My Mother, the Spy

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The following day Heidi and Michelle took us to a lovely restaurant up in the hills on the border with Belgium, it was managed by a friend of their family. The waiter guided us to our table, we had the best seats in the place. It was nestled into a huge glass bay window overlooking a beautiful field of Horses.

Michelle said,

"There is no rush, we have this table for the whole day."

The waiter came back with a tray of teas, coffees, homemade pastries and cream cakes.

"Bon-Appetite."

For the next two hours Heidi told us of her many conversations with our mum, how she had been raised in the nunnery until the age of three. A local family had adopted her, she had a wonderful life with truly loving parents. They moved from Belgium to France after the war when she was five.

Our mum told her much later, that she had travelled back to Belgium to find her when peace came, but the old monastery had been destroyed.

It broke her heart; she thought Heidi had perished. She hired a local man to find where the nuns had gone with the child, if indeed they had survived. He reported to her after a month or so that they had survived and moved into safer accommodation with a child. But the child had been adopted, no paper trail.

Our mother had used all of her contacts within British Intelligence to find her daughter. The problem was in the twenty or so years after WW2, Europe was still in turmoil. The northern European countries especially, they had been occupied and many of the cities wrecked. Finding trace of Heidi was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

In fact, it was Heidi that had found our mother, she had wanted to find her birth mother. She knew from her adoptive parents that she was left in the nunnery by a British operative in WW2. By the sixties things had settled down in Europe and counties were on much friendlier terms.

Heidi was now in her twenties and worked for the Mayor of Lille. His resources traced our mum to British Intelligence, the search ended there.

Heidi moved to Paris when she landed a job in the French Government. In 1984 she was recruited from there into DGSE, the French Secret Service. Without her knowledge she had followed her mother's footsteps.

She had the opportunity to use her own resources now, but it took over another decade of searching before a lead found our mum. They made contact by phone, mum was overjoyed.

Heidi said,

"I know she and your father had heated discussions about it, but we met in person only the one time, in a small café in Paris. Ma-Mere and Le-Pere had died by now and I was married with my own children. We had made arrangements for her to visit her grandchildren the following springtime. Alas it was not to be."

Michelle shuffled a pack of photographs and slid over a few of her grandparents. They looked a kindly couple; they must've been lovely people to take a baby on at that time. Heidi had had wonderful parents; they gave her so much love. Then some of her father, Heidi had met a Parisian man, they had a whirlwind romance and married. Along came Michelle and her siblings.

"Ok," I said. "Heidi, now about your birth father, Harry Taylor?"

"Aha, the elephant in the room."

Michelle again shuffled through the photos in her lap. "I only have a few of him, not many."

She handed over some old grainy black and white shots of him with our mum. 10 full colour photos showed the man at his best, there was no doubt, he was a handsome man.

"We have some of these, here look."

Alice passed over ours, they were the same. Mum had copied a few and given them to Heidi in the café.

"I can tell you what your mum told me." Heidi said.

"Please, we know so little of her time in Europe."

She did say that she would regret the hurt it caused your father James, until her dying day. Your father was an extraordinary man to have forgiven her the way he did.

She had been ordered to marry Harry to get citizenship, but over time alone together she had fallen in love with him. He was strong, good looking but above all, he kept her safe. Being in danger 24 hours a day took its toll, both needed the companionship, but it turned to love.

Heidi passed over a bound leather book, much like the one we had.

"Another diary?" I quizzed.

"Sort of, it is an account of her time in Belgium. She wrote it before any of you were born, she told me to take it when we met in Paris. A sort of family heirloom, it was her most treasured possession and she gave it to me. It was her way of giving me something that was precious to her."

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My story.

The dreaded day had arrived 27th July 1940. I remember James got here about 6am. He had crept into our barracks and slid into my bunk. He woke me with a kiss, it was a lovely way to be woken.

The girls were already awake and smiling at us, I remember Edith telling us to "calm it down a bit, young ladies were present you know!"

