The Forests of the Night

She said with steel in her voice, "Now we will find out what happened to Aurore."

*****

I parked Bernadette in a thicket of rocks and underbrush and carefully worked my way back to the boat. I had spent enough time in trench raids, twenty years earlier, to know how to move silently in total darkness.

The brush and trees grew right to the riverbank. So, it wasn't hard to stay under cover. The other guy was still hunting us. I decided to take care of him first.

It would be simple because he was stupid. His flashlight lit him up like a Christmas tree. So, I could track him, without exposing myself. I could see that he also had a gun. It was one of the old Luger P08's with the 7.65 Parabellums, instead of the Wehrmacht's newer 9mm Walther. My guess was that that he wasn't German Army.

I didn't want the others to hear gunfire. It would alert them. So, I waited for the guy to walk past. Then I delivered a violent jab to the back of his skull. I was aiming for the brainstem. That, controls all the autonomic functions. He probably didn't know he was dead, until the fires of hell hit him. I picked up his pistol and put it in my pocket. So far, it had been a profitable expedition.

I crept up next to the boat and looked in the big window. The lights were on. It was disgusting. There were four of them, including Pierre. Two were raping the women; Lorelei and her mother. The other two stood-by, eagerly waiting their turn.

The women were screaming and begging. The younger children had been herded into the passageway. They were wringing their hands and crying. The older boy wasn't visible, nor was the grandfather.

I was about to go in and end it, when I felt a presence next to me. It was Bernadette. She was staring at the scene, on the other side of the tall windows. Standing there in the pitch dark, we were invisible to the people inside. But unfortunately, the degrading scene inside was all too visible to HER.

Bernadette's eyes were wide in shock, both hands covered her mouth. She said one anguished word, "Aurore!!"

I knew what she was thinking. I didn't see fear, or horror. What I saw instead, was the same blazing anger that I had seen on her face when she slapped me on New Year's Eve. I said sternly, "I thought I told you to say hidden?"

She gazed at me intently and said, "I go where you go. I told you that when we pledged our love. Now we do this together."

The woman wasn't willing to accept that she was a 110-pound slip of aristocratic beauty, who had never been in a fight in her life. Instead she looked like she was contemplating charging in and confronting an entire boatload of killers.

I've witnessed reckless bravery in the trenches of France. But I have never met anybody as unthinkingly fearless as my dear Bernadette. I said with as much authority as I could muster, "Stay put. I am going to end this and, you will only get in the way. Promise me that!!"

She gave a reluctant nod, like she had trouble making up her mind.

Trench raids were one of the most brutal types of actions of World War I. Their aim was to terrorize the enemy and gather intelligence, not capture ground. A trench raid distills war to its essentials, and the human-being regresses to the savage ground-ape we all evolved from.

At night, a picked squad of volunteers would slip through the mud and shellholes of no-man's-land. Then they would drop into a German trench, kill a few Germans and high-tail it back, with whatever captured documents and prisoners they could gather.

You are in a suffocating hole in the ground. The situation is blackout dark. It feels a lot like a grave. It is just you and somebody else. You use knives, clubs, fists and even your teeth. I had been on a lot of those raids. They were useful experience for what I was about to do.

It might have been twenty years. But, the instinct is always there. I entered through the same hatch that the intruders had used. I had the P08 in my right hand.

The entire point of a shock attack is to strike hard and decisively, before anybody has a chance to realize what's happening. My plan was simple, kill three and keep one to question.

I immediately, and without hesitation, shot the two spectators; two taps each. It happened in an instant, before anybody knew I was there. They didn't have the chance to say their prayers.

The two who were doing the raping turned, startled. I couldn't shoot either of them. The women were underneath and the 7.65 is a high velocity slug. So, there was a distinct possibility that my shots would continue through and also kill the victim.

Fortunately, the fool who was raping the mother jumped to confront me. Seriously??!! I'm holding a Luger and he is holding his slimy cock. Who do you think won THAT encounter? I put a third round into his crotch area, just because I hate stupid people.

Pierre had been raping Lorelei. I kind-of knew that was going to happen. The dumb-shit DID have the presence of mind to bolt in the opposite direction, and I couldn't shoot him. The kids were in the way. So, I chased him.

