The sappers followed David, Bryce and Gerrard through the tunnel, and as they all walked up the slope past the vineyards, David said, "We will hold off celebrating until after you've joined the tunnel to the cellar. How long do you estimate?"

Gerrard shrugged. "Two weeks, maybe a bit more."

"That long? Why?"

"The trench is easy. Breaking through the house foundation without weakening the wall above is more difficult. More time but less difficult is covering the trench. A full caisson ... how do you say in English?"

"The same – we use the French word. So you need to build one?"

"Yes, with the loose soil, rainwater will penetrate, and this will erode the sides and risk collapsing the cover, so we need more than only setts." He grinned. "I do not mind the extra time – it will keep us longer from returning to the trenches of Belgium."

David chuckled. "Fine then. Brief your men, clean up and join us in the schloss for dinner."

"All of us?"

"No, I should have been clearer. The cooks are preparing dinner in the mess – for them and the returned agents."

Gerrard nodded, and as he led his men toward the mess. Bryce said, "A far more complex operation than I had envisioned."

"Yes, the caisson –"

"Not that, David. The mess, the cooks, the team of sappers, all the agents ..." He paused and swept an arm around the courtyard. "The schloss, the outbuildings, the infrastructure."

"Undercover operations needn't be uncomfortable." David grinned and pointed toward the kitchen door. "Our bags will still be in the hallway. Let's take them up to our rooms, refresh and join the others."

Bryce laughed. "What? No porter?"

"Difficult to find one with top-secret clearance and a need to know, though joking aside, the men usually take them up, but most are still away in Germany."

Rachel met them at the kitchen door, flour on one forearm and colour high in her cheeks. "At last. Tante said if you didn't come soon, she would send me down the slope to drag you all back by the ears."

Georg laughed and slipped an arm around her waist. "No need. I knew the tunnel would keep them until they had measured every inch twice and dreamed three more uses for it."

"Four," Bethia called from within. "And if you all remain standing there admiring your cleverness, the supper will spoil. Upstairs. Wash. See if you can make it back down before the platters are on the table."

David chuckled and led Bryce in and along the hall toward the stairs. "You've just learnt the true command structure of Sonnenhang."

Refreshed and back downstairs several minutes later, David led Bryce into the dining room to see Georg, Karl and Horst already seated, and not long after they had settled, Rachel wheeled in a trolley, accompanied by the enticing aromas of grilled meat and browned butter.

Bethia followed her, transferring platters onto the long table – sliced chicken, two varieties of sausage, butter-fried spaetzle, braised cabbage and baskets of bread still warm from the oven.

Bryce watched in silence for a while, then said, "Good God. "I had thought the Ambassador's residence was abundant, but this is something else again."

David smiled. "Ah, but at the residence, they dine. Here, we feast."

"And we celebrate," Bethia added, as she placed the last platter. 

Then, untying her apron and hanging it on the trolley rail, she turned toward her seat as Gerrard rushed in. "Sorry, I had to remove the tunnel from my body."

As Gerrard scooted to his seat, Karl rose, pulled out Bethia's chair, and assisted her into it, while Georg did the same for Rachel. After the platters and wine bottles had been passed, David lifted his glass and said, "To the breakthrough. To Gerrard and Georg – and all the men who made it possible. And most of all, to Bethia, who continues to allow us to turn her peaceful estate into a most improbable corner of the war."

When glasses were raised, Gerrard shrugged with an embarrassed smile. After a sip, Bethia set down her glass and waved away the tribute. "The estate is now more alive than it was before, and because of that, we have more to celebrate tonight than a hole in the ground. David, how many have now returned?"

Horst answered before David could. "Eleven, including Karl and me. The last pair came in just before dusk, and most of the rest should be back by noon tomorrow if the trains hold to anything like their schedule."

Bryce looked around the table. "And all from rural districts?"

"This round, yes," Karl said. "Mainly from the villages big enough to have gaasthauses, though a few from the larger market towns. Just enough variety to compare mood and supply."

David nodded. "Then let's hear it. We had the broad pattern this afternoon, but now that more have returned, what has sharpened?"

For a moment, only the sound of knives and forks remained. Then Horst set his down and folded his hands.

"The broad pattern holds. The women in the rural districts are more suspicious at first than those in the industrial towns, but once confidence is gained, they speak more fully and with less restraint. What has sharpened is the bitterness – not only at shortages and uncertainty, but at the unevenness of sacrifice."

Bryce tilted his head. "Meaning?"

Karl took up the thread. "Meaning they realise that the countryside gives more and receives less. Their horses are taken, their source of fertiliser gone, their sons and husbands called up in greater proportion, and then the officials come to count, inspect and requisition what remains. The women compare this with what they hear about factory men being kept back in the towns and of better food availability in industrial areas."

