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liebgotts-lovergirl · 2 years ago

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Fire On Fire: Chapter 12

Gallery II Tag List Application II Symbol Guide

(Ch. 11) . . . (Ch. 1)

Summary: "A turning point has just been reached. Maybe I'm not who I used to be."

A/N: Oh Alix, bby, I'm so sorry.

WARNINGS: Death, Angst, Murder, Emotional Blunting Via PTSD, Foxhunting Mention

Tag List: @latibvles @softguarnere @mccall-muffin @brassknucklespeirs @holdingforgeneralhugs @emmythespacecowgirl

Contemporary: September 17th, 1944. Eindhoven, Netherlands.

Alix had been working with the Dutch Resistance for less than a day on the outskirts of Eindhoven and already, she was about ready to strangle someone.

"I'm telling you, Kristof, your information is wrong."

"And I’m telling you to back off, Adelina. Let the SOE handle this.”

Alix shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her trousers, clenching her fists in a vain attempt to stave off the sudden, powerful urge to wring the older man’s neck.

Kristof was supposedly a good agent, one of the best…or so she’d been told. She wasn’t sure if she believed it. He came with the highest security clearance the SOE could offer but there was just something about him that Alix didn’t trust, especially not with an operation so sensitive.

The information he was bringing back felt too good to be true and some of it simply didn’t make any logical sense. Why would the Wehrmacht leave only kids and old men to guard the doorway to Germany? Surely they couldn’t be that stupid.

If the Nazis were as blissfully unaware of the Allied advance as the British agent claimed, if they were truly that tactically weak and woefully underprepared, the war should have been over already…right?

Alix thought back to the “Spot The Difference” puzzles in the game books that Gio would always bring home with him from school.

There were always two nearly-identical illustrations with the most minute of differences drawn in somewhere, just waiting for her to find them.

“Take your time,” Gio would coach her over her shoulder as they sat on the plush shag carpet of the parlor. “Go line by line if you have to.”

She would painstakingly comb through each of the drawings, tracing each detail with her finger, until she came across the item that didn’t belong. Sometimes it would take minutes, sometimes an hour, but she just couldn’t let it rest until she’d figured it out.

That’s what this feels like, Alix thought as she looked over Kristof’s report, noting each hidden hole and blatant inconsistency. Like another puzzle.

Except this time, people’s lives hung in the balance.

“The SOE has been working with us for some time now,” Van Kooijk stated casually while he skimmed over some maps, as though that was all the proof Alix should require. “These are reliable reports, I would swear to it.”

“Don’t bother.”

Alix’s response was clipped but she didn't trust herself to say more without getting heated.

The American OSS and the British SOE were receiving conflicting reports as to the size and strength of the German Army, which only intensified Alix’s belief that the rumors about a mole in the SOE were true.

This had to be some sort of attempt at a disinformation campaign, planting false reports within Resistance movements who would then pass them on to the Allies.

There was no other logical explanation for this many holes in an intelligence report.

Exchanging glances with Nixon, she could tell he was thinking the same thing but there was nothing either of them could do. The OSS was not in control of the espionage operations running concurrently with Market Garden; the SOE was. Like it or not, they were under British command this time and they would have to obey.

"Everyone is clear on their orders, yes?"

Van Kooijk was speaking to her in particular, watching her with his unsettlingly seaglass-green eyes as though he suspected she might do something to jeopardize the mission.

Alix was ready to tell him exactly where he could shove his "suspicions" when she felt a cautioning, brotherly hand on her shoulder.

"Watch it, Lina." Lieutenant Nixon had switched to Italian this time, keeping his voice low enough that only she could hear.

"We have about 3 hours tops before the rest of the 101st arrives. We don't have time for more enemies right now."

Alix huffed but she knew her case officer was right.

Boy, did it really irritate her when he was right.

"Fine," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. "Go coordinate the Airborne arrival. I just wanna get this over with."

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

The first targets on Alix’s list were Captain Bernhard Neumann and SS Lieutenant Klemens Kruger.

As two of the highest-ranking officers in what the SOE assured them was an already-crumbling military force, eliminating both Neumann and Kruger would cut the Wehrmacht off at its knees and hopefully cause significant chaos among German troops.

They had both been on Resistance radar for some time but were far too visible for untrained assassins to kill without being noticed. Which was where Alix and her handler came in.

"Niccolò, this is Lina." She was whispering into the transceiver, her Italian coming out slightly garbled over the line. "Do you read me? Over."

"Roger, Lina. Proceed as ordered. Out."

As she nonchalantly made her way toward Neumann's secret residence, Alix's training took over.

"Locard's Exchange Principle," she remembered Nixon barking at her during the early phases of her SERE instruction. "What is it?"

The first rule of tracking.

"Every contact leaves a trace, sir!" she had answered just as loudly, the pair repeating the phrases back and forth until her voice went hoarse.

And no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, it was Alix's job to find that trace.

When she arrived at the address, noting the rolling fields behind the building, she crouched to examine the dark, slightly moist soil leading to the back door, which was telling her a story she didn't want to hear.

German officers like Neumann and Kruger wore fancy boots with very recognizable tread patterns. They should have been the only two in the area among a sea of regular grunt-style Wehrmacht boots, but they weren't; on the contrary, the ground was littered with the tracks of several different officers leading in various directions.

Like Alix had suspected, there were at least a dozen more officers than they'd been told in the reports, which meant there were more troops too. Whether on purpose or on accident, the SOE had miscalculated.

This was bad.

Alix couldn't risk radioing back her findings, not when she was this close to making contact. The Germans could track a radio signal in a matter of minutes now and there was no excuse for having a clandestine radio on her person, none at all. All she could do was wait behind the shop next door and hope that the news would get to the right people in time.

Alix leaned her head back against the cool brick wall as the time passed. She was steps away from the secret home base of German officers and the urge to burst in was killing her. But she had to wait.

When Neumann finally came outside, he wasn't alone but he wasn't with SS Lieutenant Klemens either.

Beside him was Ludwig Schreiber, a prominent member of the Hitler Youth and well-known errand boy for the Wehrmacht. The pair appeared to be in a hurry, probably to reconvene with reinforcements.

And Alix couldn't let that happen.