Chapter One: Cleric of Simple Faith

The cold floor stones offered no comfort for the man who sat penitently on his legs crossed in a tight fold. Despite his posture he was not in fact confessing sins. He cast his eyes to the wooden cross, fervently murmuring in Latin, hoping against hope that it would be in the will of God to send help. The man was in a stone prayer chamber, built deep into the granite rock foundation of the Fiducial keep. Water dripped from the ceiling with an incessant sound, and rats' gnawing teeth worked at the mahogany pews. Cobwebs had formed in the corners of the room and dirt had made it's way through the cracks between the great stones that made up the walls, ceiling and floor. The cleric's legs were folded, one laying atop the other with the soul of his left foot facing up. The position would have been uncomfortable for a normal man, but this cleric in particular spent hour after hour in this position. Legs folded, back straight as an arrow, hands resting on knees, and eyes cast skyward. His white and silver robes bespoke a devout cleric who from birth had been in the service of God. Wrapped about his waste was a sash of silver silk, woven by the finest metal smiths the Brethren of Fortis'fide had. As his eyes trained intently at the cross tears began to run down his cheeks, leaving a red stain of blood behind on his skin. As his Latin prayer ended with the customary but genuine “...In vestri imperium mos.” which is translated from Latin “In your sovereign will.”

The cleric rose from his seated position without moving his legs, levitating smoothly and letting his legs fall into a standing position. His feet were clad in chewed-leather padded silver woven shoes. The shoe's silver weave made them quieter than the famed elven ninja boots, and these shoes were reputed to have a spiritual enhancement to aid in their survival over long periods of use. As the cleric walked between the pews the sadness in his heart at seeing the monastery in ruin was fleeting as he knew the monastery was simply a house which God provided, and now was in his ultimate will was letting it die. As he exited the stone chamber he stepped into a wood floor stone walled passage which smelled of must and decay. The heart wood that made up the floor beams had been allowed to succumb to the gnawing teeth of rats and rot from the dripping water. Weeks before such disrepair could not have been imagined, but that was before the death of head cleric Validus. The thought of the assassination of the head cleric tempted the silent cleric to hate, but the cleric understood the will of God had been done.

The cleric emerged from the passage way into the sunlight of the main court yard. Although his cleric name was bestowed Sim'fides, meaning “Simple faith”, the cleric's mother had called him Yaakov. Yaakov Sim'fides stood at five foot nine inches of trim human body. His blood was pure human, and his brown hair and hazel eyes set him as a man who would not be recognized twice. His hair was short cut against his head, but not shaved like many of his brothers. As he walked through the court yard he tried to close his eyes to remember what the place used to look like before. The apple orchard that once boasted dozens of trees heavily laden with red-ripe juicy apples was now gone, nothing more than a series of stumps. They had been cut down for construction of catapults and the apples distilled for a flammable syrup to pour down on advancing enemies. The pond that once held fat fish was now mostly dried up, the water now stored in barrels stationed about the court yard in preparation for fires cause by the enemy's bombardment. The grass was trampled by troop-clerics who trained and walked in their heavy armor purchased by the gold religious temple items. The armor itself was of cheap quality as was most dwarf armor, but dwarfs were the only creatures willing to accept religious items as payment. It broke Sim'fides' heart to see his brothers putting their trust in mortal weaponry to protect the monastery.

Established centuries before by the Brethren of Fortis'fide who were lead by their angel Gabriel, the Fiducial keep had been formed into the side of the Torva mountains. The Brethren had hewed solid granite away for years, forming a deep gouge in the great mountain side. It was centuries of digging that brought up enough rocks and dirt to form the massive walls of the keep that formed the monastery. Its high walls had been constructed with defense in mind, and it was only these walls that stood between the enemy and what ever they hoped to obtain in the monastery. Ramparts and towers lined the length of the small but fortified monastery. The monastery's main purpose was hospitality to those who travel, and reaching out to those around the monastery. Support for the monastery had grown from the local communities and peoples as they clung to the true teachings of faith, self-sacrifice, contentment, and submission to God's will. Peace was the key of the monastery's goal. However, this peace they knew could only be expected to exist in the presence of justice rather than the absence of conflict. To this end, all monks or clerics were required to under go simple weapons training, and to become masters of the art “sanixor” or “holy struggle.” Sanixor was considered the most effective form of unarmed combat known to any race. A blend of spiritual power and physical focus of strength, a cleric's mastery of sanixor could only be described as supernatural.

However breath taking their fighting capabilities were, the cleric's real power came through their faith. Indeed to master sanixor a cleric had to have a high level of faith, sufficient to be able to levitate and to completely focus on one objective. By cultivating the powers bestowed by The Most High through his humble angel Gabriel, the clerics had been able to master spell casting and truly spiritual powers. Spells ranged from the ability to combat spiritually possessed beings and healing wounds, to superhuman acts of speed, agility, and strength. The amount and strength of these spells tended to rely on the faith of each of the clerics. The head cleric had been said to have destroyed a druid's stone keep with several concentrated sonic blasts. Although no such claim had ever been verified, the scripture, from which the cleric's derived their entire purpose from, said that the faith of a mustard seed is sufficient to move mountains. These powers however seemed to wane in the face of great odds as doubt and fear filled the minds of clerics. The head cleric had warned that no cleric should become dependent on the simple weapon proficiency they had been taught, but that they should fight their enemy through the power God granted them. The use of sanixor against foes, and spell casting was his personal advice, for it required the cleric to completely place his life and the lives of his foes in the hands of an almighty God.

No one would have dared question Validus while he lived, but an assassin had slipped into the monastery during the night, decapitating the cleric as he prayed. The elf had escaped the monastery by morning and when the body of Validus had been discovered his head had been restored to his body but his soul and spirit had gone. The Brethren did not morn the physical death of a brother, and thus after the burial ceremony Sim'fides had to leave the monastery where he wept with such a passion Gabriel himself had appeared, placing a calming hand on Sim'fides's shoulder. It was through this encounter Sim'fides had felt strong enough to stand on his own through the conflict that now lay ahead of him.

For no reason which any in the Fiducial monastery was aware of, dozens of elven legions had surrounded the keep and laid sedge for the past six months. The assassin, who had killed Validus in an attempt to cut off the Brethren's leadership, had retreated to the elven ranks to receive his payment and to move on. The assassin's uniquely carved dagger inlaid with silver and gold filigree had been proudly displayed atop a standard when the elven peace party road out to speak with brother Perfidious'Nuto, the newly elected head cleric. Perfidious was incapable of open surrender, but unable to lead at the same standard Validus had for so many decades. Upon returning to the monastery with news that a 'kill all' order had been issued to the elven army, he had immediately dismantled the moral and integrity of the Brethren. He had described the mass of soldiers, fine weaponry, and brilliant generals that the elven military possessed. Vertogo, or “Interpreter of the word”, had served as the scripture calligrapher for decades and his extensive scripture memorization was not equaled by even Validus himself. He was a small, elderly cleric, not accustom to battle or long periods of exercise. Despite his shaved head, his gray eyebrows gave away his age. Vertogo had tried to convince the Brethren that to rely on mortal weapons would be a mistake but spending his life reading and righting did little to establish Vertogo's reputation with the Brethren.

