The Last Command
Chapter 3
by
Tygerzeye
Author's Note: The story takes place in Germany during the last days of World War Two. I may have taken some liberties with places and dates but I've tried to stay as accurate as I can.
The waiting was what Logan hated the most. The late afternoon sky had become overcast, the air suddenly cooler. He hadn't noticed the cold whilst they were walking; the exertion of the march had kept him warm, but now, lying in the damp undergrowth, eyes riveted to the target, he could feel the chill beginning to creep into his bones even through the waterproof material of his gillie. He risked a quick glance at Hannah. She was lying about twenty yards away to his right on a soft bank of earth that hid her from the sentries patrolling the buildings nearby. The soft curves of her body were all but hidden beneath the folds of her own poncho and her hair had been tucked under a knitted khaki cap. The Enfield lay poised and ready in her hands, the stock tucked securely beneath her armpit. She had dirtied her face to hide the paleness of her skin but nothing could disguise her beauty; the deep green of her eyes reflected the rays of the dying sun, her full lips were parted slightly as she breathed in the cold air. The memory of her naked body pressed to his sparked a new desire in the depths of his groin but although its warmth was welcomed he admonished himself for letting his mind wander so far. Now was not the time. He returned his attention to the target.
What Hannah had described as a manor house had turned out to be a little grander than Logan had expected. From his prone position on the muddy ground it seemed to loom out of the gathering darkness, towering over the scene like the silhouette of a grotesque beast. The main part of the building was large, consisting of two stories and an attic. The façade was stuccoed but otherwise without decoration. It was bordered on both sides by separate, brick built, wings only a single storey in height, which appeared to have been added sometime after the original construction. The radio mast, which the women planned to disable, towered above the southern end of the building, casting a massive shadow across the ground in front of it. All the windows that Logan could see had been curtained with heavy black cloth but here and there the occasional thin beam of yellow light seeped out to illuminate the drab stonework. The lawns surrounding the building were large and well kept and had been cordoned off from the nearby woodland by a tall wire fence that ran, uninterrupted, between the guard towers. These were all equipped with spotlights, which were manned by soldiers; two to each tower, all armed with rifles. The men constantly scanned their surroundings, pacing back and forth in their tiny birds nests, following the movements of the lights, alert for any sign of activity beyond the confines of the fence. Logan chewed his lip thoughtfully; the place was guarded to the hilt, if the incursion team didn't do its job they wouldn't have a hope of getting inside the building. Even if they eliminated all the guards, they'd never make it across the lawns without being spotted. The only way in was via the driveway, in plain sight of the windows in the main house. He let out a quiet sigh, carefully adjusting the position of his rifle to take some of the pressure off his shoulder for a moment. In other circumstances he would have relished the challenge of getting inside this place, but his nerves were jangling and there was a sour taste in the back of his throat. He was worried for Hannah. So many things could go wrong, all it would take was one lucky shot from one of the guards and he could lose her. The thought of her getting hurt caused his stomach to somersault with fear and he bit down on his lip to stifle the whimper of anguish that rose from his throat. Whatever happened, he was going to stick to her like glue.
Hannah felt the brush of a hand on her leg and turned cautiously, careful not to make any sudden moves that might alert the guards. In the falling darkness, she could just see the young radio operator crouched behind her, her headphones clamped to her ears, one finger pressed to her lips. Hannah held her breath and listened, straining to hear over the sounds of the forest and the calls of the birds roosting in the trees. After what seemed an eternity, she finally heard it, the familiar sound of a vehicle approaching from the roadway. The engine in the old diesel bus had a distinctive, irregular hum, they had deliberately mis-tuned it that way to make it more recognisable. Hannah looked back at the radio operator and slowly nodded. The woman turned away at once and began whispering into her hand set, passing the news of the incursion team's arrival to the other members of their team, spread out amongst the trees along the entire length of the perimeter. Thirty minutes, that was all they had. Hannah settled back into the damp earth to watch.
