1. Secrecy is paramount. These weapons will change the course of the war. The surprise effect of their inaugural launch and the collapse of enemy morale that will inevitably follow must be protected at all costs. The Organisation Todt – Einsatzgruppe West is expected to collaborate closely with the Abwehr and the Gestapo in order to prevent any leaks. To this effect, agents of the aforementioned services will be seconded to each local office of the Organisation in the concerned region.

2. Time is of the essence. There can be no delay in the construction of the launch sites and the establishment of a dedicated transport network to supply them. Due to the shortage of manual labour in Germany, the Reichsminister is willing to approve subcontracting of individual activities to French companies, provided that contractors and their staff are adequately screened by our security services. Only contractors and staff who have demonstrated unwavering loyalty to the Reich must be allowed to work on this project.

The Reichsminister trusts that you will take all necessary measures to ensure that his instructions are followed and that the project will progress efficiently and diligently.

Heil Hitler,

Gunther Wachs
Senior Advisor to the Reichsminister

---

Carentan, 16 December 1943

Dear Mother,

You would not believe what is happening! Our neighbours are so enthusiastic about their fields’ prospects for growing buckwheat that they have taken to hiring every farm hand in the area. They even offered work to our tenant farmers, and one of their children agreed to take the job. Grandma would be furious, of course; she would repeat over and over that this goes against every rule of good neighbourliness, but the boy promised to keep me posted regarding any difficulties they encounter with buckwheat cultivation. This is information that I intend to put to good use when the time comes. It does leave me somewhat short-handed for my own cultures, but I do not expect to need any assistance until the new year and I am already looking into hiring more workers of my own.

I hope you are well. Much love,

Your daughter

---

From: Mother
To: Grandma
Date: 17 December 1943

AGENT CODENAME TENANT HAS INFILTRATED ORGANISATION TODT CONTRACTOR IN SUBSECTOR THREE – STOP – ANTICIPATE MINOR DELAY IN MAPPING OF INSTALLATIONS UNTIL DATA FROM TENANT CAN BE RECEIVED AND PROCESSED – STOP – TENANT WILL LIKELY REQUIRE SWIFT EVACUATION AFTER INTELLIGENCE GATHERING IS COMPLETE – PLEASE MAKE PREPARATIONS FOR AIRLINK IN JANUARY – END

---

From: Grandma
To: Mother
Date: 17 December 1943

PLEASE COMMUNICATE THANKS TO TENANT FOR COURAGEOUS INITIATIVE – STOP – SKETCHES AND TECHNICAL SPECIFICATIONS OF NEW INSTALLATIONS WOULD BE MOST WELCOME – STOP – IF TENANT AMENABLE WOULD BE OF GREAT HELP TO MAINTAIN COVER AS LONG AS POSSIBLE – STOP – PLANNING AIRLINK FOR JANUARY FULL MOON DETAILS TO COME – END

---

From: Special Operations Executive, 64 Baker Street, London
To: Office of the Prime Minister, 10 Downing Street, London
Date: 19 December 1943
Classification: Ultra
Subject: Update on the German weapons development programme

The following is a progress report on our monitoring of unmanned long-range weapons developed by the German Army.

1. Background

Intelligence transmitted by various reliable resistance groups in France, Luxemburg, Denmark and Poland have enabled the SOE to identify the Peenemünde Army Research Centre as the main facility for the development of a new generation of unmanned long-range weapons by the German military. These consist principally of the V1 flying bomb, whose range is estimated at 250 km, and the V2 rocket, whose range is estimated at 320 km. Both are of immense destructive power; the latter is deemed most dangerous due to the absence of available countermeasures. We believe that 100 of these rockets would suffice to destroy a city the size of London. The Royal Air Force has already conducted a series of bombing raids against the facility in Peenemünde in the framework of Operation Crossbow to delay German progress on these weapons.

2. Recent developments

Following intelligence supplied by multiple French intelligence networks, the Royal Air Force has conducted several aerial photography and reconnaissance operations along the English Channel. These revealed that the Organisation Todt has launched new excavation and construction works in the coastal region between Dieppe and Calais as well as the Cherbourg peninsula. Preliminary reports suggest that these works aim at complementing the Atlantic Wall by establishing two distinct types of facilities, namely launch ramps for the V1 flying bombs and launch platforms for the V2 rockets.

