Clandestine

[Viridian]

First story submission for QSFans, and first story from me in several months. Reposted from DS. Time allowed, hopefully I will be producing more works in the near future.

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Clandestine
By Viridian

Fire and death. Those were the two words in Marie’s mind. Those were the two things she wanted to inflict tonight. For years, her country was at the mercy of the invader. She knew that it would change very little – after all, she was only a 20-year-old waitress, forced to serve the garrison commander and his staff after her restaurant was taken over as a command post. She didn’t have an army ready to storm the town and surprise its occupiers. She wasn’t even part of any organised resistance. But she felt like she had to do something; a small token of resistance. Who knows what effect it would have in the big picture? Marie didn’t possess the foresight to predict how her actions would influence the course of the war. Her reasons were personal.

It was close to midnight. Most of the town’s residents were asleep, and the only people in the streets were the routine patrols. Blackout rules were in place, and despite the town only having a few hundred inhabitants, the garrison commander saw it fit to maintain martial law. Marie stayed at the garrison headquarters until late, cleaning up and making sure all the staff was satisfied. Even though the family-owned restaurant was no longer in her ownership, she still felt a bond with the place, and she saw it as her personal duty that its patrons were well catered for. Things were difficult with rationing, but the officers were used to it, and the regular troops enjoyed a nice, hot coffee before their night patrol. Marie was getting quite familiar with the occupiers, and she knew many of the soldiers.

Tonight was one of those nights where routine failed. From what she overheard, another unit was relocated to the Eastern Front, and several officers were sent on a training mission in Normandy, leaving the town garrison shorthanded. The commander was upset over the loss of so many troops, but he was chastened by his superiors about the relative unimportance of a small inland town. He had no other choice but to reduce the number of patrols, and that was a sore blow for someone who liked to know what everyone in town was doing.

This was what Marie was waiting for. Never the person to plan ahead, she had been keeping this in the back of her mind, waiting for the chance to strike back at her enemy in her own show of resistance. Things were quickly coming together, and she knew that this was the best chance she had. Marie finished up in the headquarters and locked up as ordered, but having worked in the restaurant since she was a young girl, she knew the place inside out – including where her parents hid the spare keys. Marie moved away from the headquarters as if to walk home. Once out of sight, Marie checked around in case the sparse patrols were in the area. She ducked away into the trees; her black dress concealing her for the most part.

She was late, although she had no way of telling the exact time. Marie grew anxious, unsure if the plan could still go ahead. She heard movement nearby and tensed up. A man appeared from behind another tree.

‘Marie?’

Marie nodded. ‘Pierre. Sorry I’m late.’

‘It’s never too late,’ Pierre whispered. ‘We’ve been waiting for four years. I can wait another hour, little sister.’

Marie gave a sigh of relief. While she was young and inexperienced, Pierre was sixteen years older and was a former officer in the French army; a fact he hid from the German occupiers. While he lacked combat experience, he possessed the uncanny ability to make plans in his head. Marie had memories of Pierre drawing lines in the sand, and she never understood what it all meant. There would be no drawing lines tonight. Pierre had it all in his head.

‘Fifty troops,’ said Pierre, breaking Marie’s thoughts. ‘That’s how many moved out yesterday. I saw the trucks. That leaves around thirty.’

‘That’s good,’ said Marie. She could see why the commander was more than upset.

‘Bad news,’ Pierre continued. ‘I heard a division is moving through tomorrow night.’

‘That means…we can’t do it?’

‘We can, but we have to do it tonight. Now.’ Pierre looked out into the distance. ‘Their supply unit came into town earlier today. There’re plenty of weapons and munitions, but they’re heavily guarded. But, there’s lots of fuel. The garrison commander is tasked with providing men to protect the supplies.’

‘But he doesn’t have enough to guard them and patrol at the same time,’ said Marie, catching on quickly.

‘Precisely. If I was in his position, I would guard the weapons first. Next I would keep my patrols. He likes to watch us, and he’ll prioritise that over the fuel. No one’s going to steal it, and he’s more worried about the townspeople getting their hand on weapons than the stuff that’s meant for someone else’s division. That’s what officers do – you might be on the same side, but you don’t have to like each other.

‘There’s not much we can achieve by ourselves, but there’s one thing I think we can do. We’ll burn the headquarters.’

‘That means burning our own restaurant!’ Marie exclaimed, nearly shouting it out.

‘Precisely.’

‘Pierre, we can’t do that! What will Mother say? We’ve had that restaurant since our grandparents lived! That’s like cutting our own arm off!’

