The moon felt entirely too bright as Christophe and I made our way to the rail yards. I felt conspicuous in my heavy clothes, but Christophe and I had agreed that we would have only drawn more attention to ourselves if we had dressed in black.
"The idea is to blend in with the men at the rail yard," he'd told me, handing me some work clothes that he warned wouldn't fit me well. All my own clothing was too nice to belong to a rail worker, so I feigned irritation and put on what he'd loaned me. They were soft and worn in, and they smelled like him. I was ecstatic to be in them, despite the fact that they were at least two sizes too large.
We made it to the tracks without being hassled, and sat in the bushes near them, waiting. A passenger train was to pass through at 10:45, and Christophe insisted we wait for it, not wanting to harm civilians. He checked his watch from time to time, and swiped at mosquitoes that were biting his neck, but otherwise seemed relaxed, leaning against a rock and smoking a cigarette, seemingly unconcerned that it might draw attention to us.
I sat quietly beside him, listening to the crickets in the background, until my curiosity got the best of me.
"How many times have you done this?" I whispered.
"Oh, hm. This is my fourth time attacking the rails," he said, "We started out bombing the docks, but those attacks seemed pretty ineffective. That's the sort of thing that might best be left for aerial bombing, because you need to cover a large area of the port, and take out some of the boats in the process, for it to do any good. Trains are easier to stop. Tonight the Bosche is expecting a trainload of ammunition, and I want to be sure they don't get it," he paused for a moment, taking a drag on his cigarette, "Actually, a few years ago the Americans bombed this rail yard. It worked well, but the Bosche built it back up, quickly."
"I've never liked aerial bombing," I said, scowling, "It's so sloppy."
"I don't like it either, in most cases. You've seen the city. I understand why the Allies are bombing it, but the citizens of Rouen are the ones who suffer the most, not the Bosche."
"Do you have family in town?" I asked, shifting away from a branch that was digging into my back.
"My mother used to live here," he said, after a pause. He had an odd look on his face, as he stared at the cigarette in his hand.
"Did she move away?"
"No," he said, chucking the rest of his cigarette away, and checking his watch.
The finality in his voice made me stop asking questions, but it was just as well. I heard the whistle of the passenger train in the distance, and looked at my watch as well. It was 15 minutes late, which, I'd gathered, was pretty typical.
The train passed, and just as we were about to make our move, I noticed an odd droning sound in the distance.
"Taupe, wait!" I said, as he stood up to approach the rails.
He paused and looked at me quizzically, and then cocked his head to the side, hearing what I heard. As he looked to the north, toward the sound, I noticed the crickets had gone conspicuously quiet as if anticipating something.
"B-24s?" Christophe asked, looking back at me.
"I think so."
I looked up at him from my position on the ground, and we watched each other as we listened to the planes, trying to figure out where they were going.
"They're coming this way," I said, breaking the silence.
"Sounds like it," he said, looking back up at the sky.
"They're coming this way quickly," I said, scrambling to my feet, realizing how close they had suddenly become.
Christophe's eyes grew wide, and he took a few steps toward me, grabbing my arm as the planes flew overhead. He pulled me down against the rock he'd been leaning on earlier, as the bombers turned north, and began to drop their bombs on the factories by the port. I could hear Christophe muttering faint curses behind me as he pressed himself up against my back. I didn't know if he was worried about flying debris, or perhaps the bombers turning around and hitting where we were, but I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck as he shielded me against the rock. The explosions were tremendous, though they were nearly a mile away. I could feel the ground shaking beneath our feet as the Germans on the ground began to fire artillery at the planes, and then, suddenly, there was an even louder explosion that sounded entirely different. We both turned to look, and saw that one of the planes had been hit. It went streaking off toward the east with its wing on fire, and we watched as it hurtled toward the ground, until our view was obscured by the city skyline. Once it was gone, we realized the other planes had finished their mission, and were heading back toward the Channel.
