by Laura Leone
Townsend looked appalled but resigned. "Where do we look?"
Gabrielle said to Paul, "The marshes around the Dives?"
"Yes," Paul agreed.
"The Dives," Townsend repeated.
"We ran into some civilians around dawn, fleeing the invasion. They knew about it because of all the paratroopers landing in the marshes overnight. Some drowned upon landing. Others managed to struggle out of the bog, but sometimes without their weapons or supplies. It sounded like there was a concentration of lost men there with no idea what to do next."
"Right," Townsend said briskly. "We'll round up whoever we can find in the time available to us, then get back here."
"Gabrielle knows where most of the barbed wire is," Paul continued, "so you'll be able to avoid that. I suppose only Rommel knows where all of the explosive booby traps are, but we at least know some."
Gabrielle nodded, seeing the worry in Paul's eyes. "We'll be back here in time."
"We need to make the Germans' morale collapse before ten o'clock," Paul said, "since they'll realize, if they're still around at ten-oh-five, that no bombers are overhead, after all."
"Right, then," Townsend said. "Feigned ground assault to start at, shall we say, twenty-one hundred hours?"
"Yes. I'll make sure they're good and scared by then," Paul agreed.
"Nine o'clock." Gabrielle met Paul's gaze. "And you had damn well better keep your head down when the English soldiers start firing on the Germans, do you hear me?"
"I promise."
"Because if you don't," she warned, "you will be in a great deal of trouble. Is that clear?"
He smiled. "It's clear, chérie."
"Well, then." Townsend shook Paul's hand. "Good luck."
"Good luck to you, too, Major. And just in case you haven't figured this out yet, you'll be in a great deal of trouble if anything—anything at all—happens to my wife."
Townsend looked very English as he said, "Understood."
"Don't you want help getting the rest of the uniform off?" Gabrielle asked Paul as she looked down at the dead paratrooper.
"No, I'll manage. You go ahead."
"Right then, ma'am. Shall we?" Townsend looked over the hedgerow, nodded, and offered Gabrielle a hand.
She ignored it, turning instead to kiss Paul again. His arms crushed the breath out of her, and his kiss was rough. Then he pressed her face into his neck and hugged her fiercely. She clung to him, memorizing the feel of his hard-muscled body against hers, his breath in her hair, his hand cupping the back of her head. When he finally loosened his hold, he took her face between his hands and studied her as if memorizing her, too. Gabrielle knew she was going to cry again, and she didn't want to do that, so she stepped away.
"I love you," Paul said.
She smiled at him, then accepted Townsend's hand and climbed over the hedgerow.
Behind her, she heard Townsend ask, "Married long?"
"A year," Paul said.
"She'll be safe with me," Townsend assured him.
"I'm counting on you, Major."
***
Gabrielle crouched in the dark; she was cold and scared. She shivered. It shouldn't be this chilly in June, for God's sake! The weather had been miserable lately, though; the invasion had been delayed because of it, and there'd even been a chance it would have to be postponed until mid-June.
But, no, the Allies had indeed invaded at dawn, and Gabrielle was here tonight, hiding in the darkness just beyond the German hillside compound where thirty English paratroopers—and my husband—were being held prisoner. She and Townsend had found nine men wandering around the marshes—bogged down and depleted, exactly as Rommel had hoped, by the deliberately flooded flatlands of the Dives. Most of the paratroopers thought the river was the Orne until Gabrielle told them otherwise; then they finally realized why they couldn't find any of the landmarks they'd expected to see. Three of the nine men who had returned here with her and Townsend weren't even armed, having lost their weapons in their exhausting escape from the marshes in which they'd landed and nearly drowned.
Townsend had been right: The appearance of an assault was indeed the best they'd be able to muster here.
It was twilight now, and Gabrielle could barely see anything on the hill in the fading light... No lights. "Blackout," she realized. "They're being cautious."
"You think it means your husband is there? That his plan is working, and the Germans are scared of being bombed?" Townsend whispered.