In the end all the gold and silver that the clerics could lay their hands on was given to the dwarfs for armor and simple weaponry ranging from short swords, small shields, knives, and staffs to the short bows and light cross bows the dwarfs so coarsely fashioned. The Cleric's who feared the loss of their lives and took up mortal arms for protection almost instantly lost their spiritual powers. The regularity of the cleric's prayers decreased to the point that only the few clerics who held to brother Vertogo's interpretation used the prayer chambers. When Gabriel had not visited or been seen by Perfidious, Vertogo publicly stated their monastery was lost. For this statement Perfidious broke one of the sacred laws of the Brethren. He took a position of authority over Vertogo and had him put under house arrest in his chamber. This action sealed the fate of the Fiducial monastery as unity was lost and the once close knit brotherhood was now nothing more than a keep full of desperate men who were inexperienced fighters at best.

The only remnant of the Brethren that had lasted was four clerics, Sim'fides and Vertogo included, that held to scripture, faith, and prayer for salvation from their situation. They had not seen Gabriel, and had felt a darkness as his presence had left the monastery. As Sim'fides walked in the trampled yard he cast his eyes about. The design of the monastery was from a strategic standpoint a work of brilliance. High walls supported with buttresses of solid stone ran the parameter of the inner court yard. In one corner of the court yard a deep pond, fed by springs, supplied a steady source of water. Opposite that corner was the silver smith, a long low building built up against the wall. The smithy was built of wood, with a thatch roof and stone chimney. It had since been converted into an infirmary, tending to the wall guards who continually got picked off by elven snipers using cross bows. Atop the high walls clerics still stood watch, strapped into awkward armor and holding their short swords and shields, not accustom to battle. The central buildings were made up of gray stone, stone now blackened and scorched with the nightly bombardments from elven catapults. Sim'fides kept his head down and made his way across the court yard, passing what had been the orchard. Sim'fides reached the small series of rooms built into the outer wall that formed the senior cleric's chambers. Vertogo had been imprisoned in his chamber, allowed to see visitors but not allowed to leave. Two armored clerics stood by the door, opening the door for Sim'fides and closing it behind him.

As Sim'fides entered the dim room, he could see Vertogo was sitting on his prayer mat, eyes half closed, murmuring in Latin. Sim'fides sat on the bed, waiting for Vertogo to finish his prayers. Vertogo ended his prayer with “In vestri imperium mos... and Lord, help me to have such simple and strong faith as Sim'fides has been blessed with.” Vertogo looked up from his prayer smiling. Sim'fides tried to smile back. “Dear brother, I fear, or rather I expect we are lost to our enemy.” Vertogo smiled as he levitated to his feet. “Sim'fides, you've been a cleric for a little over two decades, and during that time I have never once heard you use 'I' and 'fear' in the same sentence. Why use it now?” The question spurred more thought in Sim'fides's troubled mind, and while he thought Vertogo sat on the small chair facing the bed. Sim'fides made up his mind, “The thing that bothers me is intangible, but it is symbolized by the weapons, mortal weapons. The weapons aren't new to me, but to use them in battle against our enemy, it symbolizes faithlessness, and a bizarre sense of insecurity.” Vertogo nodded thoughtfully smoothing his robes. “Weapons do that, but only when they are held by a particular man, and in a particular way. Have you ever killed someone Sim'fides?” Sim'fides shook his head so Vertogo continued. “I thought not. I have, and I did it with a garden shovel.” Sim'fides looked surprised, thinking he must have misread his friend's docile and compliant nature. Vertogo continued to explain. “The man was threatening a woman with molestation, and in a swift move I decapitated him.” Vertogo showed no remorse or sadness in the story he told. “The shovel up to that point had been an instrument of moving dirt, never having been designed for battle. A weapon is no different than a shovel, and no more evil. Look to scripture for guidance on this issue my brother. Joel 3:10 says “Beat your plowshares into swords and your pruning hooks into spears.” And Micah 4:3 says “They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks.” Sim'fides looked confused, and slightly lost. Vertogo smiled kindly at Sim'fides and explained. “What scripture illustrates is that weapons are tools, used just like gardening tools, and just as inherently good or evil. It is the man holding the sword or spear that decides its moral standing. If the man is evil and uses the tool thus, it could be a monastery candle stick and still be the most vial tool created. If a man is good and pure of intention, he could use a sorcerers staff and it could be the most holy tool.” Sim'fides bowed his head, understanding what was being explained to him. Vertogo placed a kindly hand on Sim'fides shoulder. “Go pray, ask for guidance, it is all you need right now.”

Returning to the prayer chamber Sim'fides bowed his head and began his Latin prayer, but then stopped himself. For the first time in his life began to speak his prayer in his native English tongue, and not only gave up the Latin words, but also gave up the prewritten prayer phrases. His words poured out from his heart, the air filled with his emotion. Latin, in the form of poetry the clerics used, taught him the flow of speech. As he prayed, words poured forth in a never ending sentence forming one continuous stream of speech. Tears of blood dripped from his eyes, staining the floor stones before the cross. As Sim'fides began to slow his prayers to take a breath be saw the most welcome sight in his existence. It was a silver translucent orb of light, growing from the intersection of the cross. It seemed to come forward and out, growing as it came. In seconds a tall man, silver hair, crystal blue eyes, and pail white skin stood before Sim'fides. Gabriel had revealed himself to Sim'fides before, but it had not detracted from the awe that struck Sim'fides now.

Gabriel wore a similar silver mesh belt as Sim'fides, but Gabriel's belt was a work of spiritual power rather than the creation of a silver smith. The angel had no feathered wings that anyone could see, but then he was not subject to any earthly force such as gravity. Gabriel sat down, crossing his legs as Sim'fides was, and looked into the blood stained cleric's eyes. His voice was deep and smooth, conveying complete confidence and supreme intelligence. “Yaakov, why do tears stain thy face?” Sim'fides replied, slowly cleaning the bloodied streaks from his cheeks. “Would that you were a man and could feel loss, or sorrow over impending destruction. You would then understand why tears stain my face.” Gabriel nodded, “I know what is in thy heart, and I know why it pains thee. But thou must sever thy attachment to this monastery.” Sim'fides nodded, trying to think what he could do to follow the advice of his angel. Gabriel seemed to read his mind. “It would be best if thou would leave this place, it is not long for this world.” Sim'fides closed his eyes, concentrating on controlling his emotions which desired to burst out in despair. He did not try to control the expressions of his emotions, Sim'fides was trying to control what he actually felt. Gabriel spun his right hand in a circular pattern, then opened it palm up towards Sim'fides. A bright white light burst forth, shrouding the two of them, and illuminating the small room. Sim'fides felt relief, a sense of calm, and a strong feeling of faith. “What should I do then?” He asked, his simple faith returning to his heart and mind.

