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  Cover Images: Black and White Retro Image Battle of Britain WW2 Airplanes © Matt Gibson; 1940’s Retro Fashion © mikeklee; Air Defense Cannon © sergeyussr; Lonely WWII Soldier Portrait © LifeJourneys. Courtesy of istockphoto.com

  Map copyright © 2014 Briana Shawcroft

  Cover design copyright © 2014 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2014 by A. L. Sowards

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect

  the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

  First Printing: April 2014

  ISBN 978-1-62108-779-3

  For Mom and Dad

  May you always be blessed with friendship, love, and hope

  Acknowledgments

  As with all my projects, this book involved more than just my efforts. I’m grateful for friends and family members who expressed their confidence in me when I wasn’t sure I could write a book set in the Balkans during WWII.

  I would like to mention a few people by name: Joseph, Melanie, Laurie, and Teresa, as well as writers Stephanie Fowers, Linda White, Terri Ferran, and Daron Fraley. Their help tightening the story structure and polishing the prose have made this a better manuscript.

  I’d also like to thank Bradley and Lela for their help in acquiring some hard-to-find research books and the Goodreads World War Two Readers group for pointing me in the right direction when I was having a hard time finding the information I needed.

  I’m grateful to my publisher, Covenant Communications, especially my editor, Sam. I’m hoping we’ll work together on many additional projects. Thank you to Briana Shawcroft for creating a beautiful map of a complicated time and place.

  I’d also like to thank my readers. Hearing from them (or finding reviews they’ve written) always makes my day.

  Useful Terms

  Chetnik—Originally a general term for Balkan guerillas, but during WWII and for the purposes of this novel, the name refers to the Serb group led by Draza Mihailovich, which was loyal to the Yugoslav king and was usually at war with German, Partisan, and Ustaše forces

  Feldwebel—Noncommissioned officer in the German Army; rank similar to a sergeant in the US Army

  Gefreiter—Soldier in the German Army; rank similar to a private in the US Army

  General-potpukovnik—Partisan officer; rank similar to a Lieutenant General in the US Army

  Kapetan—Partisan officer; rank similar to a captain in the US Army

  Kriegsmarine—German Navy

  Luftwaffe—German Air Force

  MI5—British Security Service; responsible for counterintelligence

  MI6—British Secret Intelligence Service; responsible for foreign intelligence

  NKVD—Soviet Secret Police from 1934–1953; responsible for foreign and domestic espionage

  OSS—Office of Strategic Services; US intelligence and sabotage agency that operated from June 1942–January 1946

  OVRA—Organization for Vigilance and Repression of Anti-Fascism; Italian Secret Police under Mussolini that operated from 1927–1945

  Partisans—During WWII, there were irregular partisan forces fighting against Nazi armies in most occupied countries, but for the purpose of this novel, the Partisans were Yugoslavs following the Communist leader Josip Tito

  Pukovnik—Partisan or Chetnik officer; rank similar to a colonel in the US Army

  SOE—Special Operations Executive; British intelligence and sabotage agency that operated from July 1940–January 1946

  Ustaše—A WWII group in Yugoslavia aligned with Nazi Germany and comprised of Fascists, anti-Communists, and Croatian Nationalists

  Chapter One

  How Leave Was Cancelled

  Sunday, September 3, 1944

  Bari, Italy

  The Adriatic sun warmed the inside of the canvas tent to a temperature just shy of stifling. As Major Baker ended the debriefing, Peter Eddy fought back a yawn.

  “Good job, men. Enjoy your leave.”

  Peter stood and stretched. He had enlisted almost three years ago but still loved hearing those words. The thought of leave was especially appealing since his girlfriend had somehow managed to show up at the same Italian base he’d been flown to earlier that morning. Leave with Genevieve—the anticipation was enough to distract him, for a moment, from the knowledge that Nazi Germany was not yet defeated, the war not yet ended.

  Peter paused on his way out of the tent when Jamie Nelson’s hand dug into his arm.

  “Was that man sitting in the tent the entire debriefing?”

  Peter glanced at the man Jamie was staring at, a British major with dark hair slicked back from his square face. “I think so. Why?” Peter hadn’t paid much attention to the men on the back row, assuming they were present with Baker’s permission.

  “‘By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes,’” Jamie muttered under his breath as the major walked toward them. Jamie smiled and met the man halfway across the tent. “Phillip, old boy, delightful to see you again.”

  Peter suspected Jamie’s friendliness was a show, but he shrugged off his curiosity, planning to ask Jamie about it later.

  He followed Sergeant Moretti out of the stuffy tent and into the bright midday sun. A group of children were playing beyond a nearby fence. Moretti grabbed a handful of candy from his pocket and chucked it in their direction. “I swear these Italian kids can smell candy a mile away.”

  Peter checked his pockets, but they didn’t contain anything edible. “Yeah, the Arab kids were like that too. Then their dads would act surprised when I didn’t have any cigarettes.”

  Moretti pulled a Lucky Strike from his pocket and lit it. “Did you tell ’em why?”

