Start of New Story - needs a title!!

This is the start of a new story which I began rather suddenly.  The idea had been brewing for awhile, and then suddenly I was writing it!  However, contrary to my other stories, this one is so far without a title, and I am having trouble thinking of one.   I would greatly appreciate any critiques/advice and possible titles.  Enjoy!  :)

Introduction:

Almost as if she was haunted, yet didn’t know it – her eyes held the light of present happiness and distant pain.  Her heritage, perhaps gave that to her.  Nothing could be better – but life had been a lot worse.  She was short, and when opened her mouth, she spoke with a thick accent – unknown to any tribe or nation.  Her speech, slurred with the unmistakable twang of past horror, was often mocked at and hence she rarely spoke.  Her clothes, stylish and bring didn’t seem to match her sinister, troubled dark eyes.  Only her heart betrayed her – under a carefully fabricated screen of nonchalance and merriment, it broke with every step she took.

His hands were always moving - quick and impulsive. They were quick to help; quick to be kind.  His whole demeanour was exciting, pleased with the world and even more pleased to be in it.  There was no underlying pain, no harboured secrets.  The day was sunny, and he was too.  You could know him an hour, and walk away confident in the knowledge that you everything about him.  One wouldn’t say he was shallow or empty – for sincerity rang true in every action.  Simplistic and idealistic, untroubled by reality, and he was ready to meet the day.

Charis jumped down behind the box, breathing hard.  She wasn’t sure what was happening, but she knew that she didn’t want to be a part of it.  Any closer and she would run again, she thought, eyeing the guards who were marching in perfect synchronization.  She wasn’t sure if she could win this one, but she had to try.  Her life depended on it.  She swallowed hard, and placed a hand on her pounding heart, willing it slow down and calm the rest of her body.  She took a deep breath, and then another, trusting in her ability to get away, trying not to think, trying not plan her next move, but rather let instincts take over.  She was so close; a few more minutes would get her there! Could she do it?  Charis knew that she must.

Zylen staggered around the corner, not seeing where he was going, and not caring.  He pounded the pavement with his feet, his feet aching, but not complaining, carrying him on, towards safety, towards freedom.  He was aware of people ducking and swaying out the way, and he ducked and swayed with them, weaving his way through the throng which was gathering and growing with every passing minute.  He knew he had no choice but to keep on going.  He was in danger; every increasing moment only heightened the tension.  But, despite the very real possibility that these were his last few minutes on earth, he felt highly exhilarated and strong in his ability – for it was for this that he had been made.

  

Part 1

“So you’ll take the job?” Colonel Achziger demanded.  It was not a question as a statement.  He raised his eyebrows, his fingers tapping on the table, somewhat impatiently, somewhat nervously.

 Charis gulped.  She leafed through the stack of papers on the desk, looking through the terms and list of duties once more; although she had read them so many times that she could recite them from heart. …your duties would include 1) going into enemy camps 2) standing as a communications officer 3) reporting back to headquarters at least once a week…. And the list went on and on.  Being a spy was dangerous work, but Colonel Achziger wanted an answer, and now.  Charis gulped again, and held out her hand shakily, “I’ll….I’ll take the job, Colonel.”

“Good.”  He drew out the word with a sneer in his voice that made Charis suddenly doubt her decision.  He smiled, but to Charis’ jolted nerves, his smile appeared more like a serpent, ready to make a kill.  She shuddered, and turned her attention to the clock which was sitting on the desk.  Eight-thirty a.m. she thought, the day has hardly begun.  I wonder where I’ll be at the end of it.  She jumped as Colonel Achziger started to talk.

“You’ll report for duty at noon sharp.  You will be briefed before boarding the plane and will land in the vicinity by nightfall.”  He leaned in closer, “This is a dangerous job, Comrade Charis, be careful, because once you land, your only contact with us is through radio – there will be no get out quick plan.  If there is an emergency – and by that I mean a situation where more than your life is at risk – then you call us, and you describe the situation, and we will determine what, if anything, there is to be done.  Do you understand?”

Charis nodded, “I understand that you are stranding me once I land - why would that be?”