3. Further intelligence needs

The SOE has activated all available Resistance networks in the aforementioned regions to gather further information on these new construction sites. Detailed questionnaires were sent out and experts airdropped to assist with intelligence gathering. In an early success, one of our partner networks in the Cherbourg peninsula was able to infiltrate the Organisation Todt in Carentan. It is anticipated that this agent will be able to provide valuable information both as to the exact coordinates of the German facilities and as to their technical specifications. In parallel, we are encouraging partners in the Calais-Dieppe area to proceed similarly. However, it must be noted that Abwehr and Gestapo operations against the Resistance have multiplied in recent months and that capacity on the ground is limited.

4. Conclusion and recommendations

It is our assessment that German use of either V1 or V2 weapons would make the planned landings of Allied forces in Normandy nigh impossible, and we consider further delaying tactics to be of utmost importance, both to prevent testing and development of these weapons and to ensure that launch facilities cannot be completed. In parallel, our weapons experts will continue to explore possibilities for countermeasures. The SOE thus recommends that Operation Crossbow be expanded to targeting any launch sites on the coast of France as details become available. It should be noted that the civilian cost of aerial bombardment in these areas of Normandy and the Pas-de-Calais is not anticipated to be high, as identified targets are located primarily in sparsely populated districts of the countryside and employ primarily collaborationist French workers. However, the SOE will reassess the situation on an on-going basis in order to avoid generating resentment among the local population.

Best regards,

Cpt. Robert Richards
Operation Crossbow Reporting Officer

---

Valognes, 20 December 1943

Dear Mother,

I thought that you might enjoy the honey our bees produced in Valognes this year. I used multiple layers of kraft paper for my parcel so that the jars wouldn’t break in the mail. Hopefully it will arrive safely before Christmas and you can forward some to Grandma as well.

I was originally planning to send you some dairy products, but I am worried that they might spoil during shipping. I hope the honey will do.

Love,

Your youngest

---

Caen, 22 December 1943

My dear youngest,

Many thanks for the excellent honey. The bees have outdone themselves, and the packaging indeed defies any risk of shock or breakage. If you or your siblings wish to send me more Normandy products for Grandma’s Christmas, I’ll be happy to pass them on to her.

Mother

---

Cherbourg, 28 December 1943

Dear Mother,

Your daughter and I decided to follow the lead of our youngest sibling and send you prunes and cherries in eau-de-vie for Grandma. The precautions we took with the many layers of kraft paper should allow the jars to arrive unscathed.

You’ll be glad to hear that my production of fruit in eau-de-vie this year exceeded expectations and that I will be donating any income from the sale of the surplus to the Saint-Joseph orphanage.

We hope you are holding up well. Please give Grandma our love; apologies for failing to send our gifts on time for Christmas.

Your eldest

---

From: Mother
To: Grandma
Date: 4 January 1944

AGENTS IN FARM SECTOR MAPPED GERMAN FORCES AND INSTALLATIONS AS REQUESTED – STOP – COMPLETE MAP IS TWELVE KRAFT PAPER SHEETS 70 X 100 CM – STOP – CAN TRANSMIT SUMMARY IN SMALL BATCHES UNTIL PICKUP FLIGHT IF DESIRED – STOP – TENANT WILL REMAIN IN PLACE UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE – STOP – WILL REQUIRE FRESH SUPPLIES OF INVISIBLE INK AND NEW FREQUENCIES FOR TRANSMITTER – STOP – MAY THIS NEW YEAR SEE THE END OF THE WAR – END

---

From: Grandma
To: Mother
Date: 5 January 1944

REQUEST FOR RADIO TRANSMITTERS AND OPERATORS FOR FARM SUBSECTORS APPROVED – STOP – THREE OPERATORS EQUIPMENT AND GIFTS TO COME WITH AIRLINK OPERATION CODENAME YULE ON LANDING STRIP CODENAME HINTERLAND ON 10 JANUARY – STOP – RADIO LONDRES MESSAGE THE ORCHESTRA IS TUNING UP – STOP – BEST WISHES FOR NEW YEAR ANTICIPATE IMPORTANT DEVELOPMENTS IN COMING MONTHS – END

---

Caen, 7 January 1944

My dear children,

Your grandmother was at long last able to prepare your Christmas presents, including the clothes for your babies. She will send them to you towards the middle of the month with three musicians of great talent who wish to retire to the countryside. They will be moving to your homesteads and bringing their instruments. They are hoping to establish an orchestra in your region so you won’t have to travel to Caen for concerts anymore. I will, of course, be sending them classical and modern scores in the future, to keep you all suitably entertained.