The bus emerged from the tree-lined driveway only a few moments later and was immediately brought to a halt by the sentries at the gate. Logan couldn't resist the urge to smile, as the bus doors banged open and a crowd of giggling high-spirited women swarmed out onto the drive, each one carrying what appeared to be a bottle of vodka. He risked a glance at Hannah and found she was looking straight at him. Laughing quietly, she brought her hand to her mouth as if taking a drink from an invisible glass then turned away to watch as the incursion team, dressed in their summer best, overwhelmed the two bewildered men on the gate, smothering them with kisses, pinching and groping them and tugging at their clothes, urged on by the soldiers in the guard towers nearby, who had temporarily forgotten their duties and who whistled and cheered at the sight that suddenly greeted them. Logan stared, aghast. Not one of the men seemed in the least suspicious; not even the two soldiers, who emerged from the main building to investigate the noise, made any attempt to stop the women who ran past them and through the open door, disappearing into the dimly lit room beyond. The sound of muffled laughter drifted up through the trees and Logan shook his head in dismay. He had once heard it said that men didn't rule the world. Women only let them think they did. He was beginning to realise that was probably true. As the last of the incursion team disappeared inside the manor house and the doors swung shut behind them, the exterior of the compound returned to normal. The spotlights cut into the darkness once more as the guards resumed their vigil on the outside world. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hannah settle herself against the cold metal of her Enfield. The excitement was over for now. Positioning his own rifle snug against his shoulder he centred the sights on the nearest spotlight and waited.
The main dining room of the manor house had been converted by the army into a luxurious mess hall. The entire building itself had been commandeered by the military only a few months before and it had proved to be one of the most comfortable tours of duty that most of the men had experienced during their service. Although the walls had been stripped of their works of art and their tapestries, the wood panelling and expensive rugs and furniture which remained still gave an air of opulence to the place that few of the men, many still in their late teens, had ever enjoyed before. Most of them sat in their places at the large rectangular dining table that was the centrepiece of the room; a few others huddled in more comfortable chairs around the fireplace. Dinner had just ended and they were all feeling pleasantly weary, their bellies full of wild duck and potatoes, their cheeks flushed with the effort of eating and the warmth of the single ration of brandy which was the high point of the whole evening. They had just come off duty and most of them had left their sidearms by the serving table. Still, when the dining room door burst open, a few men instinctively reached for their pistols, only to find they weren't there, the momentary flush of panic subsiding into nervous laughter as the crowd of young women tumbled into the room. The sight of so many pretty faces and slim bodies wrapped in the flimsiest of cotton dresses, the feel of warm female flesh as they found themselves being embraced and the subtle sharp smell of vodka was more than enough to convince the men they were in no danger. A few of them, finding themselves pinned to their chairs by smiling, cooing women even speculated that they may have just died and gone to heaven; they certainly didn't notice that their mysterious visitors weren't drinking the vodka they had brought with them even though they offered it freely to the soldiers, the young men drinking deeply straight from the bottles, not wanting to be outdone by their peers or appear nervous in front of so many willing females. Not a single one of them even realised when a few of the women passed by the serving table and slipped out of the room disappearing down the hallway. When they began to feel drowsy, the men just assumed they had had too much to drink, they struggled against their blurring vision and their swimming heads, not wanting to miss the opportunity of a moment alone with one of these women, but the vodka was obviously stronger than the varieties they were used to and as they drifted off into unconsciousness, cradled against warm, soft breasts, most of them hadn't a care in the world. The few drops of morphine that Hannah had added to each bottle of spirits took less than 25 minutes to take effect before the grand dining room slowly descended into a slumbering silence.