Colonel Achziger frowned, “You are not important – your job is important.  This country is important.  The battle is important.  Nothing, repeat, nothing will stand in the way of the Third Reich.  Who are you to call on emergency support because you are careless enough to get yourself into trouble?”

Charis said nothing.  She had learnt from experience that silence was her best option.  She remained silent, but her dark eyes spoke volumes.  She stared straight at Colonel Achziger, until he fidgeted, bringing his hand down on the desk with a slam to cover the feeling of being cowed by this mere girl who stood before him. 

“Who are you?!?” He repeated in a thunderous voice, “To challenge the Third Reich?”

This time, Charis answered, but she kept her voice low and modulated, “Yes – Colonel Achziger, who am I?  Why was I chosen for such a mission?”

Colonel Achziger waved his hands around in a dismissive gesture, “That doesn’t matter.  You are chosen, and you have a duty to complete.”  Then he must have thought better of all the gesturing and blustering.  He lowered his voice and said in a calmer tone, “You were chosen because you are one of us, but you look like one of them.” 

Charis sat back, her eyes showing pain, but her face motionless.  “I am not one of them,” she said quietly, but threating, “And I will thank you never to refer to my looks again.”

Colonel Achziger opened his mouth to reprove the tone and lack of respect which had unmistakably risen into Charis’ voice.  Then he looked at her steely eyes, and closed his mouth.  Charis might only be a girl, but she was tough, and strong.  Her eyes held no pity, and were hardened with the experience of a life exposed to war early.  She had no fear when she was riled.  Colonel Achziger was a coward, but no fool.  He knew when to back down. 

“Comrade Charis,” he snapped briskly, “Report to commissioning office at noon.  Dismissed.”

Charis gave one small nod of the head, then turned and left the room.  She closed the office door, and took a few shaky steps.  Her vision was blurred, and she sank quietly into a nearby chair, resting her head in her hands.  She took several deep shuddering breaths, before she recovered her composure.  Her eyes filled with tears at the overflow of emotion – but they didn’t fall.  Two hard years of training had seen to that.  Charis squared her shoulders and marched away, to prepare her pack and report to the Commission office.

Once at the office, Charis receive her specific mission.  She was to infiltrate the English camp in France, posing as a school graduate, straight out of Communication training.  She would be the only Nazi in the area, and so would be the only source of news.  If Hitler was going to succeed, she would need to succeed.  Despite Colonel Achziger’s speech about her unimportance, his peers were putting a lot of faith and trust in her.  They had to trust her, for she was the only who could do the job.  No-one else had her English looks, and few had the training which she had received.  No-one knew who she was, or where she had come from.  They had not asked, and Charis had not offered any information.   Indeed, if asked, Charis would become tight-lipped, and her eyes would flash fire – just like when Colonel Achziger had mentioned her looks.  The past was a mystery to her – and Charis was content to leave it as such.

“Comrade Charis…come in Comrade,” the pilot said, swinging down from the cock pit where he had been making a few final adjustments to the controls before taking off.  Charis jumped, and started forward.

“Sorry, sorry Comrade Ralph,” she stuttered, grabbing her pack and advancing a few paces.  Ralph took her pack and swung it into the plane, then reached out his hand to help Charis into the plane.  She accepted his help without a word, and quickly adjusted her seat-belt.  Ralph swung the propeller and jumped into the cockpit, starting the engine.  It chugged a few times before roaring into life and starting down the runway.  It quickly gained speed and acceleration, and within a few minutes was high in the air. 

 Charis said nothing as the plane took off and she said nothing until it had touched down in the outskirts of Paris, in a secluded runway, hidden from English eyes and French knowledge.  Charis threw down her pack, and then stepped lightly down after it.  Ralph was there to help her down.  He looked keenly at her, and then asked in a lowered voice, “Are you okay, Comrade Charis?  Do you want me to take you home?”

For a minute, Charis’ resolve almost crumbled.  She looked up at Ralph and her eyes flickered with the tears that threatened to fall.  She shook her head, “No, running away is not my duty or my practise.”  She hesitated, then said in a softer tone that belied her impenetrable appearance, “But thankyou anyway.”