I told James I loved him and would be back to spend the rest of my days by his side. It was very emotional, even my best friends Edith and Amy were in floods of tears. Our C.O. came into the barrack, I remember she was not happy to see James standing there with us. "OUT!" she shouted.

He was out the door like a whippet, a whippet on crutches that is.

"Ladies, one hour." Get your kit, meet me in the officer's mess, you will have breakfast with the posh lads and lasses today."

We had a great fry-up, tea, toast and eggs. Poor James had to go to the flight mess, but he loved seeing a few of his old flight buddies.

It was time, we made our way across the field to our plane. James was originally down to take us; he knew of the basics of my mission. But really none of us knew what was really in store for us.

We boarded, I turned to see my husband trying to put his bravest face on, I knew deep inside he was as scared as I was. I threw my bag into the plane and jumped back down, I ran and wrapped my arms around him for what maybe the last time.

"I love you James, never forget that."

"Come back to me safe Alice."

I was crying as I clambered back aboard. The last I saw was him standing on his crotches waving as we took into the air. It would be years before I saw him again, and the shock to him when we did would scar him for life.

The C.O. came through, "No time for crying ladies, there is a war on!"

She checked our jump suits and the canopies, then gave us last instructions. She tucked a small bible into each of our top pockets.

"60 mins to drop ladies."

We left the safety of our cushy lives and dropped into Belgium.

We were separated, it was the last I ever saw of my two best friends. I know Edith was killed by the Nazis, I never found out what happened to Amy.

My job was to find the Peeters family, on a small remote farm 5km from my drop point. They were a lovely family with ties to the resistance.

They hid me for three days until my contact collected me. His name was Harry, he had such a weird accent. He was an American from Pittsburgh originally, his family moved to Europe when he was eight. He spoke fluent French, Danish, and German. He was very handsome and clever with it.

We spent four weeks avoiding German patrols and gathering information, living by scrounging and stealing. I had a small radio unit for relaying our information back to HQ, by small I mean it was too big to carry, it had to be stashed in an outbuilding of a derelict barn on the outskirts of Gent. We had to make our way to and fro from this at least two times a week, sometimes it was a treacherous journey.

I spent the whole of the first year with Harry, we became very close. His family was a well-respected family in the north, at Antwerp. They owned a bakery shop.

We made our way there; it took until late February walking through heavy snow to reach Antwerp. I was nearly captured twice; Harry killed a soldier two feet from me. He slit his throat; it was horrific. I had never been that close to death before; his dead body was steaming in the cold snow. War was a nasty, nasty thing, it bought out the worst of people.

Over that winter we had to cuddle close, with only our body-heat to keep us warm at night. He was only the second man I had ever held close apart from my father. The radio broke on our journey, and I lost my papers. We needed to make contact with another unit, it was a dangerous thing to do. Who could we trust.

That night we made our way through the occupied streets of Antwerp, there were German soldiers everywhere. God knows how but we made it to Goossens Bakery, his family home.

His father was very happy to see us, I had a real bed that night, I slept like the dead.

I was awoken to the smell of fresh bread; it was heaven laying in a bed after so long. Real featherdown pillows wrapped around my head. It was a million miles away from eating dead rats and sleeping rough.

His father arranged for us to get married. It would give me the official paperwork I required, plus if I took Harry's Belgium name of Goossen on real documentation, it would help tremendously.

We were married three days later, I told Harry I was already married. I knew by then that he felt a great deal for me and didn't care about my past.

"This is war, we do what we must do." Was his answer.

We had to behave like a married couple as soldiers came and went from the shop, they allowed the shop to operate as normal because we gave them free bread.

It also gave us the cover we needed with the local troops. I missed my husband greatly but the more I was with Harry, the more I forgot James. The lines between who was my husband blurred, we got closer until one night I slept with Harry.

He was only my second man in my short life but this time the actual sex was incredible. Maybe because it was wrong, dangerous, but it was mind blowing. I was nowhere near ready for the effect it had on me.

Harry held me in his arms for ages after to calm me, I was crying. No, not crying, sobbing, sobbing like I had never sobbed before. I lost all control of myself; Harry held me close all through it.