Gabriel levitated to his feet and took a step back. “I will provide thee with a guide. Thou shalt not be called Sim'fides outside these walls, but shall be called thy given name, Yaakov.” Sim'fides nodded and levitated up a few inches, moving backwards and giving Gabriel room for what ever he was doing. Gabriel put both hands in front of him, palms facing up. He leaned forward on his toes, moving his left arm in an arc behind his back, while turning his right palm downward. A shimmering orb appeared and grew between his hands and the floor in front of him. The orb was a shimmering translucent silver, growing larger and larger until its top touched Gabriel's poised right hand, his left having rotated palm down behind his back. As Gabriel began to rotate his right palm down the orb began to dissipate and Sim'fides could make out a feathered creature. It took a few moments more before he could recognize what the creature was. Its appearance wasn't much unlike that of a large eagle, yet not at all the same. It had four legs, each heavy built and complete with long razor claws. It possessed a beak as a bird, but built short and wide with the power of a lion's jaw. Its the beak curved up from where it joined the face, and going forward made a sharp curve down to a wicked point. Its flat, short nature made it more of a tearing or ripping weapon rather than a bird's pecking beak. Protruding from just above the rear haunches, a long tail, covered in silver fur extended ending in a fan of feathers. The creature itself was covered in silver feathers with the exception of the length of the tail. The creature moved its head as the orb dissipated completely, and it opened its eyes. Its eyes were black as sable, seeming to glow in a dark shimmer. From nose to hind quarters the creature measured six feet, its tail adding an additional two and a half feet to the length. Its shoulder topped at just over four feet tall. Its hindquarters were a few inches lower, its feathered back sloping down from the shoulders.

Gabriel looked the creature over and said, “Her name is Lequila.” Sim'fides looked into the sable eyes of the creature and he slowly began to recognize what she was. “Phoenix, is she a phoenix?” Gabriel nodded and the creature, Lequila, began to move about. Sim'fides was still hovering a few inches above the ground and he rose to his feet. Lequila looked up at him and walked over, keeping her large wings pressed firmly alongside her body. Sim'fides smiled as the creature nuzzled his hand and he began to stroke the feathered head. Gabriel nodded and smiled approvingly, “A guide and a friend. She is not a large enough specimen for ye to ride, and when the moon comes full circle again she will destroy herself in silver flames.” Sim'fides looked puzzled. “Then how does the species propagate itself?” Gabriel folded his legs, hovering where he had been standing. “She will leave behind an egg, but do not let the egg live. This species shall only be called upon by angels and shall not destroy the balance of nature the Creator has set up.” Sim'fides nodded and watched as Lequila sat next to him, pruning a feathered paw with her beak. Gabriel closed his eyes and looked to the ceiling, “Follow her when her eyes turn silver. Ye may place your consciousness in her and control her body as it were thine own. Treat her well but do not attach thyself to her, she will die and ye will stay.” Gabriel faded away, his form first turning translucent, then a haze, then finally gone all together.

Sitting down on one of the old wooden pews, Sim'fides thought back over his conversation with the angel. He summarized his orders in his mind, then spoke them aloud. “Follow Lequila, leave the monastery, take my given name.” But what then? Sim'fides, now Yaakov, had no where to go after leaving the monastery. He had barely been out of the valley let alone traveling far. He looked down at the phoenix, Lequila, who was now standing at the door waiting for him. Yaakov stood, following the creature out into the hall way and back into the tunnel system of the monastery. The tunnels had been dug by generations of clerics, each generation adding more and barricading off unused sectors. The centuries of history that was carved into the tunnels was inestimable. Despite the expansive tunnel systems, very little was accessible. When tunnels ceased to be useful the head cleric would have it sealed off with stone and mortar; In fact, only about three thousand square feet of tunnel and underground rooms still were in use. Lequila seemed to know her way around very well. These passages no more ornate than chiseled rock passages, smooth level floors, and lit torches resting in wall sconces. As Yaakov followed Lequila he realized all of his possessions were still in his room. Lequila continued into the large two story library room deep in the mountain. Yaakov recalled Jesus in scripture, sending the apostles out on their journeys telling them not even to take an extra cloak. If the apostles could do it, Yaakov trusted he wouldn't need anything extra either. Looking about at the finely furnished library, Yaakov followed Lequila into the center of the large bookshelf lined room.

Lequila didn't seem to have any particular desire to go anywhere. Sitting complacently in the center of the room, she simply licked her feathered paw and watched Yaakov with her dark penetrating eyes. The library had been on of the first things to be constructed, storing hundreds of years of manuscripts, books, tombs, maps, and other priceless knowledge. Yaakov followed the bookshelves looking for a clue of some kind. Each shelve was constructed of heavy heart wood, loaded with hundreds of pounds of paper volumes, and covered in a thick layer of dust. After having finally made a full circle of the library, Yaakov climbed the small circular staircase to the second floor Again made his way around the room, checking each shelf carefully for anything out of the ordinary. Moving out of faith, Yaakov didn't even know what he was looking for. Without even a clue as to what he was to do here, Yaakov moved back down to the first floor and shook his head. Lequila was still sitting in the center of the room and looked innocently up at Yaakov. Sensing the possibility of a solution, Yaakov stretched out his hand towards the phoenix and slowly closed his eyes. Lequila seemed to become overly drugged, her eyes lulling shut and body becoming inactive. As he focused, Yaakov felt his consciousness transfer as if in a dream to the phoenix. When the thing was done, Yaakov commanded the body of the animal while his own body, still standing hand stretched out, was inactive, devoid of consciousness.

Lequila's vision was much more acute thank a human's, and Yaakov found the eyes could focus beyond objects. It was a bizarre focus system, but as best he could tell, Yaakov thought it was like a human's ability to focus on objects near or far; however unlike a human, the phoenix was not limited to physical obstructions to vision. Yaakov focused through the walls, turning in circles until he found what he had been searching for. He found a passage behind fireplace, one that as far as he could tell, stretched far into the mountain. His consciousness slipped back into his body allowing Lequila to again assume control of herself. Turning slowly, Yaakov looked at the ancient fireplace. It was built of solid stone, iron braces reinforcing the back wall. It seemed to Yaakov to be nearly impenetrable, but he knew there must be something that would open it. Stepping closer he inspected the construction, finding scratches and scrapes indicating the wall had been opened before some time ago. He did not however, find anything that would open the door. Yaakov strode about the room looking for clues, trying to find a lever or some system for opening the fire place. He felt on the verge of giving up when he cast his eyes over the fireplace and read the inscription above the stone work.

He had read the inscription a thousand times if he had read it once. In simple English it read, “Order in time of trouble.” It was a simple phrase used when the clerics were young in their scripture readings. To compel them to get the order of the books of the bible right, they came up with the phrase. When a cleric youngling was caught misbehaving, properly citing the books of the bible would often lessen his punishment. Yaakov tried to fit this clue into his current time of trouble. It came to him slowly, but when it had it made sense. He began to look about the room, finding the expanded translations of each of the books of the bible. He removed them from their shelves in order, turning to watch the fireplace as he removed the last one. Nothing happened. Not to be stumped, Yaakov replaced the books and tried all sixty six backward, inverse order, and dozens of different combinations. Nothing seemed to work. It was then Yaakov realized he was looking at the wrong type of order. He began slowly recalling each book along the chronology of time. As he pulled book after book off their shelves he let his eyes drift shut as he drifted back to his time as a youngling. Long scripture study times, placing each book of the bible in its place with respect to time. As the last book came off the shelf, Yaakov heard a click behind him, and turning saw a small hidden box in the wood mantel above the fireplace had opened. Yaakov stepped up and found a small piece of paper folded with care in the small box. Unfolding it, Yaakov read the two words. “Mustard seed.” Yaakov smiled at the simplicity of the whole situation. He felt foolish, realizing he had become blind to the simplicity of truth. He replaced the small note, and closing the secret box, stood before the fire place. He raised his hand towards the back wall to the fire place and moved his hand to the side. The wall opened and the dark passage stretched out before Yaakov into the darkness. Shaking his head at his own folly Yaakov moved into the passage, Lequila following. Yaakov murmured to himself as he walked down the dark tunnel. “With the faith of a mustard seed one can move mountains.” He vowed to disregard the complications of the situation and focus on simple faith. He did not need any clues, levers, or complicated riddles. Faith would pave his way with speedy success, while his own attempts and physical or mental feats would simply slow him down.  