Christophe eased away from me a little, still watching the sky, as he absent-mindedly ran his hand from my shoulder, down my back. I shivered at his touch and he glanced sharply at me, apparently too absorbed by what happened to realize what he'd done. He pulled away quickly, grabbing for the bag that contained our pre-made bombs.
"Let's hurry and get this done, then," he said, as if we hadn't just witnessed something spectacular.
"We shouldn't just be getting home? I mean, won't the Bosche be out in swarms after this?" I asked, though I did want to stay and finish the job.
"No, the Americans just did us a favor. The Bosche will be too preoccupied by the mess on that side of town to worry about anything else, tonight."
I nodded, and followed him out to the tracks, which were now illuminated by a soft glow from the fires to the north. The men who had been working there earlier seemed to have vanished, and for that I was grateful. We placed our bombs under the tracks with no difficulties, and then set the charges, running away as fast as we could, toward the river.
We crouched behind a low wall, grinning at each other as the first explosion went off. I hadn't felt so excited about anything in a long time, but I was giddy as a schoolboy as all five of our bombs went off, one right after the other.
I didn't watch the resulting explosions, enthralled by the light of them reflecting off Christophe's face. He wasn't looking toward the rails, either, just stared vacantly toward the ground at my feet. Just as I felt a dangerous impulse to kiss him come over me, he spoke.
"You've been hurt," he said.
"What?" I asked, confused.
He reached over and brushed my knee, which was apparently what he'd been staring at. I looked down as he held out his finger, which was covered in blood.
"Oh dear," I said, shifting to get a better look at it, "I must have scraped it on that rock."
The right knee of the trousers he'd loaned me was torn open, and my bloodied skin was visible through the hole. It didn't look serious, but I was still surprised I hadn't felt a thing. The adrenaline rushing through my veins must have blocked out the pain entirely.
"I owe you a new pair of trousers, then," I said, warmth spreading through me as he laughed.
"No, we can just patch them. Let's get home so we can take care of that, though."
He rose, pulling his now empty bag over his shoulder.
"Should we check the tracks?" I asked, "To see what the damage was?"
"No," he replied, surprising me as he extended his hand toward me, "I'll send Desiré out tomorrow. The explosions will have attracted too much attention."
I allowed him to pull me to my feet, and followed him toward the bridge we'd crossed earlier. To the north we could still see the light from the fires. I prayed that the Americans had gotten something good, and that what we'd done tonight would be helpful.
"I hope the men in the plane that was shot down were able to get out," I said.
"It would probably be better for them if they died. Most of the pilots who are shot down are captured by the Bosche, and sent to one of those despicable camps like the one Kyle escaped from. Unless we get to them first, of course" he said, smirking and digging a cigarette out of his pocket.
"May I have one?" I asked, impulsively.
"You smoke?" he asked, looking surprised.
"Occasionally," I said, "When I'm feeling particularly satisfied, or sometimes when I'm stressed."
"Satisfied, eh?" he asked with a knowing look, "Well, this is my last one, but we can share, if you want."
We spent the rest of the walk home in companionable silence, passing the cigarette back and forth between us.
After Kyle had a look at my knee, which was only scraped, I excused myself to have a bath. There was a great deal of dust in the air after all the explosions that night, and I felt absolutely filthy as a result. I also felt it prudent to escape the palpable anger still radiating off Kyle. He was absolutely furious about being locked in the house while his brother was ill, and he wasn't shy about letting us know. He'd only consented to look at my knee after making a few snide comments, and even then he'd continued making angry jabs at Christophe, who I could tell was quickly losing patience with him. I could hear them shouting at each other as I eased myself into the steaming hot bath water, glad for my escape.
I swiped lazily at my skin a few times with the washcloth, but quickly lost interest in that, leaning back against the side of the tub, letting the hot water loosen my muscles.
I was nearly dozing off when suddenly someone barged into the room.
"Excuse me," I exclaimed, throwing the washcloth over myself in an attempt at modesty, "I'm trying to have a bath, here."
"I'm not stopping you," Christophe said, stepping toward the toilet and unzipping his trousers.
"Couldn't you wait?" I asked, averting my eyes as he pulled his cock out, completely immodest.