  “Naw, I don’t speak Arabic.” And Peter didn’t think any of the English- or French-speaking Arabs had been interested in his religious beliefs.

  “So how’d your girlfriend end up in Bari, sir?” Moretti asked.

  “I’m not sure. I haven’t heard the whole story yet.”

  Moretti raised an eyebrow. He had dark eyes and curly, dark hair. “You had over an hour to talk about it.”

  Peter held back a grin. “I guess our mouths were too busy for much conversation.” They’d had seven weeks’ worth of missed kisses to catch up on.

  Moretti laughed as he found gum to toss to the clamoring children. He was muscular and agile, and like most American troops, he had a soft spot for kids.

  “Do you know how long the paperwork takes for getting married over here?” Peter asked.

  “Couple months, probably. Enough time to come to your senses.”

  Peter frowned at the answer but not because of Moretti’s joke. “I was hoping it was more along the lines of a couple hours.”

  “Well, congrats on your engagement, sir.”

  The simple statement made Peter stop. They’d talked about marriage, but he hadn’t actually asked Genevieve to marry him, had he? “You know, I don’t think I got around to proposing.”

  Moretti laughed again, his deep rumble drawing glances from a few nearby soldiers. “All right, lover boy, our gear’s in there.” He pointed to a nearby tent, one of dozens along a dirt road. “Take your loyal sergeant’s advice, and at least put on a clean uniform before
you propose.”

  Peter glanced at his clothing—threadbare civilian articles meant to blend in with the population in war-torn Romania. His clothes still had bloodstains on them from the mission he and his team had completed the day before.

  “You might wanna consider a bath too.”

  Peter followed Moretti’s counsel and bathed, shaved, and put on a fresh uniform. He was thorough but quick, eager to see Genevieve again. When he emerged from the tent and saw Colonel Gibson waiting for him, his mood fell.

  “Follow me, Lieutenant.”

  Peter obeyed, and Gibson led him into yet another tent. In the dim light, Peter recognized the man Jamie had spoken with earlier.

  “Ah, Lieutenant Eddy. Good of you to join me.” He held his hand out, and Peter shook it. The man’s grip was damp and firm. “I am Major Kimby, SOE. Have a seat.”

  Peter sat in the chair Kimby gestured to, wary after Jamie’s warning. It wasn’t unusual for Jamie to quote Shakespeare, nor was it unusual for Jamie to pretend to like someone he despised, but Peter wished he could ask him what he’d meant before sitting down across from Kimby.

  Gibson nodded to both of them, then left.

  “Well done on your last assignment,” Kimby said.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The man leafed through some paperwork. “Major Baker is flying to England, along with Privates Fisher and Quill. We thought it best to send them to hospital there.”

  Peter wanted to ask why the team’s other injured members weren’t headed for Great Britain too. Luke didn’t have any family there—he was American. But Krzysztof’s parents and younger sister had lived in England since 1939. Peter remembered Jamie’s quote, and rather than asking why the injured Pole wasn’t heading home with the other wounded, he kept his mouth shut.

  “Baker left behind several papers: leave requests, immigration forms, a recommendation that you be promoted.” Kimby shuffled through the forms and put them face down on the metal desk between them. He was about thirty years old, and his speech and carriage hinted at an extensive education and a high social status. “I am afraid we won’t be able to process all of Baker’s requests.”

  Peter nodded, assuming Kimby was about to turn down his promotion. He could even guess the reasons: Gibson, Baker’s superior, hadn’t liked Peter since one of his teammates had launched a practical joke and made Peter late to Gibson’s briefing a month before, and Peter had evacuated two civilians without permission when the team had left Romania. It was a disappointment, but only a small one; Peter was more eager to end the interview and find Genevieve.

  “I am putting together a team and would like you to lead it. I could send you off as a captain.”

  “With all due respect, sir, I would prefer leave over promotion.”

  Kimby stared at him, perplexed, but Peter was serious. He was due for leave, and he wanted to spend time with Genevieve—he’d only seen her for an hour and a half that morning, and though she’d seemed happy during most of their time together, he’d sensed her inner turmoil. Something was bothering her, something big, and he wanted to help her work through it.

  “Well, if that is how you feel, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Peter hoped Kimby would dismiss him, but instead, he picked up another file from his desk. “I am also looking for an agent to go undercover in Berlin. I understand your girlfriend works for OSS and that she speaks German. She might be just the person I need.”

  Peter felt a sudden chill as he met Kimby’s cold, hard eyes. “She wouldn’t pass for a native German. Find someone else.”

  “We can form a cover story to explain her French accent.” Kimby smiled.

  “She’d be suspect the moment she opened her mouth—”

  “I doubt that. She seems to have done an excellent job on her last mission.” Kimby looked through the file as he spoke. “She can write in code, defuse a bomb, she’s a decent shot, a talented seductress—”

  “What?” Seductress? Peter reached for the file, but Kimby held it just out of reach.

  “She gathered her information in a restaurant rather than a bedroom, but still, she shows promise. Plenty of German officers would take a French mistress. I’ll suggest that tactic.”