As for me, I am moving house. A new family has come to live in the apartment next to mine and they are most unpleasant. They are incredibly nosy and constantly gossip about the going-ons in the neighbourhood, and you know how much I dislike such behaviour. Worse, they complain every time I play the piano, and that is something I cannot abide. Music is one of the few joys we have in these difficult times and I cannot live without it. I am hoping to find a more isolated home where disagreeable neighbours will not be an issue.

I wish you all the best for the new year,

Love,

Mother

---

Internal Memo – Abwehr Normandy Regional Command, Caen
Attn: Oberst Dietrich Jansen
Date: 11 January 1944

Herr Oberst,

While my unit has made limited progress since the end of October in our meticulous endeavour to dismantle the so-called Resistance in Normandy, there are a few intriguing points that I wish to bring to your attention.

As you know, our radiogoniometry operation has been greatly impeded by the peculiarities of Caen, where triangulation of radio signals proves to be extremely difficult. However, two days this past week (namely 4 and 5 January) offered propitious conditions, and for a short time we were able to determine the general direction of the single illegal radio transmitter that we know is operating in the city. To hasten the process, we proceeded to cut off and reestablish power to blocks of houses in that area in order to interrupt the broadcasts, then let them resume until we could determine a fairly precise location. Sadly, the airwaves reverted to their usual murky situation before we could close in on an individual building, but our subsequent investigation produced some interesting results.

Careful interrogation of residents of the pinpointed block of houses allowed us to identify a woman who moved out of her apartment without notice on 8 January and left no forwarding address. The neighbours describe her as rather elderly and say that she kept to herself during the seven months she lived there. Some believe that she is a retired teacher. All mentioned that she likes to play the piano; however, the instrument itself was abandoned in the apartment in the course of her abrupt departure. After one neighbour in particular reported that she has a large extended family in the region and was regularly corresponding with her children, nieces and nephews, we conducted inquiries at the post office based on her description. This yielded the name Marguerite Ribaud.

In parallel, we continued to monitor the known associates of the two terrorists who eluded the Gestapo in Ouistreham last October. While the two men themselves could not be located – indeed, it is most likely that they are no longer in Normandy at this point – one of our French collaborators was able to befriend some of their family members. It turns out that the sister of one of the terrorists, while reminiscing about her younger years, mentioned a piano teacher named Madame Ribaud.

Should we be able to confirm the connection between the two incidents, the inevitable conclusion is that this woman is the enemy agent operating under the codename ‘Mother’, i.e. the leader of the intelligence network that we have been unable to dismantle so far. I will concede that our lead is tenuous; however, the highly anticipated arrival of the V-Mann E.332 and the information he is expected to provide will allow us to confirm whether our assumption is correct. If it were the case, we would be well on our way to achieving a major victory against the so-called Resistance. With your agreement, we will redouble our efforts and focus our resources on the capture of this individual.

Heil Hitler,

Oberleutnant Wilhelm Schäfer
Counterintelligence Officer, Abwehr Normandy

 

Perfect letters describing the resistance and what the Abwehr is doing to locate them.
Todt was very busy during these years. I have been working last weekend in the radar bunker in Wijk aan Zee. Festung IJmuiden had 1100 bunkers

 

Thank you for the review @earlybird-obi-wan! I love that you also know from the top of your head what the Abwehr and the Todt are, and you probably know a great deal more about the Todt than I ever will. It's just these things that were drilled into us since school, but of course that wouldn't be the case in other parts of the world. I had a quick look at the history of WWII in the Pacific since several other reviewers mentioned it, and I realised that, beyond the names of a few major battles, I really know nothing at all. I have a lot of catching up to do!

Thanks to anyone who stopped by to read, and on with part II!