The darkness of the forest was complete. Staring through the sights of his rifle at the spotlight that crowned the nearest guard tower was impeding Logan's night vision. Occasionally he would glance a few metres to his right and peer hard into the blackness but Hannah was nothing more than a silhouette against the bank of earth on which she lay. But at least if he couldn't see her there was little chance of her presence being detected by one of the guards. She had explained to him on their long march to the target that the incursion team would give them a signal when the way was clear, but she hadn't told him what it would be. He had planned to take his lead from her, to fire only when he was sure, but the signal, when it came, proved impossible for anyone to miss. A flood of light spilled out across the lawn in front of the manor house as the blackout curtains which had been covering the ground floor windows were torn down from inside, the brittle old glass shattering under a hail of pistol bullets fired from the interior. Logan reacted on instinct, his mind barely registering the movement of the women either side of him as he steadied his aim and fired a single shot, extinguishing the first spotlight in a deluge of sparks and hot glass, which sent the soldiers in the guard tower diving for cover. One by one the lights around the perimeter fizzled and died; not a single sniper missed their target, but the grounds of the manor house were far from dark. Even as the spotlights were being destroyed, more of the blackout curtains were being pulled down from the windows, illuminating the lawns behind the fence with the soft glow of the interior lights. The men on duty had nowhere to take cover. Forced from the guard towers and the gatehouse by the hail of sniper bullets they ran onto the grass, firing blindly into the darkness with their own rifles. Logan heard the thud of bullets smacking into the earth around him and rolled quickly to one side to avoid being hit. Hannah was only a few feet away, crouching on one knee as she took aim at one of the stranded guards, apparently oblivious to the deadly barrage that rained around her. Logan sprang from the cover of his own position, the muscles in his legs propelling him forward before his brain even fully recognised the danger she was in. In a second, his arms were around her and the weight of his body was pushing her to the ground. He heard her gasp as the force of the impact knocked the breath out of her lungs and sent her rifle tumbling from her hand. She struggled and squirmed, trying to break free but he held on as a stream of bullets whistled over their heads close enough for Logan to feel the air move against his cheek. Finally she seemed to realise how close they were to danger and she buried her head against his chest as he covered her with his arms, his mind focussed on the hot waves of her breath blowing against his neck. At that moment, it was the most precious sensation he could imagine. He held her tightly, for what seemed like an age, as the fire-fight continued around them, not daring to let her go until eventually the shooting seemed to die down and the woods settled back into silence. Logan slowly lifted his head and looked around. The tree line was teeming with movement as the women, who had remained hidden for so long, ventured slowly out onto open ground, their weapons at the ready even though the fight seemed to be over. He chanced a glance over the top of the bank behind which they had sheltered. The grounds of the manor house were silent. The weak light from the windows spilled out over the lawns and over the bodies of the men that lay there. The guards hadn't stood a chance. Forced from their posts by the snipers, they had run onto the open grass, only to find themselves being fired on by the women in the house. The long driveway, which Logan had assumed would be their most difficult obstacle, had proved to be their greatest ally. There really had been nowhere for anyone to hide. He felt Hannah beginning to struggle against him and realised he was still holding her. He loosened his grip and felt her cheek brush against his jaw as she pulled herself up next to him. Her gaze travelled over the scene before them, her sadness at the sight of more death was plain to see in the glistening green of her eyes. Logan placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, wanting to comfort her, but she refused to look at him and without a word got to her feet, retrieving her rifle from the dirt before setting off towards the driveway. Logan watched her go, feeling a strange sense of rejection that she hadn't responded to his touch, but this was her mission, her fight, he understood her need to be involved. There would be time for them to be alone later. Picking up his own gun, Logan started after her.
The entrance hall was deserted when he arrived, but the voices of the women were clearly audible in the distance. They were searching the building, looking for anyone they may have missed, calling to one another as each room was checked and cleared. Hannah was nowhere in sight, even though she had only been a few paces in front of him when she had reached the entrance. Logan started across the hallway in the direction of the south wing. Perhaps she'd gone to the radio room.
Hannah checked the pulse of the young man who lay slumped over the corner of the dining table. He was sound asleep and breathing deeply, as was every other occupant of the room. They'd had no way to check that the morphine was safe before spiking the vodka with it and Hannah had been concerned about the effects it might have when mixed with alcohol but none of the men were suffering any adverse reactions. She smiled to herself. They were all blissfully unconscious but she wouldn't want to be in their shoes when they woke up; the hangover was likely to be a most miserable experience. Creeping quietly from the room, even though there was little chance of disturbing the slumbering soldiers, she made her way back to the entrance hall. There was no sign of Logan anywhere and she wondered where he had gone. She hadn't meant to run away from him when the firing had stopped and she regretted the way it must have seemed to him, but when he had put his hand on her shoulder to comfort her she had felt her resolve beginning to slip; the temptation to stay there and wrap herself in his embrace had almost been too great. The speed with which her feelings for him had developed astounded her, and more than anything she wished she could explain it to him, but for once her courage was failing her. Perhaps when they had more time alone, she would find the chance to let him know she loved him. Slipping silently across the entrance hall, she began to make her way up the stairs. The first floor was still unchecked and she wanted to make sure there was no one left behind to raise the alarm.
