by Conor Bender
“One more thing, sir.”
Bailey looked up and glared at him. “What?”
“Faust and Chambers go back to 77 with me.”
“Sure, why not? Let’s just send you to the busiest group in all of England.” Bailey grumbled, talking to no one in particular, “Oh, top of the morning to you, Air Vice-Marshal Leigh-Mallory. Mind if I spot you three new pilots?”
“Thanks, sir, I’ll go get my kit ready.”
“Sod off, Ian. If you get shot down it’s on your head.”
***
The car came to a halt on the gravel drive of the safe house back in town. Claude, Talia, and Cutter clambered out and crunched across to the house, making their way back into the kitchen where Talia and Cutter had first been introduced to each other. Claude sat down heavily in one of the chairs and stretched his legs. “So what do you need from us?”
Cutter leaned against the countertop and crossed his arms. His initial concerns about Talia and Claude being part of an elaborate ruse by the Gestapo were allayed, but he still didn’t trust them. He weighed his response carefully. He needed to ensure that he didn’t give up too much information, so that if Claude or anyone were captured and interrogated they wouldn’t compromise the raid or him. “I need information: troop strengths, locations, and capabilities in the surrounding area.”
“Shouldn’t be difficult. What for?”
“We’re looking for targets of opportunity for the RAF to interdict,” Cutter lied. It was a weak lie, and Claude knew it, but didn’t respond. Cutter could tell he understood why he wasn’t being told the truth. The man was professional enough to not get upset. “Shouldn’t be too difficult. How soon do you need it?”
“You have a week.”
“It’ll be done. What will you be doing?”
“I have my own mission. I’ll need a vehicle.”
“You intend to go around the region alone?” Claude asked in surprise.
“Yes, why?”
Claude shook his head. “No. You’ll be picked up by the Germans before you even leave the village. Nothing screams Resistance like a young solitary man in a car driving around Normandy. Talia will go with you.”
Talia had been silent the entire conversation, but was taken aback by the proposal. “Excuse me?” she exclaimed, clearly not approving of the idea. Her almond-shaped eyes darted between Claude and Cutter. A look of distaste crept over her face. “Send Durand or Fabrice.”
Claude looked at Talia and pointed at Cutter. “Deschamps will need a guide. It’s less conspicuous if he isn’t alone, and even less conspicuous if he is with a woman. The cover you used at the bakery was that he was your friend from Cherbourg. We can stretch that and say he is your lover.”
“We will do no such thing!” Talia hissed. She walked over to Claude and dug one of her fingernails into his chest as she pointed at him. “I will not go around pretending to be this English cad’s lover.”
“Please contain your excitement for the notion.”
“Shut up!” Talia growled.
Claude grabbed her by the arm none too gently. “Talia, I don’t care what your preferences are. You will pose as his lover. This is how you can best serve the Resistance. You’ve been pestering me for new responsibilities for months. Here’s your chance.”
“I can fight!”
“Be quiet. Combat is no place for a girl,” Claude hissed. “You will escort Olivier around. That is my order as your commander and that is final.” He turned and shot Cutter a wary look. “As for you. If you take advantage of her, you won’t be going home with everything intact.”
Cutter nodded in understanding. “Don’t worry, I happen to like my crown jewels very much.”
“Come by the bakery on Wednesday and we’ll discuss whatever information we have gathered.” Claude looked at the pair of them and stood up. “Good luck.” He shot Talia a dark look, and without another word walked out the door.
As the door shut, Talia stormed out of the kitchen and out of sight. Cutter heard the sound of footsteps climbing up a flight of stairs and a door shut violently.
“Alone at last.” He stood up from the table and walked over to the stove and lit it and set a kettle of water on it to make some tea. He set his pistol on the table and walked over to his trunk. The radio components were missing; the French Resistance had searched his bag and had seen fit to liberate him of it, along with a pair of his socks.
Cutter took the kettle off the stove and poured the water in with the tea leaves. He returned to the table and absently stirred his tea. Talia would be a challenge, he thought. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for her after the way Claude had treated her. Unlike Hambro, he was very heavy-handed in dispensing his authority. But still, the girl had fire. Cutter had seen the defiance in her eyes. She wasn’t one to take anything lying down. She was very different from the girls Cutter had met while at the university. He deliberated over how he would win her over to aiding him willingly. In the past, learning about and befriending his contacts had been the simplest way to conscript aid, but he wasn’t sure he had the stomach to do that. Since Victor, he was unsure how willing he was to continue with his usual methods of achieving results.
“Do your job.” Victor’s last words echoed in Cutter’s head. He doubted he would be able to kill Talia in order to preserve himself or the Resistance if he formed an attachment to her. He needed to find another way. What did he know about her?
Talia was ambitious, that much was clear in her willingness to fight. But she despised being treated like a child. No, a girl, Cutter corrected himself. She hated being looked upon as lesser than the men of the Resistance because of her sex. Cutter stopped stirring and took a sip of his tea, a plan beginning to form in the back of his head.