Hunting the Iron Wolf

-Part I – Insertion-

The dark waves lapped the rocky shale shores of France as the heavy rains drenched the coast and nearby village. There seemed to be complete darkness under the cloudy night sky, and the heavy rains added more to the dark ominous atmosphere. The shore was a clear fifty feet of shale rock before it sloped up to the bushes and sparse tree cover that topped the coastal ridge. France had been in German hands for nearly two years and the Nazi military had done quite a job on the once beautiful shore line. Large iron antitank spikes were drilled deep into the rocks, and barbed wire was strung in threatening coils everywhere. Patrolling the shores were the Wehrmacht, German soldiers who served as shore patrols. However, this dark night most of the soldiers did not walk their normal patrols, but rather hid under small overhangs or hastily erected tarps. They felt confident knowing their large dogs would give voice if anyone so much as set foot on the beach. The guards had their rifles causally slung over their shoulders or propped against rocks, and their flashlights turned off to conserve battery power. It was just another dreary French night for them, and they didn't intend to get anymore wet than they needed to. The only soldier not under the cover of some obliging overhang or other form of shelter was Hans Eldof, a twenty two year old soldier and veteran of many battles. He'd signed up for the Nazi army four years ago and thanks to his positive talent for killing and honed sense for danger he was quickly selected for several commando type missions against smaller neighboring countries. Hans however had one besetting sin, rebellion. He couldn't bring himself to a place of subjection and wouldn't follow orders if they crossed what he saw as needing to be done. His military carrier was dotted with brawls and squalls with senior officers and company commanders. He had consequently never risen above the rank of Sargent, and periodically dropped down to private bouncing back up every time he got the chance to demonstrate his prowess as a soldier. He had been dumped on this French shore patrol assignment after he had gotten in a fist fight with a lieutenant who had tried to tell him how to fire his machine pistol. His large green slicker that he wore in the poring rain was draped over him, loosely covering him and his Kar-98 bolt action rifle. He wore high black leather boots with buckles and straps, the boots he had pulled off a Swiss mountaineer when he had been doing recon runs in the alps. Into the boots was shoved the legs of his gray military pants on which he had his own hand painted camouflage pattern. He wore his jacket unbuttoned bearing his hairy chest and soaked neck. The cartridge belt that belonged on his waste was strapped over one shoulder and looped through the belt so that it stretch across his frame offering an easy grab if he got into fast shooting. The Kar rifle took five round clips, and Hans had shown many a man that he could empty his entire clip working the bolt like a devil in less than ten seconds flat, still putting the rounds in a tight grouping. Hans now stood quietly listing to the rain and feeling that something wasn't quite right. He had left his dog back at the barracks because he didn't like hauling it with him everywhere, and because dogs didn't like his dark nature. He wondered what it was about dogs that they could sense danger so much better than he could. He began to fidget and in full awareness that he was breaking the rules for a sentry, lit a cigarette. He didn't know it, but that casting off of authority was his undoing.

Jake Maxim opened his eyes and shifting over in his bunk looked at his watch. It said it was nearly twelve o'clock at night. He got up, and dropped his sock covered feet on the metal floor of the submarine. He was standing in the USS Marlin, a long range transport submarine that was commissioned to drop him off near the coast for his mission. He was a strong, rough, and loyal sort who didn't impress many people and didn't attract attention. It was this very reason that he joined the commando and infiltration wing of the US military operations. He stretched and then pulled a gray tee shirt over his muscled lithe shoulders. Running his scarred fingers through his short cut brown hair he shook his head trying to rid himself of the traces of sleep. His hazel eyes caught sight of a sliver chain in the blankets and he fished it out. It was a chain identical to the one his dog tags hung on, but this one bore a small sliver cross. He dropped it around his neck and down his shirt letting it rest over his heart. A tall steel gray haired man in a tan uniform stepped into the room and looked the five foot ten soldier over. “Captain, we're nearing the drop point.” Jake nodded and walked after the submarine commander following him into the map room. The commander took a map from it's cabinet and unrolled it, pinning it to a cork board in the navigational section of the map room. “This is your drop point here.” The commander placed his finger at a point just off the French coast. Jake nodded and the commander went on, “This is your landing spot here. You should expect some very limited resistance, but as long as you don't alert anyone you should be fine.” Again Jake nodded. “Once we drop you, we'll hit the bottom here, and surface the day after tomorrow. We will deploy a small raft with a four man team to the shore to pick you up at exactly twenty two hundred hours.” Jake nodded again and waited. The commander rolled the map up and after placing it in it's cabinet he turned to Jake. “Your gear is being packed in a small brief case and wrapped in a rubber protective bag. We'll surface for five minutes, drop you into the water, and go down. I assume you'll have no trouble in making it to shore?” Jake smiled and said, “Not with how close your putting me, it'll take me five minutes to gear up and I'll be ready for the drop.”

The waves broke over the conning tower of the surfacing submarine and the hatch atop the steel cone opened. One man in a black rubber body suit, flippers, mask, and a smallish bag jumped from the hatch and dropped into the waves. The hatch was closed and then the tower sank back beneath the waves. Captain Jake Maxim was floating under the water with his snorkel just above the waves. He made sure he had suffered no loss in his jump, and then made for the shore taking a breath and swimming hard keeping his head just under the surface of the water. He was a no more than a dozen feet from shore when he saw the sentry in a flash of lighting. The man was tall, dark, and alone. Jake puzzled over that, no dog, no comrade, no light. Jake let himself drift into a small cluster of boulders that the waves washed in the retreating tide. Drawing his feet under himself he removed the Mask and flippers. The sentry seemed to know something wasn't right, and just stood there still and silent. Jake had long since learned to roll with the punches, and was undoing the flap on his water tight holster. From it he removed one of his favorite weapons for silent killing. It was a High Standard silenced pistol chambered for the .22 caliber round and with the new modifications to the slide it fired semi-automatic. Jake drew the pistol out, knowing the top had already been pulled back chambering the first of ten rounds and tried to find his target. He waited trying to see the guard in the dark, but it was impossible to locate him, let alone single out the man's head. Jake smiled as he heard the unmistakable scratch of a match against a match box. The flare lit up the guards face, and Jake identified the man's features as German. The cigarette tip glowed red and the match was put out as the guard smoked. Jake aimed just above and to the left of the cigarette ember and fired. The spat of the pistol was followed by the sound of the guard dropping to the shale. Jake stood quietly, and stalked over. Feeling in the dark Jake could tell he had hit his mark, putting the .22 caliber bullet in the right lobe of the brain which mean almost no blood, and instant death for the target. Jake stripped the slicker off the guard and took the rifle and cartridge belt. Jake noticed the Swiss made boots and took them after pealing back the leggings of his wet suit.

