Half Sick of Shadows » Band of Brothers [2]

30: Do I Wake or Sleep?

"Was it a vision, or a waking dream? / Fled is that music: - Do I wake or sleep?" - John Keats, Ode to a Nightingale

-

Gene and I soon go back downstairs together. When we do, George and Floyd aren't there anymore, but Tom, Will, and Martin are. They're sitting at the kitchen table when we find them, and Gene leaves me with them, likely to go to do some duty or other. There is, after all, still a war going on, and he is still a soldier.

The moment I sit down and see their expressions, I begin to dread this conversation. If they ask what happened to me I don't know what I'll say; they're my best friends and I love them dearly, but I can't tell them, as much because I can't bear to relive it as because I couldn't bear for them to know. I just couldn't take it.

Tom meets my eyes and gives me a small smile. "We figured you'll probably need to know what we're doing here and what happened whilst you were... away."

I want to laugh, in spite of myself, at his word choice. But also because I feel so relieved that they're not asking about what happened - not yet, at least. But I don't.

"Okay," I say with a nod.

Tom nods back at me and begins speaking. "Well, first and foremost, you don't have to worry about going back out in the field again. Ever since das Englandspiel our orders have been to hide amongst Easy and help them out however we can."

Even through my crashing relief, I muster, "Das Englandspiel?" I know it means 'the England game' but I have no idea what that, in turn, means.

Tom sighs and rubs a hand across his eyes. "Almost every single undercover agent sent to the Netherlands was caught. It wasn't just you. Turns out the Germans captured a whole lot of SOE agents early on and used their codes to send requests for arms and more agents to be sent to Holland. We were walking into a trap the entire time."

"But what about -" I begin, but Martin cuts me off.

"The spies we met in Eindhoven?" That seems a million years ago now. Such a distant memory. "Double agents, presumably. We can fake their accents, why shouldn't they be able to fake ours?"

"God," I whisper, my hands fiddling furiously at my skirt under the table. How had we really had no idea? So this is what it feels like to be on the other side of a spy operation. Not sure I like it much.

"Yeah," Tom replies quietly. "After you were... caught," it pains him to even say it, "we tried for ages to get you out. We really, truly did. We ended up linking up with Easy in Nuenen and we've been with them ever since." He runs a hand through his hair and tugs at the ends, seeming not to realise that he's doing it. "It took us so long to get to you because of the lapse in judgement where communication with HQ was concerned. They needed to be able to trust that we were being genuine in trying to get you out. As soon as they knew that we were, they gave us the all clear and all the information we needed." He can barely meet my eyes, but I can tell that he's forcing himself to. "If we could have done it earlier, we would've."

I nod, because I really do believe that's true. "I know," I tell him. I hope he can hear the sincerity in my voice because I hate so much that he feels guilty about my delayed rescue, as opposed to proud or heroic at the fact he managed it at all.

"I'm sorry," he says, and there are tears pooling in his eyes.

I shake my head and reach my hand out across the table, where he takes it in his own immediately. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, Tom. You got me out, and I can't even begin to tell you how grateful I am for that. I really can't."