Pierre suddenly gripped Marie’s shoulders. ‘Marie, listen to me: it’s not our restaurant anymore. It belongs to the enemy. If I had to slice off my arm to remove a disease, I would, and that’s what we’ll do tonight.’ Marie stared at him silently. ‘Marie, I don’t want to destroy our memories, but they’re already tainted. You wanted to do this. If you won’t help me, then I won’t ask you to do any more.’

‘I’ll help,’ said Marie, blinking her tears away. ‘Tell me what to do.’

‘I will, but first,’ Pierre reached into his pocket and placed something in Marie’s hand. ‘A little present from our American friends.’

Marie grasped the item. The metal felt cold in her hand. Her hand shook nervously. She had never held a gun before.

‘Where did you get this from?’

‘I found a few boxes of these in the woods,’ he replied. ‘I heard the Americans were dropping these for the Resistance. I got rid of the box, but I memorised the instructions. It’s easy to use: just point it at the enemy and pull the trigger. There’s only one bullet, so throw it away as soon as you use it. But listen: don’t use it unless you really have to. Do you understand?’

Marie nodded and gulped. Despite her hometown being occupied by armed foreigners, she was still unused to the idea of shooting people. This handgun was a reminder of reality. She placed it carefully in her pocket.

The next hour went by quickly. Pierre was full of energy, moving cans and barrels with minimal effort with Marie mostly keeping watch. As expected, the fuel depot was unguarded, and the opportunity for sabotage was ripe if either of them had the mind or the tools to do so. The soldiers in town were billeted in other homes, with the officers sleeping upstairs in the restaurant. Pierre’s plan was to enter the cellar from the outside and dump fuel into it, setting it alight so that the building would collapse after the foundations were burned out. In a last minute addition, Pierre felt it was necessarily to create a smaller fire in the kitchen and letting it spread through the ground floor. This was a task only Marie could perform, as she knew where the keys were hidden and her presence in the headquarters was less suspicious than Pierre’s.

Marie fetched the keys and entered the kitchen from the rear, carrying a small jerry can in one hand. The kitchen was dimly lit, and Marie initially felt a sense of panic, thinking she had been discovered. It turned out that someone had left the lamp burning. Marie regathered her resolve and began executing her part of the plan. She opened the jerry can and began emptying its contents. The wooden floorboards soaked the fuel, and the kitchen began filling with fumes. All this time, Marie felt torn. She couldn’t bring herself to set fire to her own restaurant. Pierre’s pragmatic approach might suit him, but he lived away from the family. He didn’t share the same connection with the restaurant as Marie did. And he expected her to deliver the killing blow to it. How could she?

Distracted by her thoughts and light-headed from the fumes, Marie failed to notice the garrison commander entering the kitchen. He leaned against the doorway, admiring the young lady at work, unaware of what she was doing.

‘What is the mademoiselle up to at this hour?’ he said in a loud, slurred voice. ‘Up to no good, I think?’

Marie dropped the jerry can, spilling fuel over her dress. Next thing she knew, the commander had his arms around her. He forced her lips to his. She smelled, above the fumes, the stench of alcohol. The commander was clearly drunk, and had probably not comprehended that Marie was about to destroy his headquarters. Worse – in his haste, the commander had knocked over the lamp, which was now starting a small fire in the corner of the kitchen.

Alarmed, Marie tried to free herself, but the commander pushed her to the ground. His jacket was unbuttoned, and his shirt was stained – he evidently had been up to something tonight, and was delighted for a second round with his waitress. He placed one hand over Marie’s mouth to prevent her from screaming, and with his other hand he began to undress her. His fingers too clumsy to deal with her intricate clothing, he began to rip away at her dress, oblivious to the fire behind him. Marie could see the flames coming closer, coming into contact with the fuel. She tried shaking the commander off, but he was not to be budged. She tried clawing at his face and punching him, but that seemed to encourage him. He tore Marie’s dress off her body, tossing the rags around.

Marie heard something land heavily beside her head. She recognised it immediately. She seized it with her free hand, shoved it into the commander’s torso, and pulled the trigger. For a few moments, nothing happened. Marie pulled the trigger again, but nothing happened. The gun was designed to fire only one shot and had to be manually loaded. She didn’t know how to. She didn’t need to. The commander suddenly slumped over her. Marie shoved the man away, and he rolled towards the blaze. The flames immediately enveloped him. Even in his near-death state and drunken stupor, he could feel the agony of the fire scorching his flesh. Marie did not have the heart to look at her bitter foe suffer. Knowing she only had seconds before the entire restaurant went up in flames, Marie fled.

