CW: Blood, fighting, death, and other violence. 

I waited for a reply until dawn.

My eyes were growing heavy, my head leaning against the prickly wood-paneled wall, trying to fight off sleep. It was the kind of dreamlike state that sent everything into blurred shades of grey and numb thoughts spiraling into the deepest parts of your mind. Splinters dug into my back and I pressed further into them, trying to keep my eyes open and mind alert but I was so exhausted, it didn't matter. I could have been stormed by the Gestapo themselves and I wouldn't have looked up. It was a dangerous state to be in but I couldn't help it. The pink skies were brightening between my eyelashes, sending rays of soft yellow light across the fields when the keys of my enigma started to whir. Sitting upright, I let my spine straighten, wincing in the sudden sharp pain of my muscles. With bated breath, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, watching as my reply was delivered.

Extraction in works. Stay low. - A

Damn.

There was too much stacked against me. I had been dealt a rough hand and it wasn't looking brighter. The Germans wouldn't have to look hard to find me, they were halfway there already. A photo, that lacked a full view of my face and now, not twenty-four hours after I had been questioned, one of the biggest weapons in their arsenal had been eliminated. It was sloppy work but I had been backed into a corner. I had thrown away most of the training and neglected common sense. The Germans weren't stupid. They would know who I was, even if it took them a minute or two.

I had to admit defeat. I had to ask for extraction. That was a mark of failure to an agent. A part of me wanted to be pulled immediately, to get the hell out of here before the Germans figured out who I was. That was the Ginny side of me, the seventeen-year-old girl who had been offered up like a lamb for slaughter. But Eris, the agent who had trained for this and who had agreed to be the killer she had become, knew what my duty and my orders were. I had already failed the OSS by needing to be extracted. I had to do my job and I would stay in Sainte Marie Du Mont until I was pulled. Even if I wanted to run away.

My mind whirled as I tossed the paper into the metal burn barrel I had rested my head against and lit a match. I had been trained to be ready for anything, extraction or discovery, but as anticipation and suspicions grew, I wasn't sure how much longer Eris could be concealed. Eris was a commanding presence, inciting confrontation and conflict. I would be hard to hide.

Days turned into weeks as I waited for the extraction that Madrid had promised. I laid low, as low as one could in a small town occupied by Germans. I made arrangements for Simone's children to be sent away, not bearing the thought of the blame laying on my shoulders should something happen to them I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I had seen Simone sob on the back step when I told her, weeping over her children's lives that could be easily used as bargaining chips in this bluff we found ourselves in. I was a good liar but lies often took collateral damage when they fell. I didn't want anything to happen to them so we arranged with a fellow resistance fighter to smuggle them out of the country.

Simone kissed her children good-bye in the dead of one April night. I held their hands as I walked them to the edge of town over the cover of night, passing their cold fingers over to the waiting palms of the resistance fighter. I almost whispered a prayer as I watched them go as if I was in a cathedral under the eyes of the stone-cold saints and not in the fields of Normandy beneath the stars. That was the last time I saw Max, Linette, and Little Lillie Gachot, in war or peace.

April slipped away, the Germans still bringing in weapons though nothing on the scale of the Flak that I had taken out of action but the guards had been doubled. I would have liked to destroy the whole garrison but that was a little too conspicuous, considering the thin ice I now stood upon. Rolls of film were a thing of the past, replaced with anticipation and breathless fear. I didn't sleep much, plagued by the memory of cold fingers in my hands and the swirling smooth silk around my legs as I whirled to the song of my own discovery.

As May dawned, there was still the anticipation in the air, I could feel it wherever I went, which wasn't far these days. The Germans had taken my roost upon the bell tower in the church and were swarming the streets, their sentries watching day and night. Tensions were growing, searches more frequent. Simone and I were secluded in our house, hardly leaving. I sat outside in the garden, watching the skies, trying to find a sign in the clouds or the stars. A sign that whatever was coming was a good thing, that my extraction would be soon.

As May closed, the tensions in Sainte-Marie-Du-Mont were as suffocating as the fog that choked the streets. I had taken a risk by bringing my equipment from the skeletal barn, wishfully thinking that it would be difficult to fetch my equipment in case of sudden news. I was anxious to hear from Madrid and the thought of the Germans finding the equipment and intercepting a message made me concerned enough to hide it all in the attic of Simone's home, behind a loose panel. If I was caught, I would lose it all but I had calculated the risk and I was willing to take it.

On the 1st of June, 20:00, the sky darker than the black cloth of my OSS Special Ops uniform hidden in the depths of my pack, I slipped up to the attic after dinner and sat by the enigma machine, waiting. This had become a ritual, every evening for weeks now with no luck or news but I continued to go. I had to keep the routine for fear of missing something. Missing a small piece of information.