The upper corridor was only dimly lit. The few feeble bulbs scattered along the walls only had enough power to illuminate the floor directly in front of them, leaving long patches of shadowy gloom for her traverse. But Hannah moved confidently, a lifetime spent living in the forest had left her with little fear of the darkness, although her senses were always on the alert for some sound or motion that might give away the presence of another. She worked quickly through the rooms on either side of the passage; most of them she found were either dormitories or private bedrooms. In each one she came to, she would switch on the lights before checking under bunks and in wardrobes for anyone who might be hiding, but she found no-one. In only a few minutes, she had reached the end of the corridor and come to the final door. This one, unlike the others, was slightly ajar and the warm glow of firelight was spilling out from the room beyond. Cautiously, she slid her way inside, finding herself in what appeared to be a private study. The fireplace was to her right and a single chair was positioned in front of it, a half filled glass of brandy balanced on the arm. The hearthrug was covered with a scattering of manila folders, each one stamped with the insignia of the Third Reich. Feeling her curiosity getting the better of her, she tiptoed over to the chair, and setting her rifle on the floor she bent down to pick up one of the folders. It was well used, the corners tattered and the ink on the front faded and smudged with age, although the words were still quite readable: "Der Schimaren Einsatz." Hannah mouthed the words silently to herself, "The Chimera Operation." Their meaning sent a shiver of disgust running down her spine. A Chimera; a new organism produced by the splicing of genetic material from two distinct species. In the legitimate medical community experimentation with Chimera was expressly forbidden, not only on ethical grounds, but because the technology to properly control such an ambitious project didn't even exist. However, Hannah was all to aware of the experiments committed by the Nazi's in their concentration camps and their breeding centres; she had lost her husband to them. Clutching the folder to her chest she knelt down amongst the other papers scattered across the rug, wondering what else she might find. Her attention was so focussed on what she was doing, she didn't even notice as the door swung silently shut behind her. The stealthy approach of the figure across the room didn't register in her mind, only the searing heat of pain as she was struck from behind gave her any indication of the danger she was in, and then it was too late. She felt her body slump forward; her legs and arms as heavy as lead. The folder spilled from her grasp, the papers fluttering from their bindings to fall into the hearth. Hannah tried to move to one side, to get away from her attacker, but her body wasn't obeying, her vision was blurred. She reached blindly for the place where she knew she had left her rifle and for a moment felt the brush of cold metal against her fingers, then the second blow hit her, the stranger's fist smashing against her temple. Her vision disintegrated completely as the pain hammered through her skull and she collapsed unconscious on the floor.
Logan felt the frigid sweat of panic overtake him as he ran through the half lit corridors of the ground floor. He couldn't find Hannah anywhere and every sense was telling him that something was wrong. He cursed himself for not sticking closer to her, how did he let her get away from him so quickly? Skidding to a halt in the entrance hall, he glanced around; it was still deserted. His attention drifted to the staircase and the darkened upper floor, it was the one place he hadn't looked yet.
Please, just be up there usin' the bathroom, he thought, as he took the stairs two at a time.
The pounding in her head was intolerable and Hannah automatically reached up with her hand, to touch her wound. Her fingers brushed against the welt that had formed on the side of her face and she winced at the pain. Slowly her mind forced its way back to consciousness. She became aware of the fire only inches from her arm and tried to roll away from the scorching heat but something was pinning her down. She felt the weight on her stomach, pushing her harder onto the floor as rough hands tugged at the buttons of her shirt. Hannah snapped back to reality with a jolt, her instincts compensating for her blurred vision as she swung wildly at her attacker. She felt a moment of satisfaction as her fist connected with bone and she heard a muffled grunt of pain, then she was being slammed back against the floor, the stranger's hand connecting viciously with the side of her face. She felt the sting of pain, as her lip was ripped open by the force of the blow, the agony sapping the last of her energy. She slumped back onto the rug and sobbed as the blood began to pour into her mouth. All her resolve seemed to vanish in that moment; the strength that had kept her going through gunfights and explosions crumbled at the prospect of rape and as her attacker ripped the last of the buttons from her shirt she felt her mind retreating back into the darkness, seeking comfort in unconsciousness.
"Hannah!"
Her eyelids snapped open, her vision suddenly clear. Someone was calling her. She looked up at her attacker; he too had heard the voice. He stared down at her; a flicker of doubt crossing his drunken, sweat drenched features. Hannah had enough time to take in the close cut of his blond hair and the contours of his muscles, as they strained against the black cloth of his uniform, then the voice came again and she found herself smiling, a new strength coursing through her body as the image of the man she loved filled her mind. Drawing back her fist she swung at the stranger a second time, catching him with brutal force on the underside of his jaw. Taken by surprise, the man toppled backwards and Hannah pushed herself up, one hand snaking out to rip the man's pistol from its holster before the pounding in her head forced her back against the chair. Her vision was blurring again. Drawing in a deep breath, she braced herself on one arm and screamed Logan's name.