 

Part II

From: Mother
To: Grandma
Date: 15 January 1944

YULE SHIPMENT RECEIVED AND DISPATCHED TO FARM – STOP – RADIO OPERATORS ALLOCATED CODENAMES CARILLON IN SUBSECTOR ONE CYMBAL IN TWO CASTANET IN THREE – STOP – COMPARTMENTALISATION ORDER ISSUED TO ALL AGENTS – STOP – APOLOGIES FOR DELAY IN REPLYING HAD TO MOVE TO A SAFER LOCATION AS ABWEHR RADIOGONIOMETRY WAS CLOSING IN – END

---

From: Grandma
To: Mother
Date: 15 January 1944

PLEASE TAKE MAXIMUM PRECAUTIONS AROUND NEW LOCATION – STOP – GERMAN RADIO CHATTER INDICATES AWARENESS OF TRANSMITTER IN CAEN – STOP – DIRECT CONTACT BETWEEN LONDON AND CARILLON CYMBAL CASTANET ESTABLISHED AND OPERATIONAL – STOP – SUGGEST YOU GO TEMPORARILY SILENT TO THROW ABWEHR OFF TRACK – STOP – STRONGLY RECOMMEND YOU ADOPT FAKE IDENTITY – STOP – PS MAPPING OF GERMAN INSTALLATIONS IN FARM IS NOTHING SHORT OF REMARKABLE MANY THANKS TO ALL – END

---

From: Mother
To: Grandma
Date: 15 January 1944

ACKNOWLEDGED – STOP – HAVE CREATED MULTIPLE FAKE IDENTITIES ALREADY – STOP – LOCATION KEPT SECRET FROM ALL – STOP – COMMUNICATIONS PROTOCOL DELTA BETWEEN CAEN AND SUBSECTORS IS IN EFFECT – STOP – WILL MAINTAIN RADIO SILENCE FOR THIRTY DAYS REPEAT THIRTY DAYS – STOP – THANK YOU FOR KIND WORDS – END

---

From: Gestapo Local Unit, Cherbourg
To: Abwehr Normandy Regional Command, Caen
Attn: Oberleutnant Wilhelm Schäfer
Date: 20 January 1944

Herr Oberleutnant,

This is to confirm that the V-Mann E.332 has arrived in Cherbourg and made contact with remarkable celerity. His inaugural message is marked with the codewords indicating a successful insertion. As planned, he will be provided with a list of dead drops for future contacts and will begin to report as soon as possible.

Heil Hitler,

SS-Hauptsturmführer Anton Bätzing
Surveillance & Infiltration Specialist, Gestapo Cherbourg

---

From: Special Operations Executive, 64 Baker Street, London
To: Office of the Prime Minister, 10 Downing Street, London
Date: 24 January 1944
Classification: Ultra
Subject: Operation Crossbow – Weekly update 17-23 January 1944

Following our report dated 19 December 1943 and the subsequent authorisation to expand Operation Crossbow to targets located in northern and western France, we are pleased to report that the bombardments conducted by the Free French pilots of Groupe Lorraine under the auspices of the Royal Air Force have yielded satisfactory results. Reports transmitted by the local Resistance indicate that a large number of V1 and V2 launch sites were damaged; in the Cherbourg peninsula in particular, where one of our partners was able to produce a detailed map of German installations, several were entirely destroyed.

The SOE has requested that Groupe Lorraine pursue further reconnaissance and bombardment operations targeting not only launch sites but also roads and railways that would allow for delivery of construction materials and equipment. In parallel, we have requested that all local agents keep us apprised of new developments on the ground. Similar requests were sent to Resistance groups in Belgium and the Netherlands, as both countries offer possible launch sites within range of major English cities.

Best regards,

Cpt. Robert Richards
Operation Crossbow Reporting Officer

---

Recovered from a dead drop located in the lavatories of Café du Commerce

Attn: SS-Hauptsturmführer Anton Bätzing, Gestapo Cherbourg
Date: 27 January 1944

Sir,

The Cherbourg headquarters of the so-called Resistance group are located at 31 rue Albert-Mahieu on the second floor. Headquarters staff consists of the local intelligence officer, his secretary, a courier and a housekeeper. The network currently operates under a strict compartmentalisation policy and no further information was disclosed to me regarding its personnel. I was however able to gather from conversations that the leader (codename ‘Mother’) is a resident of Caen and that there are at least two other cells in the Cherbourg peninsula.

