The Darkest Hour(54)

“I’ll cover you!” I say to her, motioning for her to join me.

“There’s too many! I’ll hold them off!” She tosses the pouch at my feet and fires off five rapid rounds.

I pick up the pouch and go cold all over. This was supposed to be a three-woman job, but Sabine’s somewhere outside and now Tilly has to hold off the soldiers. I sling the pouch over my shoulder and think about my brother again. It’s all left to me now—and I won’t let him down.

The laboratory has woken. I leave the soldiers behind me to find more ahead. Two jump out from one corner, and I barely have time to shoot one before the other is on top of me. We tumble to the floor, and I drive my elbow into his stomach and a fist into his chin. One more bullet, and he slumps next to me, his blood ruining the fresh wax beneath his body.

I right myself and run, zigzagging down one corridor before spinning into the next. As the Nazis close in on me, I dash through a pair of double doors and slam them behind me, throwing the lock, even though a little lock won’t keep the Germans away for long. The room is utterly dark, and I search desperately for a light switch but come up empty. I swear, but tell myself it doesn’t matter. I can get by with touch if I have to.

I empty the pouch and grope for what I need: the accelerant, the detonator, and the bag of Aunt Jemima. Almost there. Just one more ingredient. Fire. My fingers pry upon a book of matches, and I tear one off. I need to move fast. Once the bomb is set, I won’t have much time between finding Tilly and making it back above ground. But even if I don’t make it out, if this whole building collapses on top of me … I’m going to make Theo proud.

Get it done, I think. Get it done now, Luce.

I bring the match head to the strike strip when suddenly the lights turn on, so bright that they blind me. When I force my eyes open, I find myself in the middle of a giant box of a room, as barren as the halls I ran through. Except there’s an enormous chalkboard in front of me, which spans an entire wall of the room. There’s a message written on it, too.

Jedem das Seine, Geheimoperationen



All of my blood runs cold. My German might be far from fluent, but I parse out the meaning behind those words. To each what he deserves, Covert Operations. The match falls out of my fingertips, because the Nazis shouldn’t know that Covert Ops infiltrated France.

Unless …

Footsteps stomp down the hallway, and soldiers fly into the room, a blur of gray uniforms. I scramble to pick up the match and finish what I came here to do, but the Nazis are too fast. One of them seizes me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides, while another grabs my feet so that I’m swinging in the air like a broken doll. I bite, I kick, I do every escape maneuver that I’ve been taught, but there are more than twenty soldiers surrounding me.

I fight them anyway.

My fist meets flesh. My foot slams into a groin. A soldier cries out, and he aims his rifle butt at my head, but then there’s a shout from the back of the room.

“Stop!” a voice says in German. “She’s not to be harmed!”

“Sir—”

“Those are your orders! Put down that weapon. Now, detain the girl and use the tranquilizer.”

A syringe looms in my vision. “No!” I manage to cry out, but it’s useless. The needle sinks into my leg, and a horrible burning climbs through me, singeing every cell it touches until a scream is knocked loose out of my throat. Spots dance in my vision, and I almost welcome the exhaustion that soon overtakes me. But before I lose consciousness, a face hovers over mine. Bearded and smiling.

“Hello, Fr?ulein,” the man says.

It has been so long since I’ve heard English that I think I must be hallucinating. My head bobs up and I blink at him—and he looks oddly familiar—but my eyes go blurry and my arms go heavy and it’s all I can do to stay awake.

“There, there.” The man brushes a hand through my hair, gentle as my mother’s, but his words curdle my insides. “I’m so pleased that you’re here. Sleep now, but soon we’ll get very well acquainted. I can promise you that.”

December 1, 1942

Dear Luce,

I finally got the letter you sent back in August. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me and were hoarding all of Maman’s galettes for yourself. You greedy little thief. All ribbing aside, thank you for writing and for visiting Ruthie for me. I’m already plotting the adventures we’ll have when I’m home. Uncle Sam might not be paying me much, but it’ll be enough to get us out West.

Our transports have finally come, so we’re heading out tomorrow. Everyone’s getting packed up and writing letters home since it might be a little while before we’ll be able to write again. So I figured I should tell you something, but I don’t want you to get mad. Promise you won’t blow a fuse on me?

Ruthie and I got married right before I shipped out. She wanted to wait until I got back from the war, but I had to make it official before I left. You know I love her and I wanted her to know that. I wish you were there at the courthouse with us, but I didn’t want you in trouble if Papa found out. I swear we’re going to have a proper wedding when I get home, with a cake and champagne and everything. Ruthie also said that you should be her maid of honor. What do you say? Is it a deal? Just don’t tell any of this to Maman or Papa. I haven’t let them know yet, and I don’t plan on saying anything until I see them face-to-face.