Ralph nodded and moved to step in the plane, “Regardless of what old Colonel says, if you get in trouble, send a radio signal, and I’ll do my best to be here.”

Charis didn’t answer, merely nodded and turned away.  Ralph started the engine and the little plane soared high into the air.  Charis suddenly felt small, unprotected and very alone.  She shivered and moved to pick up her pack of things.  Quickly, she changed her clothes, from a strict Nazi uniform to the causal working clothes of an English woman.  She slipped the radio transmitter into its secret pocket in the lining of her coat, and the extra battery into the hem of her skirt.  She had no weapons, as she was being recruited for communication services – not front line fighting.  If the English saw fit to arm her, all the better – she would appreciate the extra protection a gun would bring.  If they did not, she would simply rely on the training and the skill which had been ingrained into her throughout her training.

  Charis sat down and made a hasty and cold meal of some water, berries and army bread – coarse, dry bread that lasted forever and tasted like it.  She finished her meal and gathered up any remaining crumbs which would alert enemies to her presence.  She dug a hole and buried her Nazi uniform, along with her empty pack and rubbish from her meal.  Then she wrapped herself up in a blanket, and curled up under a bush, and tried to sleep.

___________________________________________________________

She awoke long before the sun had risen.  The ground was wet with the light rain which had fallen overnight, and Charis shivered as she rose, stretching to release to cramped muscles.  She rubbed her eyes wearily and looked around her.  The landscape, still dark and half enshrouded by mist was eerie, and Charis shivered again, but this time not from the cold.  She hurriedly rolled up her blanket, washed her hands and face in the freezing creek nearby, and headed out, determined to reach the road before the sun or any travellers saw her. 

Charis walked on in the dark, stumbling and tripping along the small narrow track which she could just make out in the pre-dawn light.  She made it to the road, and thankful for the sun which was now just peeping up over the hills, continued on her way in a more confident and brisk walk.  Asking directions along the way, Charis found the recruiting camp a mere six miles from where she had stayed overnight.  Of course, she had walked much more than six miles, as the road twisted and turned, and she had been far off-course when she began.  Charis didn’t mind the delay, she was happy to put off the moment which caused the greatest danger to her.  If the soldiers at the recruiting office did not authenticate her identity, or even suspected that she was of a nationality, then she would not succeed – but would rather be arrested, held for trial, and most likely removed from this life. 

But the inevitable moment couldn’t be held off forever, and, sooner than Charis would have liked, she found herself in line at the registration office.  When her number was called, some hours later, she rose, and, feigning confidence, she went forward to the desk, and presented her identification number.

“Charis Char, citizen of England, requesting admittance into the Allied Forces, as a communication officer, on field in France.”

“Yes sir,” Charis stood smartly, at attention.  She had allowed a Yorkshire accent to creep into her voice.  It was not a strong one, for she knew that a true Yorkshire man would notice the errors if she were to attempt a broad accent.  Instead she went for a slight lilt on her words, which would sound British to any ear, but gave no room for close listening. 

“Hmm,” the Lieutenant grunted, thumbing through her papers, which she had handed over at the point of entry, “You know, communications is one of the most important areas of the army.”

“I know that sir,” Charis said, keeping her voice steady, but her knees began trembling.

“People who are hired in this area cannot be too patriotic, too loyal, or too tight-lipped.”

This time, Charis said nothing.  It appeared to be the right answer, for the Lieutenant smiled briefly, giving a small nod of recognition.  “It is not up to me to decide who enters the communication department, I can only check that all your papers are in order and send a letter of my own recommendation.”  He scribbled down on the nearby piece of paper several lines, and then stapled it to the front of her recommendation chart.  He looked up at Charis, “You’ll know within the day or maybe early tomorrow.  In the meantime, you can report in at tent number 7A, and unpack your things.  If you can’t make it into the communications, I’m sure there will be a place for you somewhere else.”