I was sure I was turning red, all the way down to my toes. I could feel Christophe's eyes upon me, which wasn't helping in the slightest.
"You did well tonight," he said, relieving himself.
"Thank you," I responded tersely, still forcing myself to look anywhere but him.
At that moment Kenny inexplicably chose to pop his head into the bathroom.
"You guys having a party in here?" he said, grinning at me.
I rolled my eyes and sank lower into the tub, irritated by the entire scenario.
"Jesus Christ, Christophe," Kenny said, after receiving no response from either of us, "That thing is a monster!"
Christophe was smirking and tucking himself into his pants as I glanced over, no longer able to hide my curiosity. His hands hid anything that might interest me, and I glanced away quickly as I realized he was watching me. Kenny simply laughed.
"How are the rail lines?" he asked.
"You will find out tomorrow for me, no?" was Christophe's response from where he was washing his hands at the sink.
"Oh, sure," said Kenny, "but did it seem successful?"
"The bombs all went off, and as far as I could tell we accomplished our objective," answered Christophe, "That, combined with the American bombing of the factories means a pretty successful night. Want to bring up a bottle of wine to celebrate?"
"Ok," Kenny said, vanishing from the doorway and heading, presumably, to the cellar under the bar, where Christophe stored the bottles of wine.
Christophe shut the door behind him, closing us in together.
"Um, would you mind if I got dressed?" I asked.
"Ah, don't worry, I'll be quick," he said, sitting on the edge of the tub.
"Will you?" I shot back, arching an eyebrow. He grinned at me.
"I think it's time for you to start at the bar," he said.
"Oh? Doing what, exactly?"
"We'll figure that part out. I know you have no experience, but it's easy to pick up."
"Ok, but why do you need me?" I asked. Though I was desperate to take on a more involved role, I curious as to what he thought I would bring to his team.
"You're smart," he said, "I need to have someone there who is intelligent and articulate, and good at getting information out of people. You're good at asking questions to find out what you want to know, usually without the other person realizing what you're doing."
"Usually?"
"Well, I've figured it out," he grinned.
"Hm," I said, pursing my lips.
"Anyway," he said, reaching into the water and shaking one of my knees, "tomorrow night, yes?"
"Yes, of course," I said, eager to be more involved in what was going on.
He smiled at me and left the room.
The following night was overwhelming, at best. Earlier in the day, Christophe had taken me into La Pelle to show me more specifics of the job, such as how glasses were stored, how food was prepared, how to pour beer properly, that sort of banal thing. It was all well and good to learn these things in an empty bar, but La Pelle was fairly crowded in the evening, and I felt as though every person in there was demanding something from me, personally. Christophe later assured me that this was not the case, as there were three other people manning the bar, including himself, but I had never liked being in a crowd, and became easily frustrated when dealing with large groups of people. And in my rush to get peoples' drinks, I kept bumping into both Kenny and Bebe, who were both behind the bar with me. Kenny took it in good humor, as he did with most things, but Bebe grew very cross with me indeed, glaring and making snappy comments any time I got near her.
-Yaahoooo-
Worst of all, I could feel Christophe watching me the entire evening, making mental notes on my every move. I wanted so badly to do well, but I was completely out of my element, and I'm sure for every mistake I noticed, he noticed ten more. Halfway through the evening, he pulled me back up to the flat, and I sat across from him at the table, angry at myself, and for him for putting me in such a position.
"Well, that was-"
"Abysmal," I interjected, "Absolutely appalling. You don't have to tell me."
He stared at me for a moment, looking amused.
"You are too hard on yourself," he said.
"No, Christophe, I'm realistic."
He still looked amused as he pulled out a cigarette, watching me while he lit it. He offered the pack to me, but I shook my head.
"Well, I'm sure we could find something for you to do. Maybe just bringing the drinks to the people at the tables, perhaps?"
"Isn't that more of a woman's job?" I asked, seething.
"Well, you're close enough," he said with a smirk.
I wanted to get up and slap him, but I figured that would only prove his point.