The sound of her voice should have been a relief to him, but the pain and terror it carried with it hit him with sickening force, driving him on down the corridor, his mind racing; what if she had been injured, could she be dying alone in the darkness somewhere? He couldn't lose her, not now; he refused to.
With a roar of anguish, he threw himself at the last door. The feeble lock collapsed under the punishment and with one powerful kick Logan pushed the splintered wood aside and stepped into the room. He had only a few seconds to take in the sight of Hannah, slumped against the chair, before the man was coming at him, running in low from one side. Logan caught the glint of steel in the man's hand and raised the butt of his rifle but he was a fraction too late. His mind registered the searing pain as the knife sank into his stomach and with a howl of agony he jumped to one side bringing his gun crashing down on the back of the man's neck, forcing him to the floor. Logan dropped the weapon, ignoring the pain that twisted in his guts, as he clamped both hands to the hilt of the knife and tore it from his body. He stumbled backwards, the blade slipping from his fingers as he felt the hot mix of bile and blood rise in his throat, then his feral instincts were taking over, blocking the pain and the fear as he bent down and picked his opponent up by the back of his uniform. The man struggled fiercely but despite his size he seemed unable to fight; the strong smell of alcohol on his breath and skin were testimony to his drunkenness. Grunting in disgust, Logan slammed the man against the wall, hearing the satisfying crack of a rib and a yelp of pain as he twisted the stranger round to face him. The man glared at him in defiance and Logan tightened his grip on the man's throat, feeling his anger bubble over, a low growl rumbling in his chest as the beast within him stirred, demanding vengeance. Logan bared his teeth, snarling with pleasure at the first hint of fear in his enemy's eyes. The man started to gibber incoherently, trying with all his strength to twist away from him but Logan's hold was too tight, the man's terror too great to allow him to do anything but whimper, as he felt the first brush of sharp canines against his throat.
"Logan." The sound of Hannah's voice speaking his name seemed to bring him out of his fury for a moment and he turned from his prey to face her. She was stood a few feet behind him, her shirt hanging open to allow a glimpse of pale skin. One cheek was bruised and her bottom lip was coated with thick red blood but there was no pain in her eyes, only cold, hard anger. Logan watched as she slowly raised her arm, the pistol in her hand aimed steady. "Get out of the way Logan." She murmured.
He looked back for a moment at the man in his grasp. He stared back with pleading eyes, his lips mouthing silent words of apology. Logan allowed himself a brief smile.
"Sorry bub," he whispered. "But you're on yer own." And he stepped away, hearing the sound of the shot even before he loosened his grip. The man's body was thrown back by the force of the impact, the bullet entering neatly just above his eyebrow, before exploding from the back of his skull in a fountain of blood and tissue that coated the varnished panels of the wall behind him. Logan watched, dispassionate, as the body slumped to the floor, the last, reflexive twitches in the muscles subsiding, as the eyes clouded over and the last breath rattled out between frozen lips. He sensed, rather than saw, Hannah arrive at his side and reached out his arm, finding the warm curve of her hip. He pulled her against him, allowing himself a relieved sigh as she nuzzled into the crook of his neck. Her arm snaked across his chest to rest on his shoulder and he felt the tremors in her stomach as the first tears splashed against his skin.
"I'm sorry Logan." She whispered, her breath scorching his ear, the sound of her words making his chest swell with the kind of emotion he hadn't felt for years. He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly, desperate not to miss a moment of their embrace.
"It weren't yer fault darlin'" he murmured. "You aint got nothin' to apologise for."
She looked at him. Her face was still a little muddy, although the tears had washed much of it away. Carefully, he reached up and wiped away some of the blood that had dried on her bottom lip. "You OK?"
"Nothing an ice pack and a good cup of coffee wouldn't cure." She replied, the faint smile that graced her mouth, stirring a slow desire in the pit of his stomach. He brushed his hand over her face, sliding the little knitted cap away from her scalp so that her curls were free to frame her features once more. He saw the first flush of arousal colour her cheeks, her lips brushing his fingers as he tilted her chin upwards. Their mouths met for the briefest of moments before he suddenly felt her freeze in his arms. He looked up as she backed away from him, her eyes wide with terror as she stared at the crimson coloured gore that coated her fingers. Logan felt his hand go instinctively to his stomach. The knife wound. He had forgotten it. The pain had long since subsided, his skin had already healed, but his t-shirt was soaked with blood.