Of the staff residing at headquarters, only the housekeeper and courier ever leave the building. The latter (alias ‘Gaspard’) is the HQ’s sole contact with other agents. He is a man in his early twenties with dark blonde hair and a distinctive mole on the lower left corner of his mouth. While staying at HQ, I was able to deduce from his morning routine that he rides a bicycle to his appointments.

Ciphering of messages to London is done by the local intelligence officer himself (codename ‘Eldest’). The cipher key is the 1938 edition of the novel La Princesse de Clèves. The plaintext messages are not available to me; they are burnt as soon as I complete transmission of the ciphered text. However, I was able to catch a few glimpses while Eldest prepared them and they seem to focus primarily on reports of Allied bombing runs in the region.

Having now been allocated an independent apartment at 22 rue Bondor which also serves the radio transmission centre, I have lost daily access to Eldest and my only contact is Gaspard. However, this is only a minor setback as the latter is far more talkative in the absence of his superior officer. I expect to be able to extract a considerable amount of information from him. He has been a courier for Eldest for more than two years and is well-apprised of the internal details of the network.

I must emphasise the importance of shadowing Gaspard, as I deem it highly likely that the headquarters will move to a new location now that I have been assigned a different place of residence. Judging from the compartmentalisation procedures that are in place, I doubt that the new HQ address will be disclosed to me.

My next report will be communicated through the dead drop in the grocery store in rue de l’Alma.

Best regards,

E. 332

---

From: Daughter (via Castanet)
To: Grandma
Date: 30 January 1944

TENANT REPORTS THAT ORGANISATION TODT IS FERRYING LARGE QUANTITIES OF CONSTRUCTION MATERIALS TO DAMAGED AND DESTROYED INSTALLATION SITES – STOP – CHATTER AMONGST ENGINEERS INDICATES PLANS TO FORTIFY POSITIONS IN ORDER TO PROTECT INSTALLATIONS FROM AERIAL BOMBARDMENT – STOP – TENANT PLANS TO ACQUIRE SPECIFICATIONS AT EARLIEST OPPORTUNITY – STOP – WILL REQUIRE AIRLINK TO TRANSMIT SCHEMATICS TO LONDON – END

---

From: Grandma
To: Daughter (via Castanet)
Date: 31 January 1944

MANY THANKS FOR INFORMATION – STOP – WILL PROCEED WITH BOMBARDMENT OF ROADS AND RAILWAYS AS PLANNED TO DELAY DELIVERY – STOP – PLEASE ADVISE TENANT TO NOT TAKE UNNECESSARY RISKS – STOP – AIRLINK CANNOT BE ORGANISED BEFORE MARCH FULL MOON AS MOTHER IS CURRENTLY UNDER RADIO SILENCE – STOP – SHE WILL HOWEVER RESPOND TO COMMUNICATION UNDER PROTOCOL DELTA – END

---

Newspaper Ouest-Éclair classifieds, 2 February 1944

Selling off 1943 buckwheat reserves ahead of upcoming harvest. Diane Delattre, poste restante, Carentan

---

Newspaper Ouest-Éclair classifieds, 4 February 1944

Upright piano for sale, Boisselot & Fils, 1922. Mathilde Rivalland, poste restante, Caen

---

Carentan, 5 February 1944

Dear Madame Rivalland,

I hope this letter finds you well. It has been some time since I last heard from you.

I wanted to ask you if you could help me with something. The son of our tenants who went to work for the neighbours is producing a guide to buckwheat cultivation based on his experience. However, some of his conclusions seem rather bizarre to me and I would like my grandmother to have a look. Would you be able to forward his booklet to her if I send it to you? I know that you are visiting her regularly.

I hope that your new house is comfortable and that you will be able to set up your piano soon. I have extremely fond memories of your lessons when I was a child.

Warm regards,

Diane Delattre

---

Caen, 9 February 1944

Dear Diane,

Many thanks for inquiring about my health. I am fine, indeed I am, although I must admit that moving house is quite an adventure for an old lady like me. My new apartment is very roomy and I have ordered a grand piano, as I now have space for one. I expect that it will be delivered on the 15th of this month.