"Hard to say," she admitted. She and Townsend had looked for the corpse of the young paratrooper upon their return. He was right where they'd last seen him, now minus his uniform. The circumstances suggested that Paul had indeed done as planned, but there was no way of being sure. "It could just be common sense. The skies have been filled with Allied planes and bombers all day. It would be foolish of these Germans to invite attack by illuminating their position now that it's dark."
"Agreed," Townsend said morosely.
She knew he was upset about the lack of clear evidence that Paul was inside and had prepared the Germans to panic when the British started firing. If anything had gone wrong with Paul's plan and the Germans on that hill weren't on the verge of completely losing their nerve, then Townsend was probably leading his hastily-gathered men straight to their deaths. Ten men, only seven of them armed, hadn't a chance in this gambit if the conditions weren't exactly right.
"If your husband's there, then our chaps on the inside will be waiting for us to commence fire any moment," Townsend murmured. "They'll make their move then. The Germans will be attacked from inside and out. It'll work, even though we've only got seven guns."
She listened to the Englishman mentally preparing himself for what he knew he must do, despite not having proof that it was the right decision. This was war; Gabrielle had been involved in it since the fall of France four years ago. Death always hovered over any decision one made, any action one took; and the threat was so much worse when you gambled with the lives of others. She understood this, and she felt for Townsend—but she'd shoot him with his own gun if he didn't follow through on Paul's plan. Fortunately, she could tell she wouldn't need to.
"Are you ready?" Townsend asked her.
"Yes."
Her task was to shock the Germans into initial panic by using the remaining sticks of dynamite which she and Paul hadn't already expended in their sabotage efforts so many hours ago.
"When I give the signal," Townsend said.
Gabrielle confirmed the order and silently moved to her position. The gloomy weather ensured there was little chance of her being seen, as the cloud-dimmed sky turned the twilight into night earlier than usual at this time of year.
When Gabrielle heard Townsend's soft whistle, she put a match to the first fuse, then threw the stick of dynamite as close to the Germans as she could. By the time it exploded, she had reached her second position, where she lobbed another stick of dynamite at them. She had four in all, and by the time she had used them up, Townsend's men were firing, and the German encampment was in chaos.
Gabrielle hid behind cover, watching the action, desperately hoping for the sight of her husband, even though she couldn't see much on the hill besides the flash of some machine gun muzzles as they fired. Now an alarm of some kind was blaring there, too. Townsend's men continued their meager assault. Inside to fort, the paratroopers needed to disarm the Germans before they figured out that they were only hearing the sound of seven machine guns out here.
Still, even seven make quite an impression.
Now Gabrielle saw headlights. It illuminated just enough area for her to see frantic German soldiers piling into a jeep. Then she saw—
"Yes!"
—other soldiers attacking them. The paratroopers were taking their weapons. Some of the Germans fought back. A paratrooper went down under machine gunfire.
Paul, Paul...
She didn't really think so, but she couldn't be sure at this distance and with so little light
.
Then the Germans started surrendering. Others simply broke and ran, disappearing into the dark, out of the range of Townsend's men.
It's working!
Less than a minute later, she heard Townsend call for a cease-fire. She waited, holding her breath... Someone turned off the Germans' nerve-jarring alarm. Then there was a blinding surge of lights, the entire compound illuminating completely, twice in a row, before going dark again. A signal.
Gabrielle emerged cautiously from her hiding place at the same time Townsend and his men did.
"My God, he's done it," Townsend said, not bothering to keep his voice down.
"Major Townsend!" Gabrielle's heart pounded with relief when she heard Paul's voice shouting from the hilltop. "Where's my wife?"
She was running towards the Germans' surrendered position before Paul even finished his question. "Paul! Paul!"
Fueled by adrenaline, and by overwhelming joy that her husband was alive and safe, Gabrielle's legs carried her easily up the hill, over obstacles, and past temporary fortifications. She was panting for breath by the time she reached the milling confusion atop the hill, but she felt like she could run ten more miles without getting tired.