Charis nodded briefly once, and left the tent.  She wandered around the rows of tents and other equipment until she found 7A, and entered, stooping to get under the low roof.  At first, she could see nothing, then, as her eyes adjusted, she noticed that the tent contained four beds, and three of them were occupied. 

She moved towards the empty one, and sat down, acutely conscious of the fact that three other pairs of eyes were on her.  She cleared her throat, mentally switched on her accent, and then spoke carefully, “Lieutenant told me to bed in here.”

One of the other girls nodded, “Lieutenant - the one at the registration office?”  Charis nodded.  “Oh, that’s Lieutenant Zylen Hayes.  He takes care of the all the new comers.”

Another of the girls swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and sat up, “So you are new here?”

Charis nodded, and took the offered hand, “Charis Char.”

“Charis Char, that’s an interesting name,” the look on the girl’s face clearly said ‘what were your parent’s thinking?’ but she simply replied, “I’m Mary James, fighter pilot.”

“Betty Smith,” the first girl said, “I’m an on field nurse.”

“Daphne Franks,” the third girl said, speaking for the first time.  Charis could clearly hear the American accent in her voice.  Daphne was tall, and strongly built. She held out her hand, and shook’s Charis’ with a vigour that made Charis want to wince.  “I’m a communications officer.  What department are you in?”

Charis’ heart had sunk when she heard that Daphne was the officer of communications, she would probably be working under her.  It was one thing to work as a spy – quite another to deceive and betray one’s roommates and co-workers.  Charis suddenly realised that all the girls were waiting expectedly for her answer.  How long had she let her thoughts run?  She reddened and said hastily, “Oh, I’ve applied for communications, the Lieutenant; I mean Lieutenant Hayes, said I would know either tonight or early tomorrow.”  The girls all nodded, and settled back on their beds.  After a moment of silence, quiet chatter filled the room, as they picked up their conversation where they had left of.  Charis leaned back against her pillows, listening to the stories and observations which the girls were sharing.  She suddenly wished that they could all be friends.  She mentally shook her head, clearing her thoughts.  She was a Nazi! She was a spy! And she must not let the Third Reich down, or she would undoubtedly pay for it with her life.

___________________________________________________________

True to his word, later that afternoon, Lieutenant Hayes sent a messenger to tent 7A requesting Charis Char to come and report to his office immediately.  Charis arose, her heart once again full of unreasonable fear.  Her nervousness must have showed, for Betty gave her a reassuring smile, and a thumbs up.  Charis returned the smile, and although the gesture was an unfamiliar one, she recognized it for a sign of encouragement.  On the way to the office, Charis scolded herself harshly for letting her feelings show so easily.  She must be calm, she must be smooth, and she must be completely in control, all the time.  By the time she reached the tent marked ‘registration’ Charis was calm and collected.  She entered the tent, expecting to have to wait in line, but, to her surprise, found Lieutenant Hayes alone at his desk, tapping away furiously on his typewriter.  He didn’t look up, and by the studious look on his face, Charis realised that he hadn’t heard her enter.  Lieutenant Hayes was tall, Charis could tell that even though he was sitting down.  His hair and eyes were brown, and although he was obviously young, professionalism and experience spoke clearly in every move that he made.  Charis wondered about his back story, how one so young was in a position of high importance.  She wondered who his parents were, and if they had been successful in the army as well.  Lieutenant Hayes looked up, and saw Charis standing there.

“Oh.  I’m sorry; I didn’t hear you come in.  You must be a soft walker,” he said, laying aside the typewriter, and coming to his feet.

Charis made no reference to his greeting, but came directly to the point.  “You sent for me, Lieutenant Hayes?”

He nodded, his frank blue eyes looking down at her.  Now that he was standing, Charis realised that ‘tall’ was an understatement.  Lieutenant Hayes was at least six foot four, she thought, and her own five foot two seemed exaggerated when he stood in front of her.  Lieutenant Hayes must have also felt the height difference, for he sat back down before speaking again, “I presented your application to the council, and after careful consideration, they are willing to accept you as one of the communications team.”  He paused to see how Charis was taking the news.  She kept her face neutral.  Lieutenant Hayes gave a slight smile of approval before continuing, “However, they did express an interest in the lack of personal background details on your identification details….” He left the sentence hanging, but Charis remained silent. 