I will be delighted to take your tenant’s booklet to your grandmother. I am tentatively planning to visit her around 10 March; will you be able to send it to me by then?

Yours,

Mathilde Rivalland

---

From: Gestapo Local Unit, Cherbourg
To: Abwehr Normandy Regional Command, Caen
Attn: Oberleutnant Wilhelm Schäfer
Date: 14 February 1944

Herr Oberleutnant,

This is to inform you that the terrorist cell that we are monitoring in Cherbourg has relocated its headquarters as anticipated. Our surveillance operation enabled us to follow them to their new address: 23 rue de Tourville.

So far we have identified a total of 27 terrorists, of which 12 are residents of the city and 15 of the villages on the outskirts. As you know, shadowing suspects in semi-rural areas comes with its own set of difficulties; however, we believe that our French collaborators will enable us to identify the majority of this group’s personnel before they come to the realisation that they are being monitored. With your agreement, we will therefore carry on for another month in order to dismantle the Cherbourg cell in its entirety. We further expect that one or another of our targets will lead us to the network’s remaining units in the region.

We were also able to capture a snapshot of the local leader (codename ‘Eldest’) as he exited the building at 31 rue Albert-Mahieu to move to rue de Tourville. Based on this photograph, we have identified him as Lieutenant Léon Bayard, a demobilised air force pilot born in Ouistreham.

I must note that there appears to have been no communication between Cherbourg and Caen over the past month. This was tentatively confirmed by E.332 in his latest report. Either Lieutenant Bayard is now operating independently, or the so-called Resistance have devised a means of communication that is unknown to us.

Lastly, we procured a copy of the 1938 edition of La Princesse de Clèves so as to be able to decode the terrorists’ incoming and outgoing radio messages and remain apprised of their plans and activities.

Heil Hitler,

SS-Hauptsturmführer Anton Bätzing
Surveillance & Infiltration Specialist, Gestapo Cherbourg

---

From: Grandma
To: Mother
Date: 15 February 1944

WELCOME BACK TO THE REALM OF RADIO WAVES – STOP – CARILLON CYMBAL CASTANET ARE TRANSMITTING FIELD UPDATES LIKE CLOCKWORK – STOP – CYMBAL BROADCASTING FROM OPEN FIELDS ON BATTERIES TO AVOID GONIO DETECTION – STOP – DAUGHTER CONFIRMS THAT TENANT REPORT WILL BE READY BY 4 MARCH LATEST – STOP – SHE WILL REQUEST POSTAL DETAILS VIA PROTOCOL DELTA – STOP – OPERATION CODENAME LIBRARY PLANNED ON LANDING STRIP CODENAME HINTERLAND ON 9 MARCH – END

---

Newspaper Ouest-Éclair classifieds, 1 March 1944

Booklet about buckwheat cultivation for sale. Authored by farmer with considerable experience in this field. Delivery to anywhere in Normandy by 5 March. Denise Ducour, poste restante, Carentan

---

Newspaper Ouest-Éclair classifieds, 3 March 1944

Interest in purchasing all types of piano scores for new musical library. Martine Rivière, poste restante, Caen

---

Newspaper Ouest-Éclair classifieds, 3 March 1944

The Saint-Joseph orphanage is in dire need of stationeries. Please send your donations to Louis Buller, poste restante, Cherbourg

---

Newspaper Ouest-Éclair classifieds, 4 March 1944

Small dairy farm in bocage area seeks to purchase animal bedding and fodder. Cédric Vidal, poste restante, Valognes

---

Carentan, 5 March 1944

Dear Madame Rivière,

Please find enclosed a sample of the scores I wish to contribute to your new musical library. I hope I did an adequate job with the packaging; there is nothing I hate more than dog-eared covers and it must be said that postal service employees are not nearly cautious enough with private parcels.

You may be surprised to see that one of these scores was composed by none other than one of my tenant farmers; however, my grandmother, who you are well-acquainted with, recommends it for its high quality.

In an attempt to emulate your many contributions to our community, I have decided to take advantage of my homestead’s abundance of riches following our 1943 buckwheat harvest. I was able to make a large donation of stationeries to the Saint-Joseph orphanage in Cherbourg and deliver a substantial supply of hay to our common friend in Valognes free of charge.