I had been lulled by the sound of Simone washing the dishes, listening to her radio. I hadn't slept through the night in weeks and had spent my days in a constant state of anxiety-driven anticipation. Soft French crooned up the stairs and through the floorboards, soothing me into an almost dreamlike state when the clattering of the machine jolted me awake. Through the light of the streetlamps that trickled in through a low window, I read the message.

Extraction Imminent. Charlie. -A

I had no idea what Charlie meant but my heart soared with the thought of being withdrawn soon. After two months, I had started to think they had forgotten about me. It wasn't uncommon for agents not to understand messages. If we didn't understand the meaning at first, it would pass unnoticed by the Germans and we would be all the better for it. I burned the paper, slipped the equipment back into hiding, and made my way back downstairs.

I had just locked the door to the attic when there was a knock, nay a fist, upon the front door. Peering out the nearest window, I saw two figures and a car idling in the street. My stomach felt like a bag of rocks, dragging me down. I sped down the hallway, trying to reach the door before Simone opened it but only made it to the landing before she stepped aside to let the two men in.

Looking up at me was Captain Wagner, the man who had first removed me from the square, and a thin private who looked as if his rifle was much too heavy for his sapling-like body. I wasn't thrilled to see my old friend again or this new face. House calls from soldiers didn't bode well, in my experience.

"Good evening," I said, joining them in the hall as if this was just a social call. I had to keep some level of fear in my eyes or they would be suspicious but I knew that this day would come; I had been anticipating it for weeks.

They had not responded to my niceties, instead, the captain gruffly said, "Ms. Leblanc, we need to take you in for questioning."

I wasn't afraid of being caught or any of the things that went along with it. It was a possibility that was always hanging in the back of my mind. I had made peace with it over the two months of waiting but, looking over at Simone's frightened eyes, something did stir inside me. Catching her gaze, I gave her a reassuring smile and in the squeeze of my hand in her own, a message. If I don't come back, get a message to Madrid and destroy my equipment.

She would know what to do.

"Very well," I said, my hands trembling as I offered my wrists to them. They would think it was fear but the adrenaline was already rushing through my veins like white-water rapids of a mountain river.

I had gone boating with Davis and Lydia once. We were tossed about like a ship in an ocean storm. The current was swift and wanted to carry you wherever it wished, fighting it would only lead to exhaustion and drowning. I knew, like that river, I would have to allow these Germans to do their will. I would wait until the cards were in my favor before I could fight back. They hooded me, which was expected. In the stuffy confines of the wool bag, I formulated my plan of action. I didn't want to be hunted. I knew I had two options in the interrogation that was sure to follow. Well, three really, I said to myself.

One, I could fight them off. Two, I could tell them what I knew. This wasn't an option, no matter how dire the circumstances. But there was an out that every agent had been given. A rubber molar embedded in my gum, and smooth beneath my tongue, that hid a small white pill. I had three options but I would never speak. So I could kill them or I could end my life. And I wasn't ready to die yet.

In the confines of that hood, my breath hot and suffocating, I knew Miriam wouldn't have panicked. She was an immovable force. But I knew that Miriam wouldn't have a place in my mind. I shuddered. The OSS hadn't trained Miriam. The OSS hadn't sent Miriam to Normandy. They had sent me.

"Show us what you can do,"

I had been chosen for this mission, for this name because of what I could do. Adonis wanted me to show the OSS what I was capable of. I wouldn't speak. I wouldn't break. If I had to die, it would be because of my silence. My mission, fellow agents, my country would not suffer on my account. I had been given a mission and I would see it through to the end.

I was wrestled out of the car and through my hood, I could taste the salty breeze of the ocean. We were at the German's outpost just outside of town but the night wind was sending sea spray from the east. I had spent many nights surveilling its movements, the comings, and goings of the guard but I had never entered its concrete confines.

Down several steps, I stumbled, into a musty smelling room that reeked of pipe smoke and metal before the hood was ripped from my face. I blinked, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dim lamplight of the room.

It wasn't the brig as I had expected. I had assumed I would be thrown into a cell, under watch and under lock and key while they gauged my likeness to that of the photograph. I would be questioned in my cell. That's what I had expected. But I didn't expect to be escorted to an officer's room, a long sand table with German positions below a wall full of maps, headquarters marked and the German line penciled in. Behind a desk, covered in papers was the officer himself.