"Anyway," he continued, "if you were doing that, it would give you a lot of opportunities to gather information. I could tell my own men, and people I trust, that they should choose a table and speak to you, if they have information to share. And you could eavesdrop on the Bosche soldiers who come in, and since you're pretending to be sympathetic to their cause, maybe they might get drunk and over share with you? I've gotten lots of useful information that way."
"That may work," I said, thinking it over.
"Good," he said, standing, "Let's go, then."
"Now?" I asked, thinking my poor performance might have caused him to dismiss me for the evening.
"Yeah, come on," he said.
I followed him back downstairs, surprised he was willing to give me another shot so quickly.
The rest of the evening went much more smoothly. All I had to do was remember who ordered what drink, keep the refills coming, and play nice with the patrons. Most were German soldiers, since, with the curfew in effect, few French citizens could get away with being at a bar at night. There were a few officers as well, and some SS, including one rather corpulent man, who sat at a table with a lovely girl with long black hair. Christophe later told me to be wary of him, but if I ever saw her alone, I should speak to her. Apparently the SS officer's girlfriend was working for us.
As the night went on I became more comfortable, but it felt so bizarre to be around so many Germans and not be shooting at them. It felt even stranger to serve them drinks, and chat with them as if I were pleased to see them.
But still, Christophe was right. I found serving at the tables was much easier for me, and it gave me plenty of time to socialize with the soldiers, gathering tiny bits and pieces of information as I went along.
It only took a few days for this to become routine for me. As I learned more about how the bar worked, I became much better at the job. And as I got to know some of the soldiers better, plying information from them with a well-phrased question became child's play. Yes, it was all a game to me, and there was nothing I enjoyed more than being able to sit down at the end of the evening and write down the information I had gathered, sending it off with a messenger the next morning to Craig, who I had been surprised to learn was also living in Rouen, working as our liaison with England.
After my shifts, or sometimes on my evenings off, Christophe and I would plan out missions, either for ourselves, or other members of his team. I enjoyed working with nearly everyone, save Clyde, who I found to be dull and surly.
One evening at the bar, I was approached by the fat SS officer's girlfriend, who was, for once, without his company.
"I'm Wendy, by the way," she said cheerfully, "I suppose I haven't had an opportunity to introduce myself properly."
"Yes," I said, "I'm Gregory. Lovely to meet you."
"Do you have a moment to have a drink with me?" she asked, "I'd love to chat for a bit. It's so dreary to come here on my own, but what else is a girl to do?"
"I always have time for beautiful women," I said, absolutely charmed by her, "What will you have?"
"The same Merlot I always have, thanks," she said, seemingly unfazed by my flirting.
I joined her at a table after getting glasses of wine for both of us. Christophe had encouraged me many times to join anyone who might ask me for a drink, believing the best way to get information out of someone was to be friendly to a fault with them. Wendy was no exception, even if she was already on our side.
Though I had no sexual interest in women, I'd met a few in my time who I found absolutely fascinating. I liked intelligent women best of all, especially if they displayed strength and confidence. Wendy seemed to be the type, and as we sat across from each other, I wondered about her. How was it that the girlfriend of an SS officer, who seemed ruthless and vindictive from the little I knew of him, ended up working for the Resistance? I supposed a bar crowded with Bosche soldiers was hardly the place to ask such a thing.
"How are you liking Rouen so far?" she asked, "I've spoken to your brother a few times, and he said you were from London, by way of Paris?"
"Oh, yes. I like it here very much. More support for the Fuhrer here in Rouen than Paris," I said, playing it up, "If only the damned Allies would stop bombing the city."
She smiled knowingly at me, perfectly aware that I was only putting on a show for anyone who might be eavesdropping.
"Mmm, yes," she said, sipping daintily at her wine, "They have done a number on the city, haven't they? Did you see the bombing the other night? On the ports? They were frighteningly effective."
"That was my first evening in town, actually. I came in one of the last trains, before the rails were hit. Do they know who did it?"