Wrapping himself in the slicker, and shouldering the rifle Jake grabbed and taking aim with a large rock smashed the guard's head. When someone found the body it would look like he had fallen, and the shore was notorious for scavengers so the slicker, rifle, boots, and gun belt wouldn't be missed. Jake made his way up the slope and weaved through the wire and iron tank obstacles. He reached the ridge and looked about, seeing plainly the small sheltered fires and clumps of guards. He made his way along the ridge until he came to the path he was to take. He had seen the area in fifteen dozen different maps and aerial photos of the area, and knew the place like the back of his hand. The other guards paid him no mind, seeing what they expected to see, a guard wrapped in a green slicker moving towards the town. Jake arrived at a small country road which was two parts mud with all the rain, and one part packed dirt. He walked along the side of the road meeting no one, and it wasn't long before he arrived at the address he had been given. The trees and hanging bushes lined the road on one side, and a small wire fence that separated the road from a wide open field, lined the other side. Between the line of trees and under the hanging bushes was a wooden gate on which a dark wood sign read, 1130 Orme rd. Jake clambered over the gate and followed the drive. It wound back away from the main road, and the trees and vines staid close on both sides. The small house was set behind a large yard of garden and grass, encircled with a small wicket fence that ran about the house. Jake walked around the back of the house, and located the barn which like he had been told was made of very thick and heavy wood. Jake pushed open the front door to the barn and looked inside. The barn was in spotless order, and a motor cycle sat in the horse stall. The cycle was spotlessly cleaned, and from the looks of it, brand new. On closer inspection, Jake identified it as a BMW R75 Gespann motorbike, probably one of the more common bikes owned by both the German military and the French civilians. Jake climbed the ladder to the loft where he found what would presumably be his room. It was an open room with a small table and lamp at one end and a bed and night stand at the other. Jake undressed and wrapped his rubber dry suit, flippers, snorkel, and mask in the slicker, pushing the bundle under his bed. He leaned the Kar against the small table, and strung the cartridge belt in place of the shoulder strap. Having organized his stuff, Jake laid his suit case on the bed and opened it. Inside was two knit shirts, another pare of dockers, two large bill rolls, a small toilet kit, and a large leather holster. He opened the holster and drew out the large Colt 1911 .45 caliber hand gun. The large slide action pistol was considered the hand cannon of the twentieth century and was indisputably the most accurate hand gun available. Jake cocked it and letting the hammer down, placed it under his pillow. He place the clothes along with one of the bill rolls in the suit case, and pushed the case under the bed along with the slicker bundle. Jake placed the cash, several hundred German Deutschmarks, in his coat pocket. He climbed down and dropped down the last three steps. It was then Jake realized that there was a wooden room beneath him. However, he did not bother to check it, it was time to greet his host. He walked through the rain, which was more a drizzle now and knocked on the front door. The house was two story, white plaster and stone, with brown wood trim. The door opened slowly, and from behind it a woman looked out suspiciously. Seeing Jake, she opened the door wide and ushered him in. Jake nodded and stepping in wiped his feet off on the welcome mat. She wasn't tall, but neither was she short. Her brow hair fell just below her shoulders, and he blue eyes studied Jake carefully. She was fare skinned, and didn't seem to communicate confidence in what she was doing, or trust in this American new comer. Jake smiled disarmingly and held out his hand, “Jake Maxim ma'am.” She took his hand hesitantly and replied, “Sabina Sabin, Captain?” Jake shrugged, “Don't mind the formalities Miss Sabin, you can call me Jake, Jacob, or what ever you want so long as it's not a title.” She smiled seeming to be more at ease, “Well then Jake, you may call me Sabina here, and in public, Miss Sabin.” Jake nodded and smiled, “Beautiful place you have here, I don't guess the Nazi's make it out here much?” She shook her head, “No they don't, the country side is a place they are afraid to go alone. They have been in place for almost two years, and still lone soldiers get assassinated all the time.” Jake nodded as she lead him into her sitting room. She looked at him seemingly puzzled, “Have you brought nothing with you?” Jake laughed aloud, “I brought a suit case, and I got a rifle and slicker on the beach, but I put them in the loft room.” She smiled, “Then your settled in?” Jake nodded. Smiling warmly and offering him a cup of coffee she said, “Then on behalf of France and myself, I welcome you here.” Jake took the cup and said, “Well I'm happy to be here on both accounts.”