But, the disadvantage of being as burly as I am, is that it is hard to get past two panicked children in a two-foot space. So, the rat was about to escape the trap.

Pierre had just stuck his head out of the after hatch when I heard a loud "THUD" and he toppled backward, stunned. He was beginning to rise, when I arrived and put him down for good.

Fortunately for him, I'd removed the knuckleduster from my right hand. I didn't want him dead. I needed some answers. I tossed his unconscious body on our bed, ripped up the blanket and bound his arms and feet. He wasn't going anywhere.

Then I glanced back up the companionway. My brave little sidekick was casually discarding the small log that she had used.

She said matter-of-fact, "I had to do something."

I was thinking to myself, the guy weighs twice as much her, he is no-doubt a killer, and she had to "do something?" It's a fact, that the heart of Richard the Lion-Hearted is buried in Rouen Cathedral, which was nearby. Bernadette might be 110 pounds. But, her heart was forged in the same foundry.

We both walked to the front of the boat. It was simply pathetic. The whole family was huddled there, arms around each other crying. The two men had tried to resist. Both were hurt. But, not too badly. My own heart turned to ice.

I told Bernadette, "Calm them down and make them comfortable. I am going to extract every drop of blood from our friend Pierre."

She nodded, with unwavering resolution in those gorgeous eyes. The depth of her anger was reflected in their color. They were like blue marbles. She said sweetly, "Please make it painful."

Dawn was breaking clear and gorgeous. The chirping of the birds greeted the rising sun. It looked like it would be a beautiful day on the Seine. I dragged Pierre's inert form out on the afterdeck. I took a pail, filled it with water from the muddy river and doused him with it. He awoke spluttering.

He tested his bonds and then looked confused. I squatted down next to him and said cheerily, "Good morning sunshine." His eyes focused on me, then they got a look of recognition and he recoiled in horror. I stood up and kicked him in the ribs. I heard a snap. He screamed in pain and pissed himself.

I squatted down and withdrew a knife from the pocket of my pants. You need insurance in the bar trade and that knife had been my companion for two decades.

It was a slim single action stiletto, something that the French called a "flick-knife." It had a gleaming, seven-inch blade and a bone handle. It was razor sharp and as lethal as it looked.

Some people carry knives to do things like cut rope or carve food. But this one was designed for only one purpose; stabbing. It was long and slim, and it could inflict a range of hurt; from intense pain to instant death. I liked it, because getting up close leverages my superior strength.

Normally, just the sight of me holding it would convince people to give me what I wanted. Once in a while I needed to be "more persuasive." I held my face approximately six inches from Pierre's and said menacingly, "Now, I need you to tell me everything."

God, he stank! He returned the favor by spitting at me. I had restrained him by tying strips of blanket so that his arms were tightly bound to his body. I took his left hand and slowly shoved the stiletto into the area at the top of his wrist where the median nerve crosses into the hand. I have seen the pain from that cause heart attacks.

Pierre opened his eyes so wide that I thought his eyeballs were going to fall out. Then he shrieked in pure and utter agony. I held the knife there for a second twisted it and then withdrew it. I knew that he couldn't feel most of his left hand, now.

I said calmly, "That was just a mild taste of what's in store for you. You can no longer use your hand, Monsieur. But a man without eyes and balls is not a man, n'est-ce pas?"

Pierre was naked from the waist down. I nicked his cock with the knife. The blood flowed copiously.

He whimpered and said, "What do you need to know?" His abject surrender was gratifying. I had a lot more important things to do than torture this worthless piece of shit.

It wasn't what I'd expected. I had just assumed that this was something related to the Nazis. After all, it involved Jews. But instead, it was a money-making scam cooked up by eight despicable French crooks.

The leadership comprised Pierre, Robert and one gentleman whose acquaintance I had yet to make. The other five, all recently deceased, were spear carriers. Pierre was about to join them. And, I planned to make the seventh person, whose name was Marcel, very dead; just as soon as we arrived in Honfleur.

Then, I would loop around to settle accounts with Robert. That should close the books on this little escapade.