Lieutenant Hayes tried again, “We decided that it wasn’t enough to refuse you the job, though, because you are unusually well qualified, and we have a shortage of officers at the moment.  But we were wondering if you could elaborate?”

            Charis once again said nothing.  Lieutenant Hayes repeated, a little more forcefully, “Miss Char, we need to know your history.  As your superior, I command you to elaborate.”

            Charis opened her mouth, and then closed it.  Her face reddened, and then paled.  She went so pale, that Lieutenant Hayes jumped up from his chair and helped her to another straight-backed chair.  She murmured her thanks, taking several deep breathes. 

            Lieutenant Hayes drew up another chair close to her, and said quietly, “I didn’t mean to frighten you, Miss Char.  We are interested in your backstory, but allow me to restate that you have already hold the position.  We aren’t tyrannical, and no-one is going to force you.  It is a bit unconventional, but your qualifications are too good to pass up.”

            To her chagrin, Charis’ eyes filled with tears.  She brushed them away hastily.  She knew the reason for her sudden tears.  She was struck with the differences between the Nazis and the Allies.  Lieutenant Hayes genuinely seemed to care about the soldiers under his care.  To Colonel Achziger, she was no more than a tool, a tool to get the Third Reich to where they wanted to be.  However, she must not give in to her secret mission.  Charis waved her hands in front of her face, “Sorry.  I truly am, Lieutenant Hayes,” she said.  “I have no secrets to hide.  It’s just that…my family was….killed in a bomb raid while holidaying in Austria before the war.  Those horrid Germans bombed the seaside, and no-one survived.  I was in London at the time, working as a house maid.   But when I heard about the disaster, I decided I was going to do my part.  I was accepted into training schools, and came straight here.”

            “I am sorry for your loss, Miss Char.” Lieutenant Hayes said, “And I understand your desire to keep your story personal.  I will notify council that it is okay.  But your training, surely you couldn’t complete such extensive training in less than six months.”

            Charis shrugged her shoulders.  She said quietly, “My decision to revenge my family was not a hasty one, Lieutenant.  I had been training outside army regulations for some previous months.”

            Lieutenant Hayes nodded.  Her story made sense.  He dismissed it from his current train of thoughts, “Well, you will need to know your duties.”  He rose and walked around his desk, reaching inside for some papers which were resting under his typewriter. 

            “Because of the top-secret nature of this job, we use a secret code to send all our messages, and a different one to receive them.  You will be required to memorize both, as quick deciphering could be the differences between victory and defeat.”  He handed both sheets of paper to her, “These are the two codes.  Study them, learn them, and then burn them.  Like I said, they are top secret, and we don’t want them to fall into unfavourable hands.” 

            Charis nodded, her hand reaching for the paper.  She didn’t glance at them, but she knew she was holding the secrets to the war.  She couldn’t wait to file them back to the Headquarters. 

            “I think the Communication Head of Office – an American by the name of Daphne Franks – is in your tent? Have you met her?”

            “Yes – she introduced herself earlier.”

            “Well, she will guide you around tomorrow, as it is getting late now, and let you know what your duties will be.  If you can head over to the admin tent, you can get fitted out with a uniform.  I think that is all.”

            “Thankyou, Lieutenant Hayes.”  Charis saluted, Lieutenant Hayes responding by touching his hat, and she left the tent.

            _________________________________________________________

            Lieutenant Hayes lay awake that night in his tent.  It wasn’t the unusual heat which made the air hot and stifling which was keeping him awake, nor was it the long list of tasks he had to complete in the morning.  He was thinking about their new recruit, Charis Char, he thought her name was. 