"You're hurt." He heard her whisper, her voice so small, so afraid.
Slowly, not wanting to scare her, he reached out and wrapped his hand around her damp fingers. Coaxing her gently back into his embrace, he allowed her to lift his t-shirt up, watching as her fingers explored his flesh, her eyes scrutinising every line and contour of his body. For a moment, she seemed confused; his skin was unbroken, there wasn't even a scratch anywhere on him, then slowly a flicker of understanding seemed to cross her face. Carefully, she pulled his t-shirt back into place and without a word, buried her head against his chest.
"Y'see." He whispered, curling his massive arms around her back. "I aint that easy to get rid of."
One of the women had found them a few minutes later, stopping in the doorway to explain, in very efficient English, that their mission was complete, the radio was disabled, and the rest of the women were ready to depart. If she had noticed the dead body on the floor or the bruises on Hannah's face she had made no mention of it and, instead, had disappeared back into the shadows as quickly as she had arrived.
Now they were safely huddled in the darkness of the bus as it bounced its way westward over rough country roads. Hannah was snuggled in her poncho beside him, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder. A small penlight was clamped between her teeth as she tried to read the map that was balanced on her knee.
"Where we goin?" he whispered, aware that some of the women on the bus were already asleep.
"The Allied front line." She replied, passing him the torch. He focussed it on the map for her. "We have to pick up Ruth on the way first and then its about 20 miles to the nearest British unit."
"Hmmm." Logan leaned over her shoulder to scrutinise the map. "What if I have a better idea?" he murmured, following the trail of neat felt tip crosses until his finger paused over a little red mark, 30 miles further behind the front line.
Hannah squinted at it.
"What's there?" she whispered.
"Oh, just a friendly face or two." He replied, sliding his hands under the slick material of her poncho. "Maybe a decent cup of coffee, a hot shower, might even get a warm bed for the night."
She lifted her head to look at him, her lips brushing against his chin as she spoke.
"You'd better go and tell the driver then." She whispered.
Lieutenant Hibbert looked up to the night sky, watching the planes as they passed overhead, wincing as the roar of the engines threatened to deafen him. Wellington bombers, on their way back to bases on the British mainland. He wondered, for a moment, what their mission had been and whether or not they had been successful, although the war was so far gone now that the result of one bombing raid was hardly going to make much difference. Germany was on the brink of defeat; Allied intelligence was already reporting rumours of Hitler's death. He turned to go back inside; the smell of a late supper beckoning from the farmhouse kitchen, but then a new noise came to him, barely audible over the noise of the retreating planes. A vehicle was coming up the road. It sounded like a bus. Hibbert listened. A badly tuned bus. He stepped back into the darkness of the farmyard, watching the headlights pierce the darkness as the massive vehicle bounced and rumbled over the rough track leading to the front of the house. It pulled to a stop in front of him and Hibbert was surprised to see a young woman in fatigues behind the wheel. She barely looked old enough to drive and as she switched off the engine and eased from her seat Hibbert walked over, his curiosity getting the better of him. As the door to the bus eased open he held up his hand and the young woman took it gratefully, smiling at him as she bounced down the steps, her bobbed blond hair blowing around her face in the cool breeze as her eyes skimmed over the insignia on his shirt.
"You are Hibbert?" she asked, her soft voice and broken English making his stomach flutter with excitement.
"Yes ma'am I am." He replied and bowed with all the grace of a courtier, his eyes catching a fleeting glimpse of the little red badge sewn onto her shirt. The young woman giggled.
"We have your friend with us." She said.
Hibbert looked up just as a second figure stepped off the bus and came towards him, the massive shoulders and wild hair unmistakable, even in the darkness.
"Logan!" he exclaimed, as the man stepped forward, clapping a huge friendly hand on his shoulder. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Pickin' a fight." Logan replied; following his friend's gaze back to the bus as more of the women gradually began to file out into the farmyard.
Hibbert whistled quietly to himself.
"Are you sure about that?"
Logan roared with laughter.
"Don't let the pretty dresses fool ya Lieutenant." He whispered. "They could shoot off your balls at a hundred yards."