"Paul!" she cried, ignoring the startled paratroopers who were busy taking control of the hill and of the remaining Germans there.
"Gabrielle!"
He bumped into her so hard that he knocked the breath out of her. She felt dizzy as they kissed. His arms tightened around her as her knees sagged, and she saw black spots.
"Are you all right?" he said, pulling away to look at her. "You're okay?"
"You're safe, you're safe..." She couldn't stop kissing his face, his neck, the hands which touched her face. "I was so scared, I was so... Paul..."
She only started to calm down when he kissed her long and hard, his mouth hungry and his touch reassuringly firm and strong all over her body. She let her pelvis melt against his, seeking as much contact as she could get. Still unsatisfied, she slid her hands down his back to his buttocks and pulled him even closer, revelling in the way he groaned. Suddenly starving for him, she dragged one of his hands up to her breast, showing him what she wanted. He complied enthusiastically, massaging her with familiar skill... then he stiffened slightly and pulled away from her kiss, breathing hard.
"Um," he said, "we're not alone."
"What?" She rubbed her breasts again his chest and rocked her hips into his.
"Sweetheart..." He tried to set her away from him.
She suddenly realized where they were. Sounds and sights and scents now intruded on senses which, only a second ago, had been completely absorbed in her man and his embrace.
She gasped and looked around.
At least two dozen men were all looking at her and Paul with riveted fascination.
She looked at Paul again, and glared when she saw he was trying not to laugh now.
"Gentlemen," he said. "My wife."
"Blimey," some young paratrooper said. "I thought she was just some friendly Frenchwoman."
"Well, really," Gabrielle said.
"You certainly know how to make an impression," Paul told her, laughing now.
"I had help," she pointed out.
He took her hand and kissed it. "Where's Townsend?"
"Over here!" The major emerged from the still-staring crowd. "Jolly good show!"
Gabrielle snorted.
"Um, I meant..." Townsend looked flustered. "You know. The plan and all that. Not... er, um..."
"I know what you meant," Gabrielle said crisply.
"Very glad to see you, Major." Paul offered Townsend a sturdy handshake. "Things wouldn't have gone so well here if you hadn't given us such convincing support at the right moment." He gestured to the men around them. "I've asked around already. I gather these aren't your guys?"
Townsend glanced around briefly, then shook his head. "Not a one of them."
"Still, you're the senior officer present. Looks like you've got yourself a command for now. And they're good men."
"Yes, I can see that," Townsend said, looking pleased.
"What are you going to do with your prisoners?" Gabrielle asked.
"Keep them here for now," Townsend replied. "We'll hold this position and wait for the invasion to catch up with us."
"Jolly good show," Paul said.
Gabrielle poked him.
"And you two?" Townsend asked.
"We're missing our primary rendez-vous with our friends in the Resistance right now," Paul said, "but I've scheduled a secondary one for tomorrow night. We'll make our way there. And any lost Allies we meet on the way, we'll point in the right direction."
"Good luck to you, then," Townsend said, shaking Paul's hand one last time. "And ma'am..." He took Gabrielle's hand, paused awkwardly for a moment, then raised it to his lips. "You're a remarkable woman, and I hope to see you in Paris soon."
"When Paris is free," she promised. "When the Nazis are gone."
Paul offered wishes of good luck to a number of the paratroopers, then took Gabrielle's hand and started to leave.
Behind them, someone called, "Wait! It's chaos out there! Don't you want to spend the night here?"
Paul looked over his shoulder. "Hmm... Do I want to stay in this crowded little one-shack hellhole with all of you, or go find some dark, quiet, isolated place for the night?" He glanced at Gabrielle, then grinned and said to the men, "What do you think?"
As Paul led Gabrielle away to the sound of raucous approval, she muttered, "Why don't you just paint them a picture?"