Pierre later found her in the woods, clad in only her underwear, covered in blood, sweat and fuel. By now the headquarters was a raging inferno, and soldiers were rushing around, trying to find a way to extinguish it. Marie was silent. Pierre held her closely. His hand clasped onto hers, and he felt something in it.

‘Did you use it?’ he asked.

Marie nodded. She let go of the handgun, not knowing she had been holding onto it all along. Suddenly, voices were heard nearby.

‘There! Over there!’ The soldiers had spotted them. At first they showed no signs of hostility, approaching cautiously but quickly. Pierre knew they had a slim chance of escape. He knelt down and picked up the empty handgun.

‘Run,’ he hissed. ‘Run!’

He shoved her away and began running off by himself, waving the gun as he ran along. The light from the flames illuminated him clearly, and the soldiers immediately turned their attention to him. ‘Halt!’ they shouted. ‘Halt or we’ll shoot!’ Pierre did not halt. Marie heard rifles being cocked. She started to run; her presence unnoticed by the soldiers. One of them fired. ‘You shoot like shit, Klaus,’ one of the soldiers muttered. He aimed his rifle and shot. ‘Got him!’

Pierre has been hit! Part of Marie told her to go back to help her brother, but the better part of her knew that when Pierre told her to do something, she had to do it; and he told her to run. It felt like everything went silent – no shouting, no shooting, not even the ambient noises of the night. Marie tore through the woods, oblivious to everything around her. The trees opened up, revealing a wide field, partially flooded. Before she could stop, Marie slipped on wet, muddy ground, and she fell down a small slope, plunging into thick, waterlogged earth at the edge of the field. She gasped in surprise as the cold mud swallowed her thighs. She stood stunned momentarily; her sudden entrapment causing her become more aware of her surroundings. The first thing she tried to do was move her legs, but the mud held them firmly, preventing her from going anywhere but further down.

When Marie was younger, she used to play in the forest behind the family home, usually by herself but Pierre occasionally joined her when he had time to spare. He would occasionally warn her of wandering too far into the woods, as there were deadly patches of quicksand. With the Germans flooding the fields, certain areas around the woods were more susceptible to becoming unstable, as Marie discovered.

She felt herself sinking deeper. The bog was still quaking from her sudden entry, hastening her descent. The quicksand was cold and thick, pulling her down like a pair of hands. She tried to pull her legs free, but the mud offered no leverage for her. She tried sitting on the surface, which held her weight momentarily before swallowing her down to her hips. Changing direction, Marie tried reaching for solid ground behind her, but she felt nothing but soft mud; her movement causing her to slip even deeper. Up to her waist, Marie realised she was stranded. Pierre told her that quicksand never ‘sucked’ anyone down, but the prospect of being stuck in the cold night with soldiers running around was not a bright one. Marie could faintly see the light from the headquarters blaze in the distance. How did it come to this? Marie felt like crying – crying over her home, her brother, and now herself.

It wasn’t over yet. Marie strengthened her resolve. She could survive this if she could think of a way to get out. Her descent was slowing noticeably. If she could stay still, she might stop sinking. Maybe then she could work her way out. It was an uncomfortable feeling, nearly naked and continually sinking deeper. She was past her waist now, and was only just beginning to stop sinking.

‘There! Over there!’

Someone was coming! Marie could hear voices – at least two, and Pierre’s wasn’t one of them. Marie held her arms out over the surface to keep balance, hoping that they were going to rescue her. This turn of events did not go her way. Her would-be rescuers were armed soldiers.

‘It’s a girl,’ one of them said. ‘She’s stuck in a bog.’

‘I think it’s her,’ said the other. ‘There were two of them.’

One of them approached the edge of the bog. ‘Careful,’ the other warned. ‘You might get stuck as well.’

‘That’s why you’re here, dummkopf. We’re taking her in alive.’

‘Why don’t we just shoot her?’

‘I think we’ll want more from her than just her life, Hans. Think with your head for once.’

‘Think less and shoot straighter, Klaus.’

‘Shut up and get ready to pull me out.’