Hibbert raised an eyebrow, his friend's words barely registering in his mind. He watched, captivated, as the last woman slowly eased her way off the bus, her long auburn curls whipping around a face that was beautiful despite the bruise to her cheek and the cut to her lip. He watched as she strode over to him, her green eyes never leaving his as she reached out to shake his hand.
"Lieutenant Hibbert." She nodded politely. "I'm Hannah."
"Nice to meet you." He replied, his charm suddenly deserting him as his curiosity grew to bursting point. He turned back to his friend, noticing the way Logan carefully brushed the loose hair from Hannah's face with a tenderness Hibbert hadn't seen in him before.
"Corporal?"
"Yessir?" Logan suddenly snapped to attention.
"You have a shit load of explaining to do."
"Yessir."
Hibbert looked over the crowd of silent, expectant faces gathered around him. The farmhouse that they had commandeered as a base wasn't exactly equipped to deal with this many people, most of his men were already having to bunk up in the barn, but they did have some spare tents somewhere and he could hardly turn away a group of women, now matter how handy they were with their weapons. He would never forgive himself and neither would the soldiers in his command. He sighed. It had started out as such an uneventful day.
"Take the ladies to the dining hall Logan, and make sure they all have something to eat then you can meet me in my office. Ten minutes. Understood?"
The big man nodded silently and set off for the main building, the women falling in behind him. Only Hannah remained by Hibbert's side. He looked at the wounds on her face and the paleness of her skin; the woman was close to exhaustion.
"Do you need to see a Medic Ma'am?" he asked.
She smiled.
"It's just a bruise and a split lip."
"Nevertheless." He took her arm, his eyes catching a glimpse of naked skin beneath her poncho. She blushed.
"My shirt got ripped." She murmured.
He nodded. Further explanation wasn't needed.
"You can use my room, there's hot water for a bath and I'll get a medic to come and see you. We'll find you some new clothes."
Logan scanned the report laid out on the desk in front of him. It wasn't very detailed, just a list of dates and events; raids on strategic German facilities, buildings that had been burned down, equipment and supplies, destroyed or stolen. He sipped at the glass of scotch in his hand, the taste bringing back the memory of Hannah's kiss.
"They're virtually a legend Logan." Hibbert's voice interrupted his daydream.
They were sat in the Lieutenant's office. Logan had arrived expecting to be charged with being absent without leave. Instead the CO had poured him a glass of whiskey and handed him the file. Now he continued with the story.
"British Intelligence have been aware of their activities for the past three years or so, ever since they obliterated a fuel supply depot on the Northern Rhine. Every mission they undertook they completed with minimum casualties to the German Army but they've been a thorn in Hitler's side for years."
"How do you know it's them?" Logan asked, although he saw no reason to disbelive it himself.
Hibbert leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the edge of his desk.
"Their insignias. The Black Widow Spider." He took a sip of his whiskey, turning to his friend with a broad grin on his face. "I could name a half dozen Allied Commanders who would sell their Grandmothers to shake hands with that woman of yours."
Logan was genuinely startled.
"What makes ya think she's my woman?"
Hibbert laughed.
"Cos I've never seen that look in your eyes before." He replied. "Now stop bothering me and go find her."
Logan nodded and got to his feet, glancing one last time at the intelligence report, before striding from the office. His mind buzzed with a hundred different thoughts as he made his way back to the dining hall. He thought about all the fighting he had done, the people he had killed; the friends he had lost. He thought about home and what it would be like to return, but more than anything he thought about Hannah. She had lived the war for five years, fighting in silence, without praise or recognition, her sadness and her anger propelling her from one fight to the next. Now they were on the verge of victory but the question that bothered him was not what she would do after it was all over. Instead, he wondered what they would do.
The dining room was silent; the rest of the women had already eaten and were arranging their quarters for the night in one of the out buildings normally used by the men. Hannah was stood alone by one of the windows, a mug of coffee clasped in her hands as she stared out at the darkness. Logan walked over to her, taking in the sight of her gentle curves wrapped in a long grey dress, her freshly washed hair clinging to her shoulders. She turned to him when she heard him approach, her face lighting up with a smile as she opened her arms to embrace him. He gathered her to his chest, breathing in the scent of shampoo and soap and still damp skin.
"The farmer's wife left some clothes behind." She whispered. "But I think she was a bit taller than me."