"You prepared the canvas well enough," he reminded her.
"At the time, I was very relieved I wasn't a widow," she said austerely.
He grinned again. "So was I."
She slipped her arm through his. He pulled her closer and matched his pace to hers. Behind her, she could just barely hear Townsend's voice raised to give orders about manning the perimeter, securing the prisoners, and figuring out how to work the radio so they could notify their commanders that they'd taken a fortified position and were awaiting reinforcements.
Gabrielle didn't feel like talking anymore, and she could tell that Paul didn't, either. They walked perhaps a kilometer, crossed several hedgerows, and found themselves in a dark, quiet pasture which seemed miraculously distant from the fighting which they knew was still all around them.
She suddenly couldn't go any farther. Didn't want to go any farther. "Paul..." she whispered, weak with the realization of how easily she could have lost him had anything gone wrong.
Then his arms were around her and his mouth was rough on her forehead, her cheek, her chin, her mouth... He pushed her down to the ground without finesse or grace, tumbling heavily on top of her as they kissed each other fiercely, their hands tearing clumsily at each other's clothing.
"Don't... rip," she cautioned breathlessly between hot kisses. "Nothing... else... to wear..." Now she was laughing and groaning at the same time.
"You do it," he said tersely, rolling away from her to deal with his own clothes.
Her hands shook as she slipped out of her blouse and brassiere, then unfastened the practical trousers she wore and pushed them over her hips and down her legs. Then he was there, yanking her clothes away from her feet. He made an impatient noise when his questing hands found her panties still in place. She was kissing him again, rubbing her tongue eagerly against his, while he pulled her panties down with rough, awkward tugs and tossed them aside. Then, naked in her arms, Paul pushed her down onto her back, into the damp grassy earth, and slid between her legs.
He entered her fast and hard, making her whole body jerk in startled response. She heaved upwards, just as clumsy as he was, both of them much too frantic to exercise their usual skill at this, and neither of them caring about that right now. All she wanted, all she cared about, was feeling him inside her, deep, full, hard, fierce, like this. Like this...
"Mmmm... More," she begged. "More." She wanted all of him. Everything. Nothing
held back.
"Ma mie..."
His lips, his hands, his whispers and groans... His grinding hips, his sweat-slick back beneath her palms, his incoherent murmurs in mingled French and English...
He was thrusting rapidly now, his thick, throbbing penis creating a glorious friction inside her and plunging her into oblivious ecstasy. She wrapped her legs around him and tried to pull him even deeper...
"Deeper," she urged.
"Sweet," he whispered against her neck. "So hot and tight and wet... So good, my love..."
"Ohhh... Ohhh... Ohhh!" She didn't care how loud she was, didn't even care who might hear them making love like animals in this open field in the middle of the biggest battle in history. She clung deliriously to him and surrendered to the sharp, brutal glory they gave each other in the aftermath of their fear.
He shuddered violently in her arms and groaned deeply as he poured himself into her. Gabrielle clung to him with arms and legs, draining him in her greedy embrace, then sighed with deep satisfaction when he collapsed, trembling, on top of her.
She was faint with lack of air by the time he finally relieved her of his weight. Weak and limp and happy, she let him mold her comfortably to his side, practically purring with contentment.
His kisses, so rough before, were now exquisitely gentle. On her mouth, her cheek, her brow.
"Je t'aime," she murmured. I love you.
"Moi, aussi." Me, too.
He found her hand, then linked his fingers with hers. She shifted her weight and slid one leg across both of his. He sighed and kissed her hair.
"We can't stay here," she opined sleepily. "It's too open."
"Well... There's the remains of a ruined cottage between here and the—" He suddenly stiffened. "Damn!"
She lifted her head. "What?"
"I'm still wearing that uniform."
She giggled. "No, you're not."
"I mean," he said dryly, "it's here with us, and my clothes are back near Townsend's position. I stashed them under a fallen log."
"Oh." After a moment, she echoed, "Damn."