-Part II – The Wolf's Country Side-

Jake awoke at seven in the morning, twisting onto the floor where he dropped into his morning exorcize, pushups. After ten minutes of that he stood, stretched and dressed. He had a lot to do that day, with the submarine surfacing the next day at ten o'clock, he had to have everything complete. Climbing down the ladder he greeted Sabina who was just coming out of the subterranean room, still in her night gown. “Good morning Sabina.” She smiled warmly, and slightly embarrassed that he had caught her in her night clothes replied, “Hello Jake, forgive my appearance, I had to check to make sure my mixture had completely dried.” Jake extended a had to help, and she took it, surprised at his strength as he drew her effortlessly up to the ground level. She smiled her thanks and Jake followed her into the house. “What exactly are you mixing down there?” Jake asked as Sabina quickly fixed breakfast. “Plastic Explosives, ammonium nitrates, anything that goes boom.” After a short silence she ask “So what exactly are you planning to do here?” Jake had sat down, and talked between bites. “There is a German Commander code named the Iron Wolf. He lives in the manor house just out of town, and he's my target.” Sabina smiled, “So your an American assassin.” Jake laughed. “That's one of the things I can do, and you? What are you?” Sabina shrugged, “A helpless patriot for France I guess.” Jake smiled reassuringly. “Not helpless anymore.” Quickly finishing breakfast, Jake returned to his room and placed the Colt in it's concealed holster at the small of his back. When Sabina came through the barn door, Jake was sitting on the motorbike getting it ready for use. Sabina had a small pack which she handed him, “It's your lunch, don't loose it. I should be in town later, and if I can help you let me know.” With a smiled and a nod Jake fired up the motorbike's powerful motor and sped out of the small barn, through the twisty path, through the wooden gate, and along the country road. The scenery was beautiful, characteristic of France after a heavy rain. The clear blue sky stretched from horizon to horizon and the green trees and bushes glistened with the water they had accumulated in the night rain. It was a short ten minute ride into town, and as Jake pulled near town, he realized that not a single German was to be found outside the town palisades. The palisades were to fences made of wire and long, sharp wooden stakes that surrounded the city, and on the roads that went in and out, small clumps of German guards stood checking everyone who came in or went out. Jake pulled up with a smile and a wave, and the guards paid him no mind. Pulling past the check point Jake took in the small town. The buildings were built three stories high in most cases, and extended over the cobble streets. The town center was an open air market which was filling with citizens selling their wares or strolling with one another. The town was small, but it was densely packed with loving citizens, and now with Nazi soldiers. Jake had no intention of stopping in town so he pulled through and after offering the check point guards a brief story drove out of the northern side of the town. It didn't take him long, only five minutes before Jake could see the manor house. It was set high on a hill over looking the surrounding country side and a stone fence ran the parameter. Jake drove past the high wrought iron gates and parked in a stand of woods next to the stone wall. Jake walked along the wall before finding a suitable tree that had a branch that extended far enough over the wall. Jake climbed up, and swung over the wall dropping down the other side. The inside was as much a beautiful wilderness as outside, and Jake could see he would have no trouble finding a tree with which to exit. As he prowled about he searched for the motor pool building, hoping to be able to identify the commander's vehicle. It took him five minutes of foot work to locate the building, and that early in the morning no one was about. Jake slipped in through a back door and saw three vehicles. One was a large transport truck, definitely not the commander's ride. The second was a shining black Mercedes with polished rims and dark, cleaned wheels. The third was a gray blue Auburn sedan with deep luxury seats. Jake swore under his breath as he looked at the two cars. Both definitely were the commander's cars, and he could use either at any time. Jake's strategy had been to plant a bomb in the car, and blow the commander with his consort to the Hell awaiting them. If there were two cars he might wire them both, but he doubted he had the supplies to do that. Secondly, the possibility of one of the two vehicles getting used by a junior officer and the ensuing explosion warning the commander that his other car might be rigged as well would shoot the whole plan to pieces. Jake would only have one shot at this and would need to plan it carefully. As Jake left the manor grounds the same way he had entered it, he began devising a plan. It was a long shot, but definitely was better than wiring both cars with bombs. Jake drove back to town, arriving that one of the main local taverns and entering it with his bundle, he quickly found Sabina. She was sitting on her own, and Jake greeted her with a smile. “How was your day?” He asked as he unwrapped the bread and cheese. She smiled and removed from her basket a bottle of wine from which she poured two blood red glasses of Mourvèdre. Jake and Sabina talked for over an hour as they sat drinking and eating, talking about anything and everything. When Jake glanced at his watch he swore in his head knowing he had lost an hour, but thinking about it, he probably made a good appearance to the citizens as a friendly citizen. Having finished their wine and meal they stood together and left. Jake wrapped his arm about her waste and pulling her close placed his lips next to her ear. “I need to make a car bomb.” She placed both arms around his neck in an embrace and pulling him close said, “Meet me in my basement in a half hour, I have what you'll need.” She let go, and stepping up to her bicycle making her way home. Jake climbed aboard his bike, smiled at the police officer near by, and motored past cycling Sabina to the small country house, waiting in the barn until she arrived. She lead him down into the subterranean room and lifted what looked like a lump of dough from it's wax paper wrapping. Jake lifted the explosive material from her hands and smiled, “I got it from here on out.” She nodded and said, “I'll leave you here with your work, once your done come in the house for some refreshments.” Jake nodded and began working. It took him only a half hour to craft his bomb, a small flat piece of wood to which was screwed a grenade wrapped in one of the more unstable types of plastique. The timing mechanism was a little more complicated. The grenade detonator was altered to go of with when a complete electrical circuit was made between two wires which would connect the detonator to the electrical current from a flash light battery. He strapped a wire to the face of a small kitchen clock, then fixed a wire to the hour hand. As the arm rotated the two wires came closer and closer, and when the two wires touched the circuit was made complete, the electrical current would set off the grenade, which set of the plastique, which would in turn explode throwing what ever was nearby as shrapnel. Jake then took a lump of white sculpting clay and spread it out, forming a sort of covering, or shell for the exposed part of the bomb. He carved out a small hole for the clock which would allow him to set the time on the bomb. He then removed the shell like covering and pressed pieces of star shaped metal pieces into the soft clay so that he entire shell was covered with chicks and bits of metal. In the subterranean room there was a small oven which Jake stoked to life with the wood pile. He baked the clay covering into a hard shell which he set to cool for five minutes while he washed his hands. When the shell had cooled, Jake placed it over the bomb and using two screws and a metal strap, fixed it over his bomb. The last line of business was the bottom of the bomb, and flipping it over he took several dozen screws, screwing them into the wood base. The bomb was complete, when the grenade went off it would set off the plastique, the explosion of the plastique would instantly shatter both the wood base and the clay covering sending bits and pieces of metal in every direction moving at incredible speeds. With the bomb finished Jake took it to his room and laid it in his brief case smiling at his ingenuity. With business completed Jake climbed down the ladder and walked to the house entering through the back door. Sabina was sitting at the table with bread, cheese, and a bottle of wine. In addition to that there was fruit and small pastries. Jake sat down and explained what he planned to do.