Should you require further scores, please do not hesitate to contact me.

Best regards,

Denise Ducour

---

From: Mother
To: Grandma
Date: 7 March 1944

TENANT SCHEMATICS RECEIVED FROM DAUGHTER – STOP – ALSO COMMUNICATED TO SUBSECTORS ONE AND TWO VIA PROTOCOL DELTA – STOP – CYMBAL IDEA OF BROADCASTING FROM OPEN FIELDS IS BRILLIANT PLEASE COMMUNICATE IT TO CASTANET AS WELL – STOP – UNFORTUNATELY NOT APPLICABLE TO CARILLON AS SUBSECTOR ONE IS URBAN AREA – STOP – OPERATION LIBRARY CONFIRMED ON 9 MARCH – STOP – RADIO LONDRES MESSAGE THE NOVEL IS WRITTEN – STOP – HOPE YOU INCLUDED CASH AS FINANCES ARE RUNNING LOW – END

---

Recovered from a dead drop located behind the war memorial in the Public Garden

Attn: SS-Hauptsturmführer Anton Bätzing, Gestapo Cherbourg
Date: 9 March 1944

Sir,

In response to your queries:

1. As noted in my last, the only information Gaspard could provide regarding the network’s secret communications protocol was its designation (Delta). He doesn’t appear to know details. I am fully aware of the importance of being able to intercept the enemy’s communications and will report any new information on this matter through the emergency procedure.

2. I strongly advise against launching our deception operation now, as it would jeopardise our projects for a long-term Funkspiel. Gaspard is always present at transmission times. He brings the ciphered messages prepared by Eldest and collects the replies before leaving. Inserting an additional message of our own would be difficult; decoding London’s replies to filter out those not intended for Eldest is outright impossible. I expect that, thanks to your efforts, the group’s arrest is imminent, and that we will therefore be able to conduct our operation at our leisure once I have relocated my transmitter to the Abwehr headquarters in Caen.

During his latest visit, Gaspard was very excited to tell me that they received important documents from their comrades in Carentan and that those same documents were communicated to London. He had no specifics to share, but I gathered from his blabber that this so-called Resistance group has planted a mole in the Organisation Todt or one of its contractors.

My next report will be communicated through the dead drop near the bench on the seaside.

Best regards,

E. 332

---

From: Grandma
To: Daughter (via Castanet)
Date: 11 March 1944

RECEIVED DOCUMENTS AND SCHEMATICS SUPPLIED BY TENANT – STOP – MANY THANKS AND CONGRATULATIONS FOR EXCELLENT WORK – STOP – RECOMMEND TENANT ABANDONS COVER AND GOES UNDERGROUND – STOP – HAS TAKEN TOO MANY RISKS AS THINGS ARE – STOP – EXTERNAL MONITORING OF INSTALLATIONS WILL SUFFICE IN FUTURE – END

---

From: Daughter (via Castanet)
To: Grandma
Date: 12 March 1944

ORGANISATION TODT TERMINATED ALL AGREEMENTS WITH CONTRACTORS THIS MORNING – STOP – APPARENTLY SWITCHING EXCLUSIVELY TO CONSCRIPTED AND PRISONER LABOUR – STOP – TENANT PREFERS TO RETURN TO PREVIOUS JOB AS BUILDER AND REMAIN IN REGION – STOP – WILL BE KEPT DORMANT WITH REGARD TO NETWORK BUT EXPERTISE ON GERMAN STRUCTURES CANNOT BE REPLACED – END

---

From: Eldest (via Carillon)
To: Grandma
Date: 15 March 1944

BASED ON EXCELLENT SCHEMATICS PROVIDED BY TENANT HAVE IDENTIFIED CONSTRUCTION SITES OF FORTIFIED DOMES IN SUBSECTOR ONE – STOP – CONSTRUCTION STILL IN EARLY STAGES – STOP – DETAILED COORDINATES TO FOLLOW IN NEXT MESSAGES FOR IMMEDIATE BOMBARDMENT – STOP – BOMBING RAIDS MUST BE CONDUCTED ONLY AT NIGHT AS WORKERS ARE NOW PRISONERS AND CONSCRIPTED LABOUR – END

---

Internal Memo – Abwehr Normandy Regional Command, Caen
Attn: Oberst Dietrich Jansen
Date: 16 March 1944

Herr Oberst,

In light of recent developments I am pleased to recommend that we proceed with the immediate arrest of the terrorist cell in Cherbourg led by Lieutenant Léon Bayard (codename ‘Eldest’).