Rachel nodded. "So the old resentment has deepened. Not only town against country, but now country against the State."

"Yes," Horst said. "And more clearly among the women than the men."

"Why?" Bryce asked.

"The men complain more bluntly, but often only among themselves, and with more caution. The women move from the price of bread to absent men, depleted soil, horses, officials, and then to the war. By the time they reach the war, they have already told us everything that matters."

"Without feeling questioned."

"Exactly, David," Karl said. "As Maria emphasised during the training sessions, if we press, they retreat. If we genuinely listen, they advance on their own."

After passing the bread basket, David reached for the spaetzle platter and asked, "And the propaganda?"

Horst gave a dry laugh. "Repeated everywhere, but increasingly by habit, by rote rather than by belief. Victory near. Sacrifice noble. Enemies encircling Germany. The same old lines. But now, in many places, the women themselves contradict them before we have time to raise an eyebrow."

Georg looked up from cutting another piece of chicken and asked, "What form does that take? Open disbelief?"

"Not usually open." Horst shook his head. "More often qualification. 'If victory is near, why has my youngest now been called?' Or, 'If things are going so well, why are there no newspapers now from Switzerland?' Or, 'If God favours Germany, why does He favour the potato blight as well?'"

That drew a burst of laughter around the table.

Rachel shook her head, smiling. "Yes. Humour is often the first crack in obedience."

"And bitterness the second," Bethia added.

Karl looked at her and nodded. "In one village, a woman said she no longer feared the French or the Russians nearly so much as the tax man, the requisition clerk and the military inspector. She saw all three in one week and none of the enemy in her lifetime."

Bryce leaned back, digesting this. "So the enemy remains abstract, but the State is intimate."

"That." David pointed a finger at him. "Yes, that exactly."

Gerrard, who had thus far been more intent on eating than speaking, wiped his mouth and said, "And the women know the ground. Maybe not in maps and figures, but in bellies, barns and fields. They know when the newspapers lie because they can count eggs, loaves and sacks."

Bethia laughed. "Trust Gerrard to bring all truth back to structures and quantities."

He shrugged with mock gravity. "The earth and the stomach, Madame, they do not much respect ideology."

That earned another round of laughter, then David turned back to Horst. "And among the men? Still harder?"

"Much harder. Suspicion comes quickly, and grievance seems not to make them more open – only harsher. Some want to complain, but not to think. Others seem to cling more tightly to the official line even as reality increasingly contradicts it. A few can be reached, but not enough to justify the same effort."

"So the emphasis remains on the women," David said, "and on allowing them to influence the men."

"Absolutely," Karl replied. "And not only the younger ones. Widows, mothers, wives with invalid husbands at home – all speak if approached with patience. In some places, the older women are the most bitter of all."

Rachel looked up from her plate. "Because they have seen enough to compare. They know the war's promises are poorer than the last generation's aspirations."

"Yes," Karl said. "And because they have no further need to pretend."

For a while, the talk turned to specific places, particular conversations, and the subtler differences between Baden villages, Württemberg market towns and the edges of Alsace. Bryce listened closely, asking only occasional questions, but David could see him fitting pieces into place – not merely hearing reports, but knowing how to hear them.

At length, when plates had been cleared and Bethia had set out field strawberry tarts with thick cream, David asked, "What of movement? Anything suggesting wider troop redeployment?"

Horst nodded. "Only talk, but much of it. More trains at odd hours. More sidings crowded. And a sense among railway men that certain routes westward are taking priority. No one knows where or why, but many suspect another blow is being prepared."

Bryce glanced toward David. "Hans again."

"Yes," David said. "And now from another angle."

He sat back and looked slowly around the table. "Good. Very good. The pattern is clearer than before, and that's what we needed. Tomorrow we'll sort the reports by district and compare them against the newspapers. After that, we'll begin refining the next wave."

"Tomorrow?" Bethia lifted her brows. "Tomorrow, David, you first eat a proper breakfast and walk in the sunshine like a human being before turning all this into papers and plans."

Rachel smiled. "Yes, David. The tunnel has broken through. The agents have returned. The Germans are still miserable. Surely your world can take time to breathe."

David laughed. "Clearly outnumbered. I surrender – but only until after breakfast."

As the laughter settled and the candles burned lower, Bryce looked from face to face and said, "I had imagined being brought to a building at the border. Instead, I've arrived at the centre of a little kingdom."

"Not a kingdom," Karl said, "A confederation of opportunities."

David lifted his glass. "And, with luck, the beginnings of a liberating truth."

They drank to that, and while the conversation continued, outside, across the vineyards and beyond the border, Germany waited – weary, hungry and increasingly ready to hear what it had long been denied.