An hour passed before Talia came back downstairs. She gave Cutter a contemptuous look and made a point of never being in the same room as him for more than a few moments. Cutter let her prance about in a rage for another hour before addressing her. “Are we going to continue this way the entire time I’m here?”
Talia looked up from a book Cutter suspected she was pretending to read. “Like what?”
Cutter rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Come on, where’s the car?”
“Where are we going?”
“Saint-Aubin and Sotteville,” Cutter said as he put his F-S knife in his waistband and checked his pistol. He inspected the magazine, inserted it in the pistol, and chambered a round.
“Why?”
“I figured a drive through the French countryside may do our relationship some good.”
Talia shot Cutter a stony look, but did not respond.
He walked over to the kitchen and placed his pistol in one of the cabinets. “Where’s the car?”
Talia put on her coat. “It’s on the street.”
Cutter nodded and opened the door. “Alright, let’s go.” They walked out toward the car and saw Madame Delacroix tending to her garden, her long bony fingers working deftly to manicure her flowers. She was an elderly woman with gray hair and a weathered face. Cutter could tell she was of a prying nature and made a mental note to keep an eye on her.
She spotted them and waved. “Bonjour, Talia, how are you? And who is this?” She gave Cutter a leering smile as she batted her eyes and smiled mischievously at him.
Talia smiled warmly. “Madame Delacroix, how nice to see you! Have you met Olivier? He’s a friend of mine.” She motioned to Cutter, who walked over and introduced himself.
“Bonjour, madame, it is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Talia you never told me you had such good looking friends.” Madame Delacroix winked.
Talia gave a strained laugh. “Well, he’s been in Cherbourg this whole time and I hadn’t had a chance to see him until now.”
“Oh, you’re from Cherbourg. What a wonderful city.”
Cutter put an arm around Talia’s shoulder and smiled. “It is indeed.” He felt Talia’s shoulder stiffen under his touch. “Darling, I don’t m
ean to be rude, but we are in a bit of a rush.”
“C’est vrai, we are meeting with some old friends of Olivier’s and we can’t keep them waiting.”
“Well, I don’t want to keep you,” Madame Delacroix said, meaning quite the opposite.
Cutter nodded and said goodbye, steering Talia toward the car. “She’s a man-eater, by the looks of her,” Cutter murmured when they were out of earshot.
“She’d eat you alive,” Talia murmured as she clambered into the car. It was a faded 1937 Citroen, but by the way the engine started it ran as good as new.
“Which way?” Cutter asked as he put the engine in gear.
“Turn left up here.” Talia pointed at the T-intersection straight ahead. Cutter turned onto the road and drove out of the village.
They drove in silence for a few kilometers before Cutter spoke, “If we’re supposed to be lovers, it would be a good idea to get to know each other a little better.” He wasn’t keen on the idea, but he needed to know who Talia was.
“Why?”
“So we don’t get killed. Look, I’ve been at this for a while. The better we know each other the better our chances of survival.”
Talia looked out her window and leaned her arm against the sill. “Whatever you tell me won’t be true, so why should I tell you personal things about me.”
Cutter hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond. “I know you don’t like this situation, but—”
“You have no idea what I like and don’t like!”
Cutter paused, unsure how to proceed. “You clearly dislike me, but I don’t understand why.” He could understand the hostility for Claude pairing her with him, but from the start she had disliked him. Since he had knocked on the door of her house to proving that he was here to help, Talia had hardly warmed up to him. He couldn’t understand where the contempt was coming from.
Talia looked out the window and didn’t respond for a long time. Then she looked at Cutter and said, her voice soft, “I’m supposed to pretend to be the lover of a man who yesterday threatened to kill me if I didn’t help him and is the reason my uncle was killed.”
Cutter took his eyes off the road for a second and looked at her. “What do you mean I’m the reason your uncle was killed?”
Talia turned back toward the window and remained silent.
Cutter looked at her in confusion. He had only met Francois once and it had been over six months ago. How is his death my fault? “How did your uncle die?”
“He was covering the escape of a radio operator after they received your communiqué that you were coming. Your message took too long to receive and the Germans found them. My uncle fought the Germans, giving the operator time to escape with the radio.” Talia turned back and looked at Cutter, struggling to blink back the tears.
“I’m sorry,” Cutter murmured, not entirely sure what to say. They continued the rest of the drive in silence and arrived at Saint-Aubin. For all his efforts trying to remain detached from Talia, it was already proving to be difficult. How was he going to get to know her and pose as her lover without forming some kind of attachment? It was a paradox he realized. Cutter drove through the small town and turned toward the beach and parked. “Let’s go for a stroll.” He hopped out of the vehicle, walked around, and opened the door for Talia, then reached for her hand. Talia hesitated but gave it. “Remember, we’re lovers,” he reminded gently as they walked.
“I know,” she said, through gritted teeth.
They meandered out onto the beach. The sky was overcast and a cold breeze blew along the water, putting a chill in the air. The pair of them walked up to the water’s edge and stood in silence watching the tide. Cutter looked around as they walked and made sure they were alone. “You’re not mad at me about your uncle’s death.”
“Are you a mind reader or something?”
Cutter shook his head. “No, but I see how Claude treats you. You’re mad at anyone who expects less of you.”