  Peter’s jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists. With considerable effort, he kept his temper in check. He was willing to pummel Kimby, despite the muscular, six-and-a-half-foot-tall military policeman posted outside the tent, but that would just make things worse. “Sir, I don’t know all the details about Genevieve’s last assignment, but you can’t send her out again. Whatever happened left her a little fragile. She needs rest. If you put her under too much pressure again, she won’t make it.”

  Kimby’s brown eyes studied Peter for a long moment. “I am also in need of a courier here in Bari. Light duty with a senior OSS agent.”

  “You need to release her completely. I think she’s done her fair share and then some to end the war.”

  “I am not much interested in what you think, Lieutenant Eddy. But I will give you a choice. Accept my assignment. You and your team should be back within three days. Your girlfriend will be in Bari when you return. Or you can reject my request, and Genevieve Olivier goes to Berlin.”

  “She’ll turn you down.”

  “I doubt that.” Kimby picked through the file and read out loud. “Agent feels obligated to oppose the Nazis. Duty stems from family history and strong idealism. Unlikely to refuse an assignment if convinced her actions will shorten the war and end the suffering of innocent people.”

  Peter felt his options disappear, knowing a persistent intelligence officer could guilt Genevieve into accepting another mission. He didn’t think she’d agree to pose as someone’s mistress, but the result would be the same: Genevieve would go to Berlin, and it would be her death sentence. Jamie was right, Peter thought. Kimby is something wicked. “When do I leave, sir?”

  “This evening.”

  Peter was shocked. The plane bringing him back from his last mission had landed only hours ago. He’d come awfully close to dying to be sent back out so soon, but he thought of Genevieve going to Berlin and squared his shoulders. “You said something about a team, sir?” Working with men he didn’t know was unappealing, and it seemed there wouldn’t be much time for introductions, let alone training.

  “You can meet them at the briefing. Stay here, and I will round them up.”

  “Sir, I’d like to tell her good-bye.”

  Kimby looked amused. “After the briefing, I’ll see that you have a few minutes.”

  A few minutes? Peter needed a few days or, better yet, a few lifetimes. “Can I at least have some paper, sir?” He felt like a condemned prisoner making his last requests.

  Kimby gave him a few pages and left. Peter heard him tell the guard outside that Peter wasn’t to leave under any circumstances. Peter shook his head. He’d had more freedom in Nazi territory.

  He tried to use his time wisely, writing three letters: two for his family, one for his almost-fiancée.

  As an officer, Peter could censor his own outgoing mail but suspected Kimby would go through it, so he hid two of the letters in his pocket and carefully chose the words for the third letter, the one he planned to send his family that day. He spent the remainder of his time trying to form a plan that could get him and Genevieve back to the States, but all of his ideas ended with him dead or in jail and Genevieve in Germany.

  Peter looked up when Jamie and Moretti walked into the tent. “What are you two doing here?”

  Jamie frowned. “It seems we are about to receive our next assignment.”

  If Jamie and Moretti were going with him, Peter felt better about the mission. But they deserved a break too. “Didn’t you get run over by a fanatical Nazi in a car yesterday?”

  “No,” Jamie said. “I wasn’t run over; I was merely hit. And yes, my back is still misery itself.”

  “Then why are you coming?”

  “If Kimby is dragging yo
u and Moretti into this, I can’t very well sit it out, can I?”

  Peter glanced at the MP’s shadow falling across the tent and lowered his voice. “Tell me about Kimby.”

  Jamie sat in the chair across from Peter and motioned for Moretti to pull another chair over. “You remember what happened when I was in Italy with Wesley?”

  “Yeah,” Peter said. Major Wesley Baker, the man who’d led their previous mission, had worked with Jamie for almost a year before the team had completed their assignment in Romania. “Your cover got blown when you didn’t want to work with a British Communist. An OSS agent warned you, and you slipped out in time, right?”

  Jamie nodded. “Kimby is the Communist. And I suspect the reason for this assignment is less that something needs to be done and more that Kimby wants me out of Italy. So both of you should withdraw before the briefing so he won’t have any excuse to force you along.”

  Peter felt his mouth go dry. He was being dragged away from Genevieve because James Nelson and Phillip Kimby didn’t get along? He was furious with Jamie for about two seconds before remembering Jamie had saved his life yesterday and Jamie had just told him not to go on the mission. But Jamie didn’t know about Kimby’s search for an agent to infiltrate Berlin. “I can’t back out.”

  “Why not?” Jamie asked.

  Peter shook his head when he heard footsteps outside the tent. “Moretti, maybe you should transfer back to the 82nd Airborne.”

  “That wouldn’t be much safer than following you around, would it, sir? Besides, I wouldn’t wanna get bored.”

  Kimby returned with two strangers. One was a British lieutenant with a thin brown mustache and a nervous smile. The other was clean-shaven and wore civilian clothing, with the exception of a cap with a red five-point star emblazoned in its center.

  Jamie glanced at the cap and turned back to Peter and Moretti, lowering his voice to a whisper. “That star is the symbol for the Yugoslav Partisans. You don’t want to come on this mission.”

  “No, I don’t,” Peter said. “But I have to.”