The eight villains had seen the direction that the Nazi wind was blowing, at least with respect to the Jews. So instead of demonstrating even a glimmer of human decency, those knuckleheads decided to go into business; while having a little fun on the side.

The scam took advantage of the fact that desperate Jewish families would pay anything to flee France. So, the boys set-up a fake network. Robert handled the customer side. Pierre and his boat did the logistics. The gentleman, who was about to have a fatal encounter, handled the sexual slavery.

Only the pretty girls arrived in Honfleur. The rest of the family were robbed of their money, valuables and other possessions and their bodies were buried in the Forest of Roumare.

Pierre was watching me hopefully. He had spilled his guts and he actually expected I would let him wander off. I almost laughed out loud. He had committed unspeakable crimes and even more relevant to me, he might tell his friend in Honfleur that I was coming for him.

I looked at the fool with phony warmth and said, "You know what? I LIKE you, Pierre."

The dumb-shit grinned, like he knew I would never kill him. I added, "In fact, I like you so much that I am going to make your death quick and painless." His eyes bugged. He gasped, "Please Monsieur!!"

I abruptly, grabbed the back of his head and shoved the stiletto under his chin, up into his brain. He died instantly. I needed his boat and I didn't want to clean blood off the deck. I wrapped the body in an anchor chain and dropped him over the side.

The water was shallow next to the bank. People would eventually discover him. What did I care. There was a war going on.

I still had his three friends to dispose of. I discovered that Bernadette had dragged all three out onto the fore-deck, while I was conversing with Pierre. She said matter-of-fact, "The bodies were disturbing the Meiers."

I was thinking to myself, "What kind of French noblewoman just rolls up her sleeves, without the slightest question, or pause?" I knew then and there, that I had to make this steadfast little beauty mine.

Marriage is a merger of abilities, interests and moral precepts. Ideally, the two of you view the world through a similar lens. If you do, then the marriage exists in mutual harmony. At least, that's what the romantics tell us.

But the fact is that, life's a bitch and everybody's different. We have diverse abilities, interests and even morality; and that divergence can either be a curse or a source of strength. It can ultimately drive people apart. Or it can blend them into a single multifaceted partnership that is much stronger than two people operating alone.

They call that synergy. It's where the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. That was Bernadette and me. We were polar-opposites in terms of culture and background. But our differences completed us. Adversity demanded that we utilize our varied talents for our mutual survival. And that inexorably melding us into a team of equals; one that was built around shared respect and unconditional caring for each other.

I didn't need to think about whether Bernadette was physically attractive. Anybody with a working pair of eyes could see that. But, what I was learning was that she had an unrivaled strength of character and superb fighting spirit. Those qualities are much more important in the long-haul than simple beauty. More importantly, they were characteristics that I valued above all else.

She, on the other hand, had seen my ruthless side. I was a lower-class working stiff from the freighter docks in Superior, and she was a Parisian aristocrat, but she loved me. She not only accepted the brute in me, but she realized that my actions were for our mutual benefit, not something that I enjoyed doing. I was utterly committed to being gentle and loving to this superb woman and she also knew that.

I gazed at her fondly and said, "I know what happened to Aurore. Let me assure you that we will find her and bring her back to us safe. But the story is too distressing to tell right now. Can you trust me for a short time?"

She looked at me with those deeply intelligent blue eyes and laughed. She said with sincerity, "I trust you with my life."

We disposed of the bodies by dumping them in the Seine. That was the best they deserved.

*****

The Meiers were brave and resilient. That was a familiar pattern with the French Jews I'd met.

The mother, whose name was Aline, had been brutally raped. But, she was the rock of the family. She had them all calmed and gathered in the common area by the time Bernadette and I had finished with what needed to be done.

Lorelei was back to normal and the children had stopped crying. Both of the Meier men had cuts and bruises. But their injuries didn't look serious.

I told them the sanitized version of what had been planned for them. There was no need to make them suffer any further. I said, "Based on what I know, it isn't feasible for us to arrive with you still alive."

They all looked appalled. I quickly added, "That would tip off the guy who arranged this, as well as any of his henchmen. So, the best way to ensure your safety is to tell them that you are all dead. That will take the heat off."