“You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“No, you’re right. But that pugnacious overly hostile persona you put on isn’t you.”
“You’ve known me less than twelve hours and you think you have me figured out?”
“I can take a guess. You lived with your uncle; your parents are either missing or dead, most likely because of the war. You’re one of the first women I’ve ever met in the Resistance that is younger than me, and I suspect you’re one of the only women in this circuit. You’re mad because of all these things, and with your uncle’s death you lost the one person you could talk to openly.” Cutter picked up a pebble off the beach and rolled it between his thumb and finger. “Am I close?”
Talia, opened her mouth and prepared to give a sharp retort but was cut off by Cutter. “Look, I don’t really care if I’m close. I don’t care if you need to hate me to get through this, that’s fine, but don’t think for a second that you’re the only person that has suffered because of this war.” Cutter tossed the pebble into the surf and took a step closer to Talia. His voice softening, he said, “This war has cost us all something, but I’m here to see that I don’t pay any more for it. What about you?”
“Of course!” she snapped. “I’m willing to do anything and everything I can to get rid of the Nazis, but I’m not some whore Claude can use to satisfy you and keep you safe.”
“Then help me. You have an opportunity to do a lot of good for your country and take something back. Don’t throw this chance away just to spite Claude.”
He could tell by the look on Talia’s face he had touched a nerve. “I’m here to help, but I need yours to do it.” He searched Talia’s eyes, his voice calm and measured, “Will you help me?”
Talia hesitated, surprised by Cutter’s candid words. His declaration angered her but at the same time something inside her felt liberated by his harsh observation. None of the Resistance members had ever asked her how she was after her uncle’s death. As the only woman in the cell it was always difficult to be taken seriously. In Claude’s eyes she was just a remnant of her uncle and had little to no value to the Resistance. As harsh as Cutter was, he wasn’t treating her as a frail girl but as someone he needed to rely on, as an equal. As much as she disliked Cutter’s acerbic nature, the idea of having a purpose and a chance to do something to fight the Nazis, other than being a decoy or messenger for Claude, excited her.
“The Nazis took my family from me. They took my life. I don’t want anything else taken.”
A faint smile curled at the corners of Cutter’s mouth and he extended his hand. “Then let’s crack on.”
They spent the rest of the day scouting Sotteville and Saint-Aubin. Cutter made mental notes as they went, planning to write everything down back at the safe house. Both towns provided little in regard to possible raid locations, but it helped Cutter develop situational awareness of the surrounding area. As they drove back to the safe house he looked over at Talia. She had thawed over the day and had become much less frosty toward him. “What will you do after the war?” he asked. As much as he wanted to avoid forming an attachment, it wouldn’t do to know nothing about her.
“That’s a long way away.”
“You think so?”
Talia looked at him skeptically. “Do you honestly see an invasion occurring anytime soon?”
“It’s possible.”
“Not that possible.”
“What did you do before the war?” Cutter asked. He had interacted with contacts numerous times and had been able to extract information easily for the most part. Usually his contacts had been men, which had made it easier to find common ground, usually over a glass of liquor. With Talia, it was a whole different game. His rousing speech on the beach had been a huge gamble. Cutter had no clue how to handle a woman, and hadn’t been sure if his caustic and candid talk with Talia would be successful. Her willingness to work with him after what he said had left him more confused than confident about what motivated her.
“I was a
student in Paris.”
“Really?”
“Yes at the Sorbonne.”
“Not many women get into the Sorbonne. That’s impressive. What did you study?”
“Music.” Talia shifted in her seat and looked outside as they continued through the French countryside. “I played the violin.”
“Do you still play?” Cutter asked as they approached Quiberville.
“I haven’t really had time,” Talia said, a hint of sadness in her voice.
Cutter noticed and quickly changed topics. “What do you know about Eglise Saint Valéry?” He had studied a map of the area extensively, and he was eager to inspect the church. It was backed up along a cliff on the beach, but a couple topographical charts indicated that it could be scaled easily from the coast.
“It’s one of the oldest churches in the region. The priest is sympathetic to the Resistance. It’s also along the coast.” Talia paused and eyed Cutter suspiciously. “Why are we visiting these places?”
Cutter remained silent.
“Are you going to go silent every time I ask a question about your mission, or will you trust me?”
Cutter weighed his answer carefully. If he didn’t tell the truth, he ran the risk of sabotaging a fragile working relationship with Talia. On the other hand, if he told the truth, he ran the risk of compromising the mission if she turned out to be an informant. Cutter never had a contact betray him, but he had heard stories of other agents being double-crossed; as a result he was incredibly cautious. “We’re screening for ideal beachheads for a potential raid in the coming months.” He decided telling her the truth was worth the risk.
Talia looked at him in surprise, and then smirked. “Was that so difficult to say?”
“You have no idea.”
Cutter rounded a blind bend in the road and hit the brakes. Up ahead a German half-track sat parked with a squad of Nazi soldiers standing in the road with a checkpoint set up.
“Merde.”
“Relax,” Cutter said in French, “just act normal.” He eased on the gas pedal and they crept forward.