He looked like every other officer I had seen, and I had been around many of them during my time as a child of two government agents. They were all the same: harsh faces, chest bedecked with ribbons and bits of tin that proclaimed loudly years of dedicated service. I rested my feet more comfortably on the cool concrete floor, not intimidated by this man's medals or expression. I had met many an American like him, what difference did a German make?

"Sir," The captain said in German, clapping into a salute before pushing me closer to the desk. "This is Leblanc."

"Guten Abend, Fraulein Leblanc," The officer said, his sleeve declaring him an Oberst or a Colonel. Why an Oberst was in the field, in the basement of a garrison, I had no idea. I must have been more of a bother to the Germans than I had thought. "Or perhaps you wish to be called Eris?"

I wasn't surprised that he knew my codename. Agents weren't surprised. But I allowed myself to be taken aback that they already knew I was Eris.

Roll with the punches, I thought and smiled. "Whichever you would prefer, sir."

"So you do not deny the title of 'Eris'?" He asked, speaking in French but I knew he was just doing it to toy with me. I shrugged, this man was good but I had been taught how to stay ahead of people. To think a moment before they did. Felix thought this way often and provided little in way of explanation. To think in terms of survival was something I had learned in his training and something I carried with me.

"You seem convinced," I said. My arms were still in handcuffs, stuck behind my back.

"We are not convinced, miss," The officer said, tossing a photo across the desk.

I looked down. It had been taken at the same time as the previous photo. I was now able to place a time, the off-the-shoulder dress of my first mission on European soil looked just as rich and fine on print as it had been in person. Paris 1942. I had been on my way to Normandy, to my new position as a sleeper agent. Where they had gotten these shots, I had no idea. I had been told to pass off information to a group of resistance fighters in Paris. I hadn't been alone. Felix and Keres had been with me and I had done my job. It had been a success, no one knew I was there. It had been that success and the intelligence I had passed had only left one mark in my notebook. One mark. The first mark.

"But you deny that this is you?"

The birthmark upon my collarbone was very prominent in this photo and it burned beneath my shirt, searing the cotton. I merely looked at the photo for a heartbeat longer before meeting his gaze. I didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. The captain shifted behind me.

"I'm sure," The colonel pressed, not taking my silence as an ample answer. "That if we opened your shirt now, we would find this birthmark."

He nodded to his captain, who stepped forward and ripped open my blouse, buttons clattering to the ground. The cool air sent my skin prickling in gooseflesh, as the soldier pulled the shirt wide enough to show my birthmark. I didn't care that my brazier was now on full display, I was too concentrated on my fingers' work behind my back. I cautiously worked my knife -the blade that was always concealed in the waistband of my trousers- free behind my back.

"Well, Eris, Berlin will be quite happy to see you." The colonel put the photo back into a folder, all the evidence he needed now before him. "I'm sure you will receive a warm welcome."

With the captain close, his weak points were open for attack. I took my chance, digging my elbow deep into his exposed side, feeling his rib crack beneath the blow. I had been waiting for the perfect window and I had been given one, however short. I needed to turn the cards in my favor.

Every second of the drill sergeant's training in hand to hand combat came flooding back to me. He had screamed them at me for my entirety in Camp X and I had grown so used to his constant criticism that it was almost comforting to hear him in my mind telling me that my form was shit. With all the strength I could muster, I buried my elbow deeper into his side, feeling his breath in a loud exhale on my neck. As I twisted out of his grasp, I kicked his knee hearing it snap loudly. Seeing the small private approach like a frightened animal, I pulled my knife free and drove it into his stomach before kicking his groin with the toe of my boot. I pulled my knees through my arms. Though still bound by metal and lock, I could at least brandish a weapon in front of me.

Now for the Colonel. This man was much bigger than I, but so had every other man at Camp X and I had managed just fine. I pulled one of the croupier rakes off the sand table and delivered three sharp blows to the officer's midsection before cracking it soundly across his head. He crumpled to the floor.

I knelt beside the captain, looking for his weapon and the keys to my restraints. I knew getting out of this compound would be a nightmare and the cool feeling of the pistol's grip in my newly freed hand eased some of the panic I could feel rising in my chest. Knowing that no one who knew that Eris was in France could live, I took my knife and slit every throat. The blood sprayed across my hand, hot and sticky.

Don't look at the faces, don't look at the blood.

Tucking the knife back into my waistband, I grabbed the photos and stuffed them into my brazier before buttoning up my blouse. My cover would surely be blown now, even if no one knew I was Eris, I would still be known as the girl who killed three of their own.

With hot, sticky blood in one hand and a cold pistol in the other, I took a steadying breath. I had to hide. And I had to get a message to Madrid. Looking down at the three bodies scattered on the floor around me, I sighed softly. That had been sloppy.

Better luck next time.