Logan looked down and laughed. The hem of the dress was brushing the floor but he could still see the black army boots she was wearing on her feet.
"Well, you look jus' fine to me." He said, sliding his hand down her back to playfully grip her buttocks. She grinned at him wickedly, reaching up to grasp his whiskers as she pulled him down to meet her kiss, her lips warm and moist against his, passionate, despite the pain he knew her injuries must be causing.
"Well I've had the coffee and the hot bath." She whispered. "So what happened to that warm bed for the night."
Logan smiled, and nuzzled against her cheek.
"You get a warm bed for the night." He replied. "I get a sleeping bag and a coupla square feet of tent space."
Her felt her body shake with laughter as she pressed against him, her arms slipping round his neck.
"Will you miss me?" she asked.
Logan held her tight for a moment, her words making the breath catch in his throat.
"You bet I will darlin'." He replied.
He felt her lips brush against his jaw. She appeared to sense his thoughts and reluctantly pulled away, her cheeks flushed, her eyes cast down. She seemed to be struggling to say something but the words wouldn't come. She slipped her arm through his.
"You'd better walk me to my door." She said.
Outside, it had started to rain; the water pouring down from the heavens, turning the farmyard into a muddy quagmire. They stood for a moment under the shelter of the porch, watching the soldiers and the women hurrying to erect the tents and move in the sleeping bags and kits before everything got soaked. The men had gladly agreed to give up their bunks in the barn for the night, though Logan thought some of them were now probably regretting it. He shivered at the thought of the uncomfortable night he had ahead of him and slipped his arms around Hannah's waist, hugging her to keep out the cold, wanting to enjoy the warmth of her body for as long as he could. Resting his head against her shoulder, he felt his eyelids beginning to droop. The events of that morning; making love to her in the grass, seemed like a lifetime ago. He felt her breath on his neck as she rested her head against his and sighed contentedly.
"Logan?" she whispered.
"Hmmm?"
"I. . . "
Her words were chased away by the piercing screech of the tanoy system as it whistled and hummed into life.
"Attention all personnel. Attention all personnel." The male voice boomed out over the farmyard. "The following message has just been broadcast on German National Radio. The German Army and the Provisional Government of the German People issues its unconditional surrender to the combined forces of Russia, Europe and her Allies. An immediate ceasefire on all fronts began as of 15 minutes ago."
The tanoy crackled for a moment as a stunned silence fell on the farmyard. Soldiers and Resistance Fighters stood motionless in the pouring rain, eyes riveted to the speakers. All around them the countryside was peaceful. Slowly, Logan raised his eyes and looked at Hannah. Her face was lifted to the rain, the light from the house illuminating her pale skin and the faint smile that fluttered on her lips. Gradually she stepped away from his embrace, walking slowly out into the downpour, letting the deluge soak her skin and plaster her dress to her body. He heard the soft sound of her laughter for a moment, drifting up on the night air; then the sound was drowned out as the speakers crackled into life once more and the gentle rise and fall of a melody filled the stormy darkness. Logan stood and listened to the mournful tune of the instruments; feeling his heart quicken at the sound of the singer's voice:
"I'm gonna love you like nobody's loved you come rain or come shine,
High as a mountain and deep as a river come rain or come shine. . . "
His eyes closed slowly for a moment as the words filled his head,
"I guess when you met me it was just one of those things,
But don't ever bet me cause I'm gonna be true if you let me. . . "
Then, soft, rain soaked fingers were curling around his hand and he found himself being drawn into her arms, her hair sticking to his face as she reached up to kiss him.
"May I have this dance Corporal?" she whispered, the trembling of her voice, betraying the fact that she was crying. Her tears, mingled with the rain that covered her face made her skin shine in the light from the farmhouse. But still she was smiling. He led her back out into the muddy farmyard, ignoring the deluge that soaked him, as he slid his arm around her waist and held her body against his. He was vaguely aware of others joining them, soldiers in wet uniforms and women in flimsy dresses, moving silently to the music, but his only concern was for the woman he held in his arms. As the music continued to play and the rain continued to pour, he rested his chin in her deep, red hair and his mind drifted away amongst thoughts of her.
"You're gonna love me like nobody's loved me come rain or come shine
Happy together unhappy together and won't it be fine?
Days may be cloudy or sunny
We're in or we're out of the money.
But I'll love you always, I'm with you rain or shine. . . "
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