Marie held her position silently. She could do nothing to save herself. For a moment, she was tempted to intentionally sink deeper to make it harder for the soldiers to get her. She remembered her brother though – he always told her that as long as there was a chance, it was for her to take. There was still time. She would wait to see what her captors would do. Klaus stepped into the bog. He cursed loudly about his boots getting stuck. He threw his rifle back to Hans and unbuckled his equipment belt, and Hans cursed back at him. Even with his equipment off, Klaus sank like a lead weight with his heavy clothing. He was already up to his chest, and he hadn’t even gotten close to Marie. Marie watched with some amusement as the Germans argued with each other over how to get her out. Klaus was obviously having trouble moving through the bog, so he shouted at Hans to start pulling him out. Klaus suddenly yanked on Hans’s arm, pulling him into the bog as well. Hans swore profusely and smacked Klaus over the head.

‘Good one, shithead,’ Hans shouted.

Marie felt the mud move violently. Right in front of her, the mud exploded. The sound was muffled, but she could clearly the mud shoot upwards into the air. Thick globs of mud rained down on Marie, and she felt herself being pushed back from the force of the explosion. The sudden disturbance caused the quicksand to lose its equilibrium, and Marie began to rapidly sink. Before she could do anything, she was dragged under. She barely managed to close her mouth before her head was dunked. Her hands were still above the surface. She desperately flailed her arms and clawed at the mud, trying to get herself back up. Her head broke the surface again and she gasped for air. Wiping the mud from her face, Marie looked at where the two soldiers were.

They were gone. Instead, there was a shallow depression in the bog in front of her, slowly filling itself with mud. Marie stared at it, dumbfounded. It was as if the soldiers evaporated into the air. Marie blinked, trying to comprehend what just happened. As she recovered from the shock, it reminded her of another hazard Pierre warned her about – what he explained as ‘unexploded ordnance’. Two great wars left a significant amount of artillery shells and bombs that were buried in the earth, and it was a constant danger for farmers ploughing their fields – more than a few were seriously wounded when coming into contact with these volatile relics, and Klaus and Hans were the next two victims. Marie gulped. Who knows what else was under the mud? She prayed that she wouldn’t join the two soldiers in this muddy grave.

The quicksand hadn’t settled from the explosion, and Marie was barely able to keep her chin above the surface. Despite using her arms to keep herself up, she knew the quicksand wasn’t going to stop quaking, and if she stopped struggling she might go under again. If there was any chance to escape, it had to be now. Throwing caution aside, Marie lurched backwards, attempting a lunge at solid ground. When she found none, she swung her arms back further, clawing at the soft mud and pulling herself back, as if she was swimming through the quicksand. Each stroke was met with stiff resistance from the quicksand, and it felt like Marie had to cover twice the distance. Suddenly, she felt something solid underfoot, and she managed to raise herself so that her shoulders emerged from the mud. As she was about to push off, she froze. Was it actually solid ground she was feeling? She wanted to believe so, but the sight of the soldiers being blown up was burned into her mind. One wrong step; that was all it took. How could she tell if she was standing on a shell? She dared not move, lest she suffer the same fate.

How long she stood there, she did not know. Her body was numb, suspended in the quicksand, balanced precariously on the unknown object. Shock and fatigue were catching up with her. Marie stopped herself from drifting into unconsciousness, until one moment where she slipped forward. She felt the object shift underfoot, and her weight was thrust forward. She closed her eyes and waited for the sudden ending. It did not come, but not she was sinking again; her shoulders disappearing. By now she had no more strength, and even if she did not meet her end in fire, she was no doubt going to drown in the bog. In the back of her mind, she could hear Pierre’s voice calling to her.

‘Marie…Marie…’

She opened her eyes. Her nose was just above the quicksand, and her eyes were hazy with mud and sweat. Marie could vaguely see someone approaching her, kneeling awkwardly beside the bog.

‘Marie…give me your hand…’

Marie reached out. ‘Pierre? Is that you?’

‘Yes…it’s me.’ Pierre sounded like he was gasping. ‘Come on, I’ll get you out.’

‘I’m…I’m standing on a bomb…’

‘Just relax. I’ll take care of you.’

Pierre’s hand felt as cold as hers, but his grip was strong. Soon, Marie could feel herself moving forward and upwards. Her feet no longer touched the ominous object, which she would never discover, glad that nothing ill happened to her or to Pierre. Her mud-coated body was dragged out until she lay on the muddy but solid ground beside her brother, too drained to care about her appearance. Pierre dropped onto his knees beside her, clutching his chest, wheezing and breathing slowly.

‘Pierre?’

‘I’m alright,’ he gasped. ‘I got shot…no, not serious. Germans can’t shoot.’ He smiled at his sister and looked into the distance, gazing at their restaurant, the flames now dying but still giving off a noticeable red glow. ‘You did good.’

‘What good will it do?’ Marie protested meekly. ‘That was our home. They will just pick somewhere else and use it. This did nothing.’