I said soothingly, "You can still get to England. We will drop you outside of Honfleur and all you will have to do is conduct a little covert inquiry. The citizens of Honfleur are good people. They are experienced at smuggling and the Resistance is active in Normandy.

So, we dropped the Meiers at the formal Gardens at the mouth of the tributary leading to the locks. They all strode off resolutely, headed for the city-center. Aline was in front, leading her brood to safety. She was a magnificent woman and I knew that she wouldn't fail them.

Meanwhile, I had other fish to fry.

The harbors in Honfleur are accessible through a dredged and locked tributary of the Seine. There were probably Germans watching for any strange boat's arrivals. More importantly the person who was about to receive his shipment of new "talent" would certainly be waiting for ME. I was counting on that.

Then we heard an ominous sound. We were within easy striking range of English airfields. So, I knew what the wasp-like buzzing was. The Brits flew regular fighter sweeps over the mouth of the Seine, just to keep Hun shipping on its toes; and our canal boat looked just like the barges that the Germans used to move construction material up to the West wall.

The distant speck was passing east of us, heading toward Le Havre. I was hoping it would stay on its current course. But, as we entered the channel leading up to the lock, it dipped its wing. It was obviously coming over to investigate.

We could tell that it had twin engines, but we still couldn't decipher the type of aircraft. Two engines normally meant a bomber, perhaps some kind of reconnaissance plane. That was a good thing. Because, it was unlikely that they would try to shoot us up.

The Brit swung around, to pass over us east-to-west. It was at about 200 feet as it rocketed overhead. It was moving so fast that there was a rush of air.

My heart sank. It wasn't a bomber. It was a Bristol Beaufighter, a ten-gun terror armed with 20-millimeter cannon that would rip us to shreds.

We were in a dredged channel, so we couldn't maneuver to escape. All we could do was chug along like a sitting duck and pray that the guys in the Beaufighter wouldn't want to waste their ammunition.

That prayer quickly proved fruitless. The Beaufighter circled lazily off to the west and then turned to come back at us much faster. He was on what was obviously a firing pass!!

It was a smart tactical move. We were almost to the lock. Sinking a boat as big as ours in the dredged access channel would close the lock for some time.

The Hercules radial engines surrounding the small cockpit were getting bigger and bigger in my vision, as the pilot lined up to rake us stem to stern with 20-millimeter fire. My last thoughts were, "I'm truly sorry my love."

Then the pilot abruptly pulled up and hurtled harmlessly over the top of us!!

I looked down the length of the barge to see what had caused him to hold fire. What I saw was The Marchioness, Lady Bernadette l'Arqes d'Langdouc standing on top of the cabin waving prettily at the departing aircraft. She was wearing nothing above her waist but a beautiful smile. It was the most incredible act of bravery I have ever witnessed

I had two additional thoughts; notwithstanding the fact that Bernadette had just saved our lives with her quick thinking. The first was, "It takes nerves of steel to face flying death with your tits hanging out." My second was, "And what a magnificent pair they are!!"

The guy in the Beaufighter must have thought so too. Because, he did a climbing four-point victory roll as he departed. Then he headed back off down the Seine looking for less delectable quarry.

Bernadette turned to me with a coquettish grin and said, "Men!! They are so predictable"

*****

Bernadette and I proceeded into the Vieux-Bassin of the Port de Honfleur. The only person visible was me, holding the steering tiller of the barge. I wasn't sure what to do once we got into the inner harbor. But Marcel helped me out.

The inner harbor of Honfleur is a perfect rectangle of Quais. The area is so picturesque that it has been a subject for artists like Boudin and Monet.

Two sides are bordered by a solid line of late Renaissance townhouses, which are narrow and multistoried in the Dutch fashion. A farmer's market was being held on one Quai.

A figure was eagerly waving me into a slip behind one of the stalls. I docked and tied up the boat.

The man who greeted me was tall and thin, almost like a human candle. I stuck out my hand and said in a friendly fashion, Marcel I presume. He looked puzzled and asked the obvious question, "Who are you and where is Pierre?"