"Sort of," she said, "The soldiers believe that was the work of a Resistance group in town, though they have no idea as to who it was. I feel so cut off here, since no supplies can get through at the moment. Why, my boyfriend ordered me some brand new silk stockings, and now I believe I shall never get them!"
I mulled over what she was really telling me, pleased with her ability to hide pertinent information under pointless trivialities.
"It's a shame, dear, but I'm sure you don't need them," I said, "You would look lovely in even the most torn-up old things."
She smiled at this, glancing around as she sipped at her wine. I stared at the mark her lipstick left on the glass, slightly repulsed. Though the shade looked lovely on her, I hated lipstick on principle.
"Did you hear we shot down one of the American planes?" she asked, looking serious.
"I hadn't. Were there any survivors? I'd hate to think of some American soldier on the loose in the area."
"Well, the rumor is one man survived," she leaned in, lowering her voice, "and they say he's being hidden in a farmhouse outside of town. But oh, you know how rumors are!" she laughed, raising her voice once more, "I'm certain this one was spread by bored farmers' wives, who get so little at home that they'd resort for fraternizing with the enemy."
I nearly choked on my wine, delightfully scandalized by this young lady. Apparently she'd told me all she needed to because from there our conversation slipped into trivial pleasantries. I was enjoying her company so much that I didn't realize how long I'd been sitting with her. I was startled when suddenly Christophe appeared at the table. He was smiling, but something about his expression looked a little off.
"Having fun?" he asked.
"Christophe!" Wendy exclaimed, "You've been holding out on me! You never told me how charming this young man was!"
"Hm," Christophe said, looking at me sternly, "Charming though he may be, he has work to do."
"Oh dear, I'm terribly sorry," Wendy said, rooting around in her purse, "Let me pay for my drink, and then I'll get out of your hair. I have to meet Eric in a little while, anyway."
I was about to offer to pay for her drink myself, but Christophe was staring expectantly at her hand, and quietly took the paper she handed him without a word. He smiled at her, and walked away, giving me a look as he left.
"Oh dear, looks as though I'm in trouble," I said to Wendy, smiling at her.
She stood up, gathering her belongings, but still smiling at me.
"Oh, I'm sure you'll find some way to gain his forgiveness," she said, winking at me, "It was lovely speaking with you, Gregory. Until next time."
I watched her walk out the bar, wondering what the hell she meant. But then I saw Christophe glaring at me from behind the bar, and I got up to finish the rest of my shift.
When we got upstairs at the end of the evening, Christophe asked Kenny and I to join him at the table. He pulled a paper out of his pocket, and laid it upon the table.
"This is what Wendy gave me earlier. What is this address for?" he asked me.
I glanced at it, but indeed, all it had written upon it was someone's name, and an address located in Montmain, a tiny town a few miles outside of Rouen.
"If I'm not mistaken, there's an American airman being hidden there."
"Is he injured?" Kenny asked.
"I don't know. I only know what Wendy told me," I said.
"You seemed to get along with her well," Christophe said, looking surly.
"Well yes," I said, "she's quite charming, isn't she? Lovely."
"I suppose, if you're into that sort of thing," he said.
"Jealous?" Kenny asked.
Christophe scoffed, and pulled the paper back toward him.
"Well," he said, "What do you want to do about this?"
"What do you normally do?" I asked.
"Go get the poor bastard?" Kenny said.
"If it's at all feasible?" I added, watching Christophe, who was still scowling.
"Well, I suppose," was his only response.
He sat for a moment, staring at the paper with a blank look on his face. He drummed his fingers upon the table, and scratched his head, and looked more antsy than I had ever seen him. I wondered what his problem was.
"Ok," he said, finally, "I will figure out a plan. Give me a day or two... Meeting adjourned, or whatever. Are you two going to bed?" he asked, but he was looking at me.
"I'm not," Kenny answered, "Bebe's waiting downstairs for me to escort her home. And uh, I might not be back for a while, if you get my meaning."
"Oh Christ, Kenny," I said, "Please don't come crawling back to bed tonight reeking of... of... woman."