I am not sure to this day if it was from cheating on James, or from my first ever orgasm.

But from that night, we slept together each night. We stayed at his parents for three months, I fell totally and unconditionally in love with him.

We had made our contact within the resistance, and I relayed all relevant information back to London through them. One day a high-ranking German officer came into the shop, it was clear he had taken a shine to me. I told him I was married; it did not deter him.

That evening two soldiers came to the shop; we were told the General wanted my company for the evening. Harry protested and was beaten with their rifle butts and dragged into the street. I think they would have shot him, but I stepped in to stop it and said I would go with them.

Harry's mother dressed his wounds as they took me away.

I spent the evening being wined and dined by him; he was a horrible man. He used his power and influence to get his bidding done. He wanted me in his bed that night, I had no choice. He took me.

I was sent back home to the bakery the next morning, discarded like the trash. I wanted to kill him.

I couldn't face Harry; I stayed in one of the outbuildings. Harry's mother found me curled into a ball when she came out to get some supplies. She held me and comforted me until I was ready to be taken inside. I felt degraded and defiled, I felt dirty.

Harry wanted to kill him then and there, he was so angry, he tried to hold me and cuddle me. I remember pushing him away. I wish I hadn't, but I didn't want any man touching me, even him.

He stormed out, his father chased after him. An hour later he came back, a bit calmer but I could see in his eyes he wanted revenge. Harry was a stone-cold killer; I had seen it up close.

He kept his promise to me by not retaliating and we kept our cover. It was late spring, and Harry would go on missions without me, he went with the unit he attached himself to. They killed as many soldiers as they could, blew up whatever they could. My job was to relay the progress to London.

I was asked by London to get close to the general, I hated them for it. Harry was against it, we argued, we argued over it a lot.

His father talked him around, he made him realise that however much he hated the idea of his wife going to the general, imagine how she felt about it. He was the man that had raped her, yet she was willing to go back for the war effort.

He again dined me, he loved to be seen with me, he dressed me beautifully to go out, but he was nasty, he liked to inflict pain.

He forced himself onto me again and again over a period of six months, each time sending me back to my husband soiled and used. I could see it was tearing Harry apart, but it needed to be done. I gained vital information about troop movements, where and when to help our cause.

Harry was the strongest man I knew, but I could hear him crying every night out in the yard. It broke my heart.

Harry comforted me in a way no-one else could, he held me in his strong arms, he made me feel safe. I loved him but I felt I had to prove to him I loved him. The only way I knew was to make love to him as much as I could, whenever I could.

I had to make him know he was my man, my only man. I had forgotten my husband in England. Harry was my love.

Over that time, I learned of enemy positions, aircraft positions and relayed all back to London.

At home we planned how to kill the general.

**********************************************

It was November 1942.

The first snows had come early. We were sitting around the open fire when the soldiers knocked at the door.

I was starting to show a little, I was pregnant. I prayed to God Almighty that it was Harry's child, the dates worked well with-it being Harry's. The general had not been in town the month I think I fell pregnant.

The bastard had sent for me, four German soldiers were at the door. Harry tried to stop me from going, "The baby." He pleaded with me.

The soldiers came into the parlour and took my arm painfully gripping it. One of them pointed his rifle at Harry's mother, another at Harry. I went along peacefully; I had no choice.

I was thrown very clumsily into the back of the car, one sat either side of me making our way through the snow laden streets to the chateau.

I was taken into the banqueting hall; the huge table was set for two. There were candles and wine glasses already laid out with the plates and cutlery. He was sitting there waiting for me, grinning.

He made me feel sick, "Sit." He ordered.

I sat.

"Wine?"

I nodded; I needed a lot of this wine if I was to face the ordeal ahead. "

"A little bird tells me you are pregnant, mine?"

He raised his long bushy unkempt eyebrows as he spoke. His yellow teeth began to show as he grinned.

I nodded, "I think so, I have not had sex with my husband in months." I lied.

He stretched over and rubbed his grubby fat fingers over my belly, I wanted to stab him in the eye with my knife, but I had to bide my time.

