Cast No Shadow, Peter Sharp [books to get back into reading txt] 📗

clear—were both desperately keen to enrol him. Vera in particular was enthusiastic about the role he could play. They needed a person who could speak both German and French well, and he seemed to fit the bill, or at least would after training. Vera suggested a personalised training regime; no parachute training, already achieved with the SBS; no commando training, already completed with the commandos; no unarmed combat, ditto; no training on the Sykes-Fairburn dagger or the cheese wire, accomplished with the commandos and with the SBS; no map reading, ditto.

Pretty well all that remained was advanced radio training and an intensive French language course. It could all be done and dusted within about four weeks, Vera had advised.

Kelly had asked for time to consider and had been given leave of absence for three days. He had remained in London and attempted to find Megan, but there had been no trace of her at the flat and her replacement in the Admiralty had stated that she had left her post ‘following some difficult circumstances’ and ‘no, she didn’t know where Megan was now’.

Kelly had then contacted Gareth Owen to see if anything was brewing in 40 or the new 41 Commando Unit. “No. Following the disaster at Dieppe they would need time to fully regroup,” had been Owen’s reply.

Kelly had kicked his heels for a day and had then returned early to Baker Street and informed a delighted Vera of his decision to enrol with SOE.

The excitement of the jump into occupied France had compensated for the tedium of the four weeks of language training interspersed with radio training.

It was that dark night, his heart pounding with excitement and fear, that he had first met Élise. As he dragged in his black parachute after landing, his nerves taut, he sensed, rather than saw or heard, the approaching group. He anchored the silk with his Sykes-Fairburn and slid noiselessly about fifteen yards to the side to wait, his browning 9 mm ready.

The small group of three had approached the fluttering parachute silk as he anticipated. Dressed in dark civilian clothing, they whispered almost inaudibly in French, clearly concerned at the discarded parachute and the absent owner. Kelly had whispered the password and the group—as one—had spun around with weapons raised. He had approached them with his hands in the air and made contact.

It wasn’t until they were in a safe house and his new comrades had started to discard their outer clothing that he discovered that the short skinny man was in fact a woman, or more precisely, a girl.

Élise had only been eighteen at that time yet she had already been married to her childhood sweetheart for over a year. They had married only two weeks before he and a few friends made a daring attempt to cross the channel to reach England, determined to become free French commandos. Élise was, of course, convinced that he had made it, but there had been no real confirmation, only one encoded radio message that had confirmed to ‘loving wife’ that her ‘devoted husband’ and his friends had made it and were preparing to free France. The message could have applied to any one of dozens of ‘loving wives’ all over France.

He had formed an immediate bond with Élise, as they seemed kindred spirits. Both were praying for the miracle that would unite them with the person they loved. In the meantime, their mutual physical attraction was given full reign in the form of a sexual relationship. It was known within the group that they were sleeping together, but no one paid the slightest heed. They were engaged in an extremely dangerous business. Only today was important, tomorrow might not exist.

He had parachuted into the Alsace region of France, particularly hazardous as that region was not considered so much occupied as annexed. It was thought that the bulk of the population was completely happy with this arrangement, as a consequence they could place no trust in the general population and kept a very low profile.

It was perhaps the extreme caution, born of this lack of trust, with which they conducted their operations that had kept them safe. It was now nearly a year since Kelly had joined them, ostensibly as a training officer. Initially this had been his main role but latterly he had simply become one of the group, the plan for him to circulate among other units having been shelved for security reasons. Every month they would hear of one or more cells being infiltrated or disbanded.

The situation had become worse of late, thanks to the insertion of double agents working in small groups. One pair working the North of France had been particularly effective in creating severe concern among the resistance.

“Dan!” He was startled from his reverie by someone calling his name.

Élise was framed in the door of the barn. She was slight, only about five foot four, but had a full figure which she loved to flaunt by wearing tight shirts and figure-hugging slacks when not on operations. Her face was flawless, marble white with a small up-turned nose. She wore her brown, almost auburn hair short, enabling her to pass as a young boy from time to time. She reminded Kelly of a kitten.

“We have to go; this location may be compromised.” They always spoke together in French.

“Who says it’s compromised?” asked Kelly.

“Message from the Maquis,” answered Élise, the Maquis being the resistance network. More often than not their information was poor, but it wasn’t sensible to take chances, especially now that the Gestapo had recruited the Milice, a structured secret police force comprised entirely of French citizens, to do their dirty work for them.

“What about tonight?” Kelly asked.

“Still on,” said Élise. Kelly shrugged and looked resigned. Élise approached and circled her arms around him, pulling herself close to him so that even through his heavy shirt, he could feel her nipples pressing into him. She nestled her head in his chest, her green eyes looking deeply into