"I don't expect to be back until morning," he said, laughing, "but maybe you and Christophe could share a bed, just in case I come home early?"
"I don't think so," Christophe said, curtly.
"Why not?" Kenny asked, "You guys might enjoy it. You always look so lonely over in your bed, all by yourself, and Gregory loves to cuddle, and makes cute little sighing sounds in his sleep."
"I do no such thing!" I exclaimed, "At least, not the sighing bit."
"Yes, you do," muttered Christophe.
I stared at him for a moment, absolutely mortified. He just had that same irritated look on his face that he'd had since I'd spoken to Wendy. I wondered what I'd done, thinking that Kenny's suggestion of jealousy couldn't possibly be it. How on Earth could I make him jealous?
"Well, anyway," I said, getting to my feet, "This conversation has drifted into absolute rubbish, and I am finished with it. Good evening to you both."
And with that, I retreated into the bedroom, unable to bear any more humiliation.
I had been in France for about a month, and in that time I had gotten quite used to sharing a bed with Kenny. He still kicked sometimes, which irritated me, but he didn't mind me sidling up to him in my sleep, and once I got used to his uninhibited affection, I came to enjoy being petted to sleep by him. After a while, I figured out that he didn't mean anything by it; he was just the sort of person who liked to touch, and be touched.
And so on this, the first night during our time in France that he hadn't shared a bed with me, I was feeling rather lonely. I had difficulty falling asleep without a warm body next to mine, and so I was still awake when Christophe finally came in to get ready for bed. I wasn't sure if he knew I was awake or not, but he turned his back to me as he undressed, and I watched him unabashedly as he peeled off the layers of clothing, until he was wearing nothing but his pants.
He stood for a minute, staring out the window, which was open, despite the black out. I admired the muscles of his back, wanting so badly to run my hands across them. He turned, suddenly, and caught me looking at him. I had never seen him look so lost and unsure of himself, and it felt almost as though he was silently asking me permission for something. I refused to look away, despite the added tension in the room, and I thought, for a moment, that he was going to climb into bed with me, without even a word. But he eventually broke eye contact, and climbed into his own bed, rolling away from me.
I drifted off after a while, but was awoken before too long to the sound of the city being bombed once more.
This had happened several times since we'd gotten to Rouen, but normally I had Kenny to hide against. I sat up in bed, wide-eyed and unsure of what to do. In the past, if the explosions sounded near enough, we'd all run down to the building's cellar to hide, but these were just far enough away to give a false sense of security, that I couldn't quite fall into. I thought briefly of how Gary used to hold me during the Blitz. The memory of how sweet he once was to me only upset me further.
Heart racing, I looked across to Christophe, who was watching me from under his blankets. He never broke eye contact as he scooted back toward the wall, and lifted one corner of the blankets. I needed no further invitation. I climbed out of my own bed and quickly crossed the gap between us, climbing in beside him without hesitation.
I laid next to him, unsure as to what the boundaries were, so I was pleasantly surprised when Christophe, still on his side, reached over and pulled me against him. I sighed happily, wrapping one of my arms around his bare back, and burying my face against his shoulder. I fell asleep quickly after that, his warm breath ruffling my hair.
I awoke the next morning, my face pressed to Christophe's throat, to the sound of someone else shuffling around the room.
"Well, well, well," Kenny said, and I turned over to groggily peer at him.
Christophe looked as though he'd been awake for a while, and he glared at Kenny, shifting away from me.
"Shut up," he said.
"Looks like you guys took my advice," Kenny said, smiling, "Did you fuck, or just cuddle?"
"Give it a rest, Kenny," I said, face aflame.
Christophe grumbled and pulled himself over me. He stepped over to his dresser and began to pull clothing over his half-naked body. I watched him get dressed, but he adamantly refused to look at me.
"I have things to do today," he said, walking out the door without a single glance in my direction.
I looked over at Kenny, who was watching me from our bed.
"Well, that was awkward," he said.
I couldn't have agreed more. I turned over in the bed, burying my face in Christophe's pillow.