‘Maybe.’ Pierre seemed to be grinning. ‘We do not see the results of everything we do. Better we do something than nothing. And,’ Pierre glanced upwards, ‘I think our little action today may help in a way we never foresaw.’

Just then, they heard a noise from above – at first a subtle hum, soon escalating to a thunderous roar of a thousand engines. Floodlights were turned on and aimed at the sky. Alarms began to ring and tracers began to fly. Somewhere above, thousands of soldiers leapt into the darkness and the danger that awaited them.

Edit (Jan 10th 2015): Reformatted text to fit into body of thread.

[water_bug_62208]

Thanks for reposting it here! It's well-written and would make for a great scene in a World War II movie. Thanks for sharing!

[Lomax]

Danger - unexploded quicksand. Now THAT'S original.

[Viridian]

Revisiting this story to add some retrospective insight into the creative writing process. This story was the first story I wrote for QSFans and one of the first posts in the Stories forum when the community split from Deep Sinking. It also represents a transitional point in my writing. On DS, I focused mostly on the voyeur and strip-tease elements of sinking stories, while this one was a non-erotic, dramatic (not melodramatic) story. In some ways I've moved on from this onto less serious pieces, but this stands out as the hallmark of my writing style: a focus more on plot and setting rather than the quicksand.

I used to be a military buff, and was well-read on the Second World War. I wanted to create a story that was set outside of the mainstream, generic environments and used WWII as the background for this piece. There were quite a few inspirations and references for creating the story. I envisaged a "noir" theme - the whole story takes place at night - and the language style was inspired the German narrator in "All Quiet on the Western Front" (which is a WW1 story), being on the very front line and down to earth, gritty and realistic.

The visual inspiration comes from the HBO miniseries "Band of Brothers", in the episode where the American paratroopers land in the Netherlands as part of Operation Market Garden. The scene in particular (a night scene) involves several of the characters scrummaging for food from the residents and coming across a father who gives the soldiers some food, while one of them gives the man's son a block of American chocolate, to which the man says "He's never tasted chocolate before". Though my story takes place in Northern France, I reminisced over this powerful scene, showing the everyday suffering of the civilian in Europe during the war.

The main characters in my story, Marie and Pierre, are loosely based off the characters in the PlayStation game "Medal of Honor: Underground", Manon and her brother. Being a support character in the original MOH, Underground explored Manon's experiences in the Resistance prior to becoming an OSS operative. Her opening mission involves sabotaging German vehicles, killing Gestapo and raiding a headquarters, resulting in her brother's death. Marie was designed to be the naive younger sibling, while Pierre was the more ambitious, patriotic and gruff contrast. The story is surprisingly more dialogue-heavy than what I write now, reflecting more on my roots as a writer.

The pistol used in the story is the Liberator, a massed-produced, stamped pistol air-dropped by the Allies with cartoonish instructions. The intent, apparently, was to get close enough to shoot an enemy at point-blank and take their weapon. The Liberator has the odd record of being the only weapon that was faster to produce than to reload.

The attack on the German HQ was inspired by John Marsden's "Tomorrow, When the War Began", based on a group of Australian teenagers who become guerrilla fighters throughout the course of an unnamed war. The last book in the series, "The Other Side of Dawn", involves the teenagers being trained in the use of plastic explosives by a New Zealand SAS contact. With the principle of doing as much damage as they can, the group decides to blow up a gas station. They infiltrate the station, with one of the boys stabbing a soldier and stealing his uniform. The main character, Ellie, drops a block of explosive in the main tank and detonates it. The way in which Marsden depicts this scene, as with others in the series, spotlights the amateur, partisan nature of the teenagers fighting in their own homeland, their familiarity with the locale and how their operations are mostly improvised with botched results, with consequences varying from being separated and lost to members being killed or committing suicide. Marie was my analogue to Ellie, going along with a plan that she didn't quite understand, resulting in her brother being shot and her escape to the marsh.

The unexploded ordnance was very much a real thing, and even today the issue of bombs and mines is a threat in many countries, with many being maimed when working the fields. Again, the style of writing, especially the banter between the German soldiers, is reminiscent of "All Quiet on the Western Front".

The ending is almost a cinematic feel with the intent of showing how the smallest of actions contribute to the big picture, as Marsden had done in the Tomorrow series. The final scene in the story preludes the June 6th 1944 D-Day landings, with the American paratroopers landing on the night of June 5th behind enemy lines.

I've used the war/drama theme several times since, with one of my favourites being "Honor and Duty".