The Resistance

The Resistance - Chapter 1

Paris. July 1944. 0200.

The air was cool as a brief summer shower sprinkled the city. Clark was grateful for that. The sound of the raindrops masked the sound of his boots as he strode across the cobbled streets. Time was of the essence.

He knew the streets well having been dropped into Paris half a dozen times. His mission this time though, stir the resistance. Tensions had risen in the city, he could sense it. For the first time since the occupation they were worried. It had been just under a month since D-day, and the Germans were on high alert in the city. Guards had doubled and increased security checks making it slightly trickier for Clark to enter the city. He had been dropped 3 miles south, though the wind had blown him and his parachute slightly offcourse meaning he actually ended up 5 miles south of the city border and landed in some farmer's field. The walk had been long and made more difficult by the recent downpour. Still he was here and that was all that mattered.

The rain splashed on the streets as Clark darted left and then right, under an archway and out onto a main street. He peaked around the corner to his left. Clear. Then to his right. Again, all clear. He was free to move, he hopped out keeping his head down and straightening the collar of his jacket up to remain unseen. Even at his time of the night, you never knew who would be watching.

Almost there thought Clark. He needed a drink, this rain had gone right through him. Despite the warmth of Paris in the summer, he was cold to the bone. As he approached the end of the street a door opened. He froze before his instincts kicked in. Backing up against the wall he tried to get a glance around the corner. He could hear muffled speech. German perhaps? He wasn't sure. The speech stopped followed by a door closing. Footsteps began to echo down the street. Towards or away, he couldn't tell. I need to sneak a glance. Just a quick look. He inched forward to the corner of the building. Peered around the corner. German. The uniform was unmistakeable, although the darkness made it impossible to tell which unit he was in. No weapon though.

The solider started to walk away from the door and down the street. He paused as if frozen in time. He doubled back and made for the door, knocking as soon as he reached it. The door swung open as if whoever was inside was expecting him to come back. The soldier caught the girl as the door swung open. Embracing her whilst whispering in her ear. They departed with a kiss and the solider turned on his heels and almost seemed to float down the street after that. "The city of love huh" whispered Clark with a smile on his face.

Clark kept watching the solider as he walked down the street, checking behind him constantly to ensure he wasn't blindsided.

"What the..." breathed Clark.

"Are you serious?" Of all the things to be bothered by, I get you! thought Clark as a small black cat brushed up against his leg.

"Just keep qu..."

"Meow"

For such a small creature, it produced one hell of a sound as it echoed through the empty streets. Clark had been too preoccupied with the cat that he had forgotten about the solider. The footsteps. They had stopped.

"Who's there?" said the solider in a weak and unexperienced voice. The footsteps started again. This time towards Clark.

"Damn it!" muttered Clark under his breath, this time taking a slight bit of frustration out on the cat as he pushed it away with his boots. Slightly harder this time. The cat got the hint as it moved into the middle of the street in direct sight of the German and sat down. Still looking at Clark.

It's just a cat. Just a cat. Nothing to see here, move along.

It was as if the solider could read his thoughts. He stopped. Barely ten metres from where Clark was hiding. Muttered something inaudible under his breath, turned and was on his way again.

Too close, thought Clark as he breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing needed was to be caught, especially with what he needed to accomplish. He peeled away from the street, doubled back and made for the meeting place with haste.

The building was hidden in plain sight. A café by day, quite popular with German soldiers. He approached the door and knocked twice. Paused. And knocked twice more. The door open slowly and just enough for the short fat man to pass through an envelope to Clark.

"Merci beaucoup" nodded Clark as backed away from the door placing the envelope in his pocket.

The entrance he need was around the corner. He approached, opened the envelope and pulled out the key.

The door opened easily, and closed just as quickly once Clark was inside. The room was small, and dimly lit with another door in front and a small phone hanging on the wall to his right. Dripping water on the floor he picked up the phone and dialled the number he had been given before he left for the mission. The phone buzzed back at him after the code was correct. The sound of the locks unlocking were followed by a green light atop the door. He entered and made his way down the stairs.

"I know, I know. I'm late. I thought Paris was supposed to be sunny in this time of year. Just pour me a drink and let's forget about it"

"Oh and make it a strong one. I'm soaked through" added Clark as he took off his jacket and placed it on the coat stand.

It took him a few seconds to register. No one answered.

"Luis?" called out Clark

He moved away from the staircase and through an open doorway. The apartment was ransacked. Charis, tables, books thrown across the floor. Luis's famous drinks cabinet lay broken on the floor with glasses and bottles smashed to a thousand pieces. Clark picked his way through the wreckage, broken glass crushing underneath his feet. He made his way through to the kitchen, which was in a similar state with broken plates covering the floor.

As Clark looked up he felt a twinge of sadness. His friend Luis was seated in the chair in the corner. Arms and legs sprawled out and his head tilted back as if he had fallen drunkenly into the chair. A thin streak of blood spilled out from the bullet wound on his forehead, but what caught his eye the most was the large hunting knife poking out from Luis's chest, piecing what seemed to be a blood-stained piece of paper.

"I'm sorry my old friend" said Clark as he approached Luis and yanked the knife from his chest and tossing it to one side.

Clark opened the bloodstained note, careful not to rip the paper where the blood had dried. On the inside four words were scribbled in scruffy handwriting, like it had been written in a hurry. They read

'We have the girl'