-Part III – A car, gun, and prisoner-

Himmler Eberhardt was the second hand man to the General they called the Iron Wolf. The Iron Wolf himself, George Adler, admitted that with out Eberhardt he would have a hard time getting things done. It was in fact due to Himmler's work that Iron Wolf had the comfortable post that he did, and so when Himmler came to visit Adler, Adler was more than happy to let Himmler take a country ride in the Mercedes. Himmler and two other senior officers took the car out for a spin, and it was Sabina, set up with a radio watching the front gate, that told Jake someone had taken the car out, and was bound to return north bound on the country road. Thus Jake drove to the road where they would have to pass and prepared for his ambush. Jake pulled up the motorbike at a secluded area, far from any of the farms or other inhabitants. He revved the motor and left several deep, conspicuous tire marks on the road. With that completed, he then laid his bike down at the end of the marks which then looked like for all intents and purposes like there had been an accident. Jake waited until he heard the powerful motor of the Mercedes coming, then walked over to the bike and crouched next to it. The Mercedes pulled up and stopped, Jake's back to them. Jake heard the high pitched voice of Himmler inquiring in German what the problem was. Jake turned, the Colt 1911 in his left hand, and yelled, “I don't speak Nazi German!” He fired twice, the first round taking Himmler in the face, the second taking the first officer who was driving. The last man raised his hands above his head, and Jake stepped forward. “Name?” The German officer stuttered out a reply, “Fredrick Abend, General Fredrick Abend of Normandy defense... God don't kill me.” Jake grabbed the officers gun off his belt and placed the artillery Luger handgun in his pocket. Jake then grabbed the man's collar and forcefully dragged him from the vehicle dropping him face first in the dirt. Taking the man's belt Jake tied Abend's hands behind his back and using Himmler's belt tied his ankles. He then lifted the man and dumped him face first into the back seat before dragging the two dead and bleeding officers from the front seats. Jake used their jackets to soak up most of the blood on the seats and dumping their bodies in the ditch, lifted his motorbike onto the luggage rack at the back of the car. With everything he needed Jake drove the Mercedes taking back country roads the whole way back to the Sabin home. Parking the car in the barn, Jake unloaded the bike and refueled both the motorbike and the Mercedes from Sabina's stock pile of petrol. Last of all he deposited a tied and gagged Fredrick Abend on the cot in the subterranean room. Sabina was inside waiting, and when Jake came through the door she smiled with relief. “I was half afraid that something had gone wrong.” Jake smiled and gave her a hug saying, “American's don't make mistakes, because we don't plan.” She laughed and said, “Well I guess that's one way to look at it.” Jake nodded, “An American way.” The two enjoyed their dinner together until the clock chimed eleven and Jake stood. “We'll I have to go plant the bomb, I'll be back before too long.” Sabina grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Be careful, please.” Jake nodded smiling, “Always.” Jake took the pedal bicycle with his brief case on the little rack. As he pedaled his way to the manor house he smiled to himself. Heavens knew he loved a short simple mission, but he almost wished he could stay here for a few more days. The French countryside was growing on him, and he very much enjoyed Sabina's company. His thoughts drifted on as like a shadow he moved down the roads. It was a half hour ride to the manor house which was inside alight due to a party being thrown. Jake made it over the wall suit case and all, and made his way to the motor pool. He slipped in and began working the lock on the Auburn. It took him only a minute to get the door open, and only a few seconds to realize he was faced with a big problem. The back had a luxury bench, and the front had two seats. If he placed the bomb under one seat it might not send enough shrapnel to kill the others, and he had no idea where Adler would sit. Jake stood, undecided when a noise made up his mind. Someone opened the door and a man with a Machine Pistol stepped in. Jake pitched the bomb behind the back seats where it lodged between the window and the head rests. The act cost him his reaction time and he felt the cold steel barrel pressed against his neck. “Hands where I can see them you meddler!” Jake raised his hands and backed out of the car. Several more men stepped in, grabbing him and tying his hands behind his back and roughly dragging him from the building. They were house servants who were all armed with Machine Pistols. Jake was dragged to the front patio where they forced him to his knees. One of the servants dressed in a tuxedo stepped into the room who's large double glass doors opened onto the patio. The servant called for Adler who had been dancing, and who now stepped out onto the porch with several of his guests. Adler was at least six foot five inches of strong, healthy, and handsome body. His shoulders were broad, his hands were large, but not too big, and his body bespoke a healthy diet and lots of exorcize. The term Iron Wolf seemed to fit him perfectly, his iron gray hair, his square handsome jaw, and his gray wolf like eyes. He was holding a tall blond's hand in such a way that indicated respect and reservation, as well as a mature type of affection. All in all Jake wondered at why men like this, men with character and principle, stood behind the Nazi cause. The guard explained that they had caught Jake looking in “Herr' Commander's car” and that they hadn't had any trouble. Adler nodded thoughtfully, “Have you searched him?” The two men holding Jake began to skiff him, and located the handgun but nothing else. “Just a gun Herr' Commander.” Adler shrugged, “Everyone carries a gun at such times.” The servants looked at one another and shrugged as well. Adler let go of his woman's hand and stepped forward. “What were you doing in my car?” Jake looked nervously around as if he had been caught tipping cows and said, “I've not seen such a fine car, and have been out to see it and feel the seats many times. Each time I feel I must come back.” Adler's eye brows lifted, and he said, “You mean you've done this several times?” Jake looked at the ground as if feeling guilty and ashamed. Adler smiled, “I too love cars, and I have just lost a driver to a highway murder, do you drive.” Jake lit up as if he had just caught on to Adler's idea. “Oh yes commander!” Adler smiled, then you have a new job, come back tomorrow and you may begin your service as a driver. The armed servants had untied Jake and Jake stood rubbing his wrists. Adler smiled like a father to a naughty sun, “But you needn't be carrying this-” He took the Colt from the servant “Around with... you...” His voice trailed off as his inspected the fire arm. “Where did you get this?” Jake realized that if he didn't think fast the game would be up. “I found it outside the wall as I was coming in.” Adler nodded, “Indeed, and ah, you found the concealed holster as well?” Jake swore in his mind, but decided to try one last wild gamble. “No sir, that holster belongs to this gun.” Jake lifted the artillery Luger from his pocket which the servants had missed. Adler seemed disposed to believe Jake, and took the Luger from the servant who, as soon as Jake had produced it, had snatched it. “I believe you, but I must verify. See one of my close friends and coworkers was shot to death by a gun such as this, and there isn't more than one in this part of France.” Adler turned to the servant in the tuxedo and said, “Take him to the local jail and make sure he is comfortable. I will resolve this matter tomorrow.” The servants took Jake by the arms and lead him to the truck which they pulled out of the motor pool building. It was a long ride, but Jake made small talk with the servants about women, wine, and war. The servants now in a good mood explained to the guards at the police station about the situation that had arisen, and how this man was to be taken good care of because he was going to be, “Herr' Adler's esteemed driver.” Jake was put in a clean cell room and given all the comforts of home including wine, bread, cheese, cards and the company of the officers who joined him in his cell in a game of cards. After a while Jake asked, “Would it be possible to talk with my girlfriend?” The police officer nodded, “We have a telephone, absolutely.” Jake smiled, “She makes a very good meal, might she come here?” The three officers looked at each other and smiling agreed that this woman would be most welcome. One of the officers lead Jake to the telephone, which Jake began to use before he realized he didn't have her number. The other officer was listening, so Jake picked up the mouth piece and rung the operator, “Can you get me 1130 Orme road?” The operator asked for a moment and then connected them. Sabina's voice came in on the other end and when she heard Jake's voice she sounded just as Jake hoped she would, worried sick and concerned. “Jake? Where are you? Did something go wrong?” Jake stopped her before she said too much, “No baby, everything is okay, I was looking at the car and I was taken by the servants and Herr' Adler decided to give me a job, but had to make sure I'm not a killer so he sent me to the local jail where I'm now and this officer-” Jake stopped and asked to guard loudly so Sabina knew their conversation was being overheard, “What's your name?” The guard smiled and said, “Alan Furstenwerth.” Jake nodded, “Baby, Alan is letting me call you and I wanted to let you know what had happen, and ask if you could bring something special her for me and the three other officers here. Their good fellows and appreciate a good dessert.” Sabina must have caught on because she responded in kind, “Oh heavens be thanked your okay! I'll bring something they will all like.” Jake said a few more sentimental words that convinced the officer next to him that this woman was truly Jake's girlfriend. Hanging up he turned to the guards and said, “She's bringing food for all!” The men cheered, and without worry, all four of them sat at the main table, the cell room forgotten. It took Sabina ten minutes to get there with a large basket in hand. It was all Jake could do not to laugh when he saw Sabina. She had stuffed something under her dress so as to appear pregnant and smiled in a faint way. Jake greeted her with a quick kiss and asked, “Are you alright dear?” She smiled and leaned against him, “I need to use the toilet.” The officers who were hungrily eying the basket pointed to the bathroom door. Jake nodded with gratitude and said, “Go ahead with out us, we'll join in just a moment.” Helping a stumbling Sabina to the bathroom Jake closed the door behind them and smiled. Sabina wrapped her arms around Jake in an embrace and said, “I thought it was over when I heard you were caught by the police.” Jake shrugged and smiled, “With you and me working together, the Germans don't have much of a chance.” Sabina let go of Jake and pulled the bag and stuffing out from under her dress. Jake opened the bag and removed three handguns, two of which were semiautomatic nine millimeter Italian Beretta slide action pistols. The third was a short barreled Luger, and all three handguns had silencer's attached. Jake handed Sabina the Luger and taking a Beretta in each hand stepped from the bathroom. All three officers were eating and drinking, paying no mind to Jake as he stepped up. Jake leveled the silenced pistols at the two closest men and fired twice at one, and with the other put the second round in the chest of the third. The two closest men went down with out a sound bullets in their heads, and the third went down with a gurgle, the bullet having pieced his left lung. Jake slipped the two pistols in his belt and stepped to the gun rack on the wall. He grabbed two of the Machine Pistols, and filled the bag Sabina had brought with clips of ammunition. Jake looked outside into the street and saw Sabina had taken the Mercedes. “We need to get back to the house and take all we can.” Sabina smiled and stepping out got in the driver seat. Jake sat down and found that Sabina must have stripped the house of anything she wanted or needed. Even Jake's bundle was in the back seat of the car, sitting atop a worried looking Fredrick Abend. “You amaze me Sabina, lets get out of here.” Sabina took the Mercedes at high speeds out of the two, past the sleeping check points, and into the countryside. They drove for roughly a half hour before Sabina pulled off the main dirt road and bumped along a path that wound through dense woods. She pulled up at a clearing and stopped, turning the engine off. “Now what Mr. Maxim?” She asked. Jake ran his fingers through his hair trying to think. “Well, the bomb isn't going to go off, because I didn't have the time to set it. And Adler has to leave tomorrow for Berlin, which means that I'll not get a day time shot at it.” Sabina sighed. “So your plan of stealing this car so he would have to use the other one won't work, because now the bomb won't go off.” Jake nodded, then stopped himself. “Unless I could set the bomb off my self.” Sabina grabbed his arm, “Your not getting close to that again, I'm not loosing you again.” Jake smiled and patted her hand, “I'm not going to get anywhere near the car itself, I don't think I'll even need to touch the car.” Sabina looked at Jake in suspicion and asked, “What did you have in mind?” Jake reached back and grabbed the Kar-98 rifle and patted it. She shook her head, “The window's are bullet proof, it won't penetrate” Jake smiled, “That's the beauty of unstable plastique, you only have to get close.”

