The Darkest Hour(19)

“I’m Fifine, and this is my friend Fleurette.” Sabine hugs my waist like we’re bosom buddies, and she discretely jabs a finger into my ribs. I know what she’s trying to tell me: The train is here and we need to get away.

“I’m afraid we better get in line, mein Herr, but have a wonderful time in Cherbourg,” I say. I stoop down to grab my things, but he swoops in to take both my valise and case.

“I absolutely insist. As a gentleman.” Before I can protest, he walks off with my bags and cuts through the disembarking passengers like a shark barreling through a school of minnows. I hurry after him, almost begging for him to stop, but he doesn’t turn around until he reaches the first-class train car.

“I’ll return your bags,” he says slyly, “if you say please.”

I’d rather kick him in the groin, but instead I force a smile. “Please?” I say, sweet as the Marie Antoinettes my mother told me about.

He holds out the guitar case, but before I can close my hand around the handle he snatches it back and laughs.

“You naughty thing!” Sabine says, catching up to us. Her tone is playful, but I can see the irritation lurking in her eyes. “You’re going to make us miss the train.”

“Don’t you worry. I’ll make sure that you won’t.” He motions to the ticket collector to help with our bags. When the ticket collector points out that Sabine and I don’t have first-class tickets, Captain Oster scoffs and tells us to climb aboard anyway. “Forget about those dirty dregs down in second class. Women like you deserve to travel in style.” He winks and heads up into the first-class car with my case in tow.

“Get on the train,” Sabine whispers behind me.

I throw her a look. “With him?”

“He has our case. Besides, he has taken a liking to you. We can use that to wheedle information from him.” Before I can protest, she nudges me onto the steps. “Now go. We don’t want to miss this train.”

Reluctantly I enter the car, and I see why the Nazis have claimed the first-class seats all for themselves. The floors are freshly cleaned, and there’s plenty of space to stretch your legs—quite the luxury compared to the lower-class cars, where you’re usually squeezed next to a man who sneezes on you.

Captain Oster has already removed his jacket and beckons to us from the back of the car. He ushers Sabine into the seat by the window and—how fortunate for me—he guides me into the seat right next to his. After I get settled, he plucks a silver flask from his pocket and hands it to me.

“To new friends!” he says, gesturing for me to take a sip.

I’m not in the mood for whatever he’s offering, but I pretend to take a taste. “To new friends,” I murmur.

For the next hour Captain Oster swigs from his flask and blathers on about every nightclub he has visited in Paris until he falls fast asleep on my shoulder, utterly soused. While he snores and Sabine nods off herself, I watch the train chug toward Cherbourg, relieved that I can finally shed the fake smile that I’ve worn since we left Paris. Soon I’m greeted by bright green fields and a ceiling of cotton-candy clouds, so pretty that it makes me forget about our mission for a moment, but I’m tugged back to reality when Sabine starts mumbling in her sleep.

She frowns. “Jean-Luc?” she whispers. Then again, louder this time. “Jean-Luc, be careful.”

She’s muttering nonsense for now, but soon she might mention something about headquarters or our mission ahead. I nudge her foot with my shoe until she stirs. “You were talking in your sleep,” I tell her.

“Oh.” She blinks hard at me, a little dazed. “I see.”

I press a finger to my lips to quiet her, because I don’t want to wake up Captain Oster, but it doesn’t do any good. As our train pulls into the next station, he snorts awake.

“Where are we?” he asks with a yawn.

“Nearly to Cherbourg, sleepy one,” I tease.

“I slept for that long? Must’ve been the brandy.” He looks ready to plop his head back onto my shoulder again, but he straightens when he sees someone behind us. “Ah, Friedrich! Where have you been hiding all this time? Come meet my new friends.”

Footsteps approach us, crisp and quick down the carpeted path. Lovely. Another Nazi to contend with. I look up, ready to gush about how wonderful it is to meet one of Captain Oster’s colleagues, but my blood freezes when I see the man standing above me.

I know him. We met just yesterday, in fact.

Sweat gathers at the base of my collar. I tell myself that my eyes must be playing tricks on me, but there’s no denying it. It’s Lieutenant Schuster, all right.

Merde, merde, merde.

I pin a smile to my face in spite of the gymnastics my pulse is performing. The chances of this happening must be a million to one. I wish I could tap out a warning to Sabine in Morse code, but there’s no way to reach her elbow. At least Schuster doesn’t seem to recognize me—yet.

I cross my legs and let a sheath of my wig fall over my face, obscuring his view of me. “Why, how do you do, mein Herr?”

Schuster hardly glances at me before focusing on Captain Oster. “I thought we’d agreed to meet in the dining car. I’ve been waiting there this entire time.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. You found me now, didn’t you?” Captain Oster leans back into his seat—and half onto me—while he tosses Schuster the flask. “Loosen up, my friend. We finally have a day off and you’re acting like Major Bayerlein is breathing down our necks. Enjoy the company.” He tilts his head toward Sabine. “Enjoy the pretty view.”