Two soldiers were standing close by as our meals were brought out on silver platters.

"Lamb chops and potatoes." He said.

"I hope you like lamb?"

Again, I nodded.

He spoke of his wonderful campaign of killing many allied soldiers while he was away, his bluster was as big as the blubber around his midriff. His three chins wobbled as he spoke of how wonderful the Fuhrer thought he was.

How I hated this scummy man.

Much as I hated sitting here listening to him, I wanted the dinner to last all night because I knew what was to follow.

The desert was pie and custard, it dripped from his mouth as he ate. When we were finished, he said, "Come my dear."

He held out his hand and helped me from my chair, I was dreading this. I slipped a steak-knife from the table and hid it in my sleeve.

He took my arm and walked me to the great hallway and up the marble staircase.

"I will take good care of you tonight my dear, we must not hurt the baby must we."

He was grinning that horrible sneery grin he has when he is being sarcastic.

He sat in a chair near the fireplace in the bedroom and said,

"Take off your clothes my dear, let me see that bump."

I took off the dress taking care to hold the knife in the sleeve as to not let it drop. I stood in my underwear.

"And the rest."

I dropped my bra to the floor,

"Aha I see you are starting to fill with milk, I like it."

"The panties too, if you please."

I was naked now, in front of the man I despised most in the entire world, he was going to take me for his pleasure.

"Turn around, bend over the bed."

I did as I was told.

I felt him running his hands across my bare body, I shivered, not with lust.

"Stay just like that."

I heard the rustle of clothing behind me, I felt his slimy cock touch my bare ass cheeks,

"Keep still my dear, we must not hurt the baby, must we?"

He slid his cock into me very gently, I was not used to this, this man was usually a monster. He did not care for me, why was he doing it this gentle. He rubbed his cock around at my entrance then withdrew. I went to turn, but he took my head and pointed it back facing the fireplace.

Suddenly it felt like he was ripping me open, I screamed.

He rammed his cock into my ass, he held me down and fucked my ass mercilessly. I wailed beneath him kicking my legs and struggling to get away, the more I struggled the more he liked it. He slammed into me deeply, over and over to his utter enjoyment saying.

"We must not hurt the baby must we."

It was agony, he didn't stop, he just kept on. The pain was unbearable as if he was trying to rip my ass open, I felt like I was about to pass out. I needed to stop him.

I reached and clawed for my dress; it was laying on the bed near us. I felt for the hardness of the knife and swung it backwards.

"UNNGG!"

I buried it into his leg, he screamed and fell back a little and his cock sprang free, the next swing of the knife was into his throat. He gargled on the blood filling his mouth; he was literally spitting blood at me. His eyes were popping out at me as he tried to grab at thin air.

I stayed from his grasp then swung again, this time the knife hit the temple, it went in through the soft tissue. His last sight on earth was me as I spat on him, he sank to the floor in a heap, dead before he hit the carpet.

His lifeless body lay at my feet, I smiled. I felt the power of taking his life and I liked it. I dropped the knife, I thudded against the carpet.

"Shit, Shit." What to do now.

I quickly gathered my clothing and dressed as fast as I could. I was covered in his blood, how would I get past the guards, there was a knock at the door. Something was said in German through the door. A second later the door opened and one of the guards came in. He saw the general laying lifeless on the floor and raised his gun at me. I thought my last moment had come, he instead hit me in the face with the rifle butt and marched towards the door. He had his gun in my back screaming German insults at me.

I was locked into the cellar, it was pitch black, very cold and damp. A few hours later I think, another high-ranking officer came in with two soldiers. They beat me senseless, the last thing I remember was tasting the foul sour taste of my own blood. I have no idea how long I was out, when I came to, I couldn't breathe properly.

They must've kicked my ribs while I lay there. I think my ribs were broken, my mouth and eyes were full of congealed blood.

I heard someone near me, I tried to talk and ask who it was, I think my jaw was broken too because I found it too painful to talk.

"Please accept my apologies Fraulein, my men were a little overzealous."