The surveillance operation conducted by the local Gestapo has enabled us to identify all members of this unit. We are confident that it was adequately thorough to ensure that there will be no survivors to inform the remainder of the group of the arrest of their co-conspirators. Indeed, given the network’s strict compartmentalisation policy over the past two months, we should be able to proceed with our Funkspiel and feed bogus information to London for quite a long time with the enemy being none the wiser.

I must note that communication between cells of the wider group is currently carried out through a method designated as ‘Protocol Delta’ that we have been unable to elucidate so far. However, I expect that we will be able to extract this information from the prisoners.

In parallel, the reports provided by E.332, together with a radio message to London that we intercepted and decoded yesterday, indicate that the mole planted by this network inside the Organisation Todt is a resident of Carentan who had access to construction schematics. This narrows down our list of suspects to the three foremen who were employed by the Todt’s contractors in that area, and the Gestapo has already initiated a new surveillance operation to identify their associates. We will, of course, leave observers in the Cherbourg locations associated with the arrested terrorist cell should any visitors from the remaining areas of Normandy come calling.

In the hope that the above meets your approval,

Heil Hitler,

Oberleutnant Wilhelm Schäfer
Counterintelligence Officer, Abwehr Normandy

 

Nice how you merged what his ears heard with what his dream showed him.

Excellent managing to stay true to the character's 'voice', even if he was a stinking traitor to his own people and everyone else's. And great way to have him save the hero, too, telling those Nazis where to head in, lol

He had the ol' stiff upper lip, the plucky English confidence, the how's your father attitude that pulled the UK through Napoleon and Dunkirk with a cheerio and a pip pip and all that.

I think part of that hysterical laughter was due to finally getting away from such a crazy thing as war. The brain can get used to a lot, but then, once it's released from that kind of insanity, it has to give a little back.



I'm saving reading those two much longer fics for another time! A fantastic set of challenges @Chyntuck as I've come to expect from you.

 

Those Abwehr officers knowing all about the resistance or...?
Eagerly waiting for the next part

 

Thank you for the reviews and thanks to everyone who stopped by to read!

@Vek Talis Thanks so much for taking the time to catch up with this thread!

Heh! Yes, it was good fun. I really found it difficult to come up with a dream "on demand" until I realised that just stringing a series of Radio Londres messages was all I needed to do

Thanks! This prompt wasn't easy for me because I found it difficult to imagine a situation where a Nazi or a collaborator would protect a Resistance fighter, and even more difficult to imagine such a situation that I'd be willing to write. But once I'd settled on this plot, things worked themselves out, and I realised that a police collaborator could have an interesting "voice", as you said. A lot of the collaborators weren't strictly speaking Nazis; they came from the French far-right that shared quite a few ideological points with the Nazis (xenophobia, antisemitism, anticommunism) but they were also French ultranationalists who hated the Germans because of the wars of 1870 and 1914-18. So these are people who chose collaboration because it was an opportunity for them to create a "pure" French society, but they went through a mental short-circuit on a daily basis to justify working with the Germans (Funnily enough, a substantial number of people of the exact same political background decided to join the Resistance because their hatred of the Germans was more important to them than the xenophobia and antisemitism – for a short-circuit of a different kind, I guess, but some of them became better people in the process.)

I laughed so, so hard at this comment, you have no idea. I wish I had your talent to sum up a situation in such a hilarious way.

Oh, this is totally what I was going for! It's a typical case where you try to hold yourself together in a situation of extreme stress... until you can't!

Thanks so much! I hope you'll enjoy the rest too.

@earlybird-obi-wan Thank you! This is a game of cat-and-mouse, with intelligence, counter-intelligence and counter-counter-intelligence operations going on. I hope the next part won't disappoint!

Thanks again for the reviews and thanks to everyone who stopped by to read! Next part coming right up.