-Part IV – Getting close and getting out-

Jake and Sabina sat in the Mercedes waiting. The stretch of dirt road next to their little hiding place was empty and quiet. Jake sat in the passenger seat with a Machine Pistol in his hand, and the Kar-98 rifle on the floor board next to him. Sabina was in the drivers seat drumming her fingers and waiting. The only other person present was Fredrick Abend who was sitting very still and trying not to be a burden. They had been in the car since Jake's escape from the jail house. The local Wehrmacht forces had assaulted Sabina's house and all but destroyed it looking for them. And there would soon be fugitive posters for Sabina all over France giving dire threats to any who was aiding or abetting her. Jake knew he was going to have to either take her back with him, or go on foot to Switzerland with her. He didn't foresee any problem with taking her on the submarine, but all would be clear when they reached the beach and the extraction raft arrived. While Jake and Sabina were waiting, Alder toyed with the Colt 1911 as he walked to his Auburn waiting in the court yard of his manor. He disliked driving to Berlin because it didn't seem to bring any benefit. He was also upset after getting the report that the man he had sent to the local jail had escaped with the help of a local girl. That girl would die, that he was sure, and he would have the American hunted down if it cost him his life. The driver of the car started the Auburn's motor, and the front seat passenger cocked his Machine Pistol. Adler sat down in the back and continued toying with the gun as they began to pull out of his drive towards Berlin. They were driving for several minutes, Adler stewing over the recent event when he heard the sound of distant popping. Adler looked up trying to identify the sound when the bullets began thudding into his car. He sank down against the car's cushioned back seat, trying to stay away from the window. Behind the Auburn was the Mercedes. Sabina was at the wheel, and Jake was leaning out of the Mercedes passenger window with a Machine pistol in his hand. Jake sprayed the rear door and window of the Auburn not penetrating but frosting the view. The driver was shocked that the Mercedes was suddenly on their tail and he began to weave to try and avoid the hail of gun fire while he pressed the accelerator to the floor. Sabina kept the Mercedes, which was at least twice as fast as the large Auburn, a modest distance from the car and kept Jake as still as possible. Jake aimed for the rear window trying to frost it into an opaque state. He quickly accomplished that mission and then trained his automatic fire at eliminating the rear view mirrors. It took Jake just ten seconds to trim them off. With no idea what was going on behind them the Auburn sped at crazy speeds trying in vane to out run the pursuing car. Jake traded the Machine pistol for the Kar rifle and working the bolt, sighted in on the window where he guess the bomb was located. Sabina seeing the weapon exchange slowed down considerably to allow for some cushion. Jake squeezed off the first shot and nothing happened, working the bolt again, Jake fired once more. George Adler was pressed up against the rear seat as close as he could be, trying to avoid the gun fire which concentrated on the rear window. When the second rifle bullet impacted the window, it did not penetrate, but did smash into the window with all the impact and force of a jackhammer. The wood base of the bomb was directly next to the window, and the screws transferred the shock and force to the grenade. The grenade's half disassembled trigger system went off, detonating the plastique and throwing shrapnel through the seat upholstery, which then ripped through Adler's unprotected body. The shrapnel dealt death to all in the vehicle, and the plastique's explosion lifted the rear end of the Auburn off the road throwing it forward in a heap of flaming, twisting, metal. Sabina pressed the break hard to the floor, slowing to a controlled slide which left them fifty feet from the burning heap of metal and car parts. Jake stepped from the Mercedes and trotted over to the car wreck and identified his target's burning, bleeding, dead body. He also found his Colt 1911 miraculously unharmed except for the blackened steel was smudged with smoke and one of the wood grips had been nicked from the shrapnel, but nothing noticeable. Lifting his gun from the wreck Jake stepped back and walked back to the Mercedes. Sabina looked at Jake with question and Jake smiled. “We got him, got him for good.”

The beach was dark with the night time sky and aside from two dead beach guards who had been in the way of the extraction plan the night was perfect. Jake sat next to Sabina on the star lit beach and sighed. “Well this war is one step closer to being done.” Sabina smiled and said, “Is that how you operate? In small steps?” Jake nodded, “I have to, that's all an Agent can do.” Sabina took his arm in hers and leaned against him saying. “I can't go back there you know.” Jake nodded, “I know, the wounded officer at the jail got your address, and your house is probably already been half destroyed.” Sabina nodded with a sadness in her eyes. “I loved that house, it was all I had.” Jake smiled, and patting her hand said, “How about making a home instead of having a house?” She smiled and nodded, “That sounds about right.” The waves brought a small black rubber raft with four men paddling as hard as they could. The raft beached and Jake stood up, walking to the lieutenant in charge and explained he had two additional passengers. The lieutenant looked puzzled, “I see only the woman, who else?” Jake walked over to a clump of rocks and pulled an unconscious Fredrick Abend up and dragged the man to the lieutenant. “I think this guys knows something about Normandy's defenses.” The lieutenant looked at him and shrugged, “Fine with me, let's just get out of here.” Jake waved to Sabina who got up and climbed after Jake into the raft. The raft pushed off and floating free the four Navy men paddled to the submarine's conning tower. Jake and the lieutenant helped Sabina down the hatch and the lieutenant followed with his men. Jake got half way into the conning tower and looked back at the shore of France. It was a beautiful land, and if Jake's hunch was right, Jake would be back soon with more work to do.