            He had put in a good word for her at the council, not because he knew her or her history, as he normally made it a point to find out before presenting anyone for the delicate task of communications.  Rather, he had been swayed by her list of skills and training she had had in that area.  A captain himself would hardly be more qualified.  Where had she come from?  True, she had said she was from London, and her accent seemed to qualify it.  Still, she had offered no family names or connections, and from her obvious reluctance to talk about them, he guessed they wouldn’t be told.  Doubts suddenly assailed him, but he quelled them with the requirements the British army had outlined to accept a soldier.  1. The applicant must be between 18 and 50 years of age. 2. They must be of British, or British Commonwealth citizenship. 3. All applicants must past a medical check. 4. All applicants must have sufficient field skills before apply on the battle field.  He sighed.  Charis Char definitely fitted all of those requirements.  There was something about Charis, he thought, and then it hit him – her large, dark eyes.  Although she had kept her features properly neutral, her eyes were forever conveying messages, and messages which he couldn’t interpret.  She had seemed like a tortured being, he thought. It must be the deaths of her family that is haunting her, and revenging them is bringing back memories. Lieutenant Hayes resolved to be especially kind and considerate to her, to let her know that even though they were fighting a war, and had a million things to do, they tried to put their soldiers first, and tried never to be too busy to listen.  He rolled over, and feigned a yawn, to try and trick himself into believing that he was sleepy.  But it was no use.   After another hour of lying there awake, Lieutenant Hayes got up and did some work. 

            ______________________________________________________

            Charis didn’t sleep much that night either.  Her thoughts were swirling around and around in circles.  Her tender nature pricked her hard for telling a false hood, but what else could she have said?  She didn’t know her past, didn’t know who were parents were, and she definitely couldn’t tell Lieutenant Hayes where she had grown up – or to whom she had pledged her alliance.  She thought back to when Colonel Achziger had briefed her before sending her out on her mission.  She heard his harsh voice saying, “You are not important.  The third Reich is important.  This mission is important.” She shivered despite the heat of the night.  He had been so….so sinister and she had felt frightened.  Then she turned her thoughts to Lieutenant Hayes.  He had been consideration and sincerity itself.  When she had nearly lost it – any comment about her past got her temper up and her eyes snapping – he had been genuinely sorry for her loss.  Charis recalled him in her thoughts, his tall frame, with his open, frank eyes.  Despite the amount of suffering and war he would have experienced in his career, he still held the joy of life in his eyes.  Charis shook her head angrily.  She was a Nazi – she was their enemy, and she was there to infiltrate the system, and send back the information to the Berlin headquarters.  Charis allowed the words to circle in her head, they killed my family, and I am alone because of them.  She continue to chant the words which had been grounded into her at the orphanage until her eyes clouded with unspeakable pain, her teeth were clenched, and her heart filled with a cold, steely hate.   

            ____________________________________________________________

           

            A loud bugle call jolted Charis out of her sleep.  She sat up, rubbing her eyes. 

            “Good morning sleepy-beauty!” Mary sang out from the tent door, “We’ll meet you in the mess hall.”

            Charis nodded, and nearly answered in German, but she caught herself just in time, and put on the soft London accent, “Morning, I’ll be there in a minute.”

            She swung her legs out of bed, and sat there a moment, yawning, and rubbing the sleep from her eyes.  She thought about her near miss, and resolved to always think twice before thinking, to give herself a chance to slip into character.  Charis dressed quickly, made her bed, and, suspiciously looking around to make sure she was truly alone, made sure that her radio and battery pack were in place.   She would be getting her new uniform today, and, not knowing whether her dress would be returned or not, she hid the radio in the mattresses, and carefully remade the bed over the slight lump. 

            She could hear the rest of the camp awakening, and hurried out into the bright day.  She made her way to the mess tent, and found that Daphne had saved her a spot. 

            “Thankyou,” Charis murmured as she slipped into place. 

            “No worries.  I have already eaten, but saved you some toast and tea.  I knew you Brits all like your tea a particular way, so I hope this is alright.  I don’t drink tea.  Rather fond of coffee, actually.  I managed to dig some up from the kitchen somewhere.”

            Charis thanked her again, and bit into her toast.   Determinedly, she took a sip of tea.  She much preferred coffee as well, thick and dark – but she couldn’t tell Daphne that.  The tea was hot, and with the heat, which Charis was thankful for.  The sheer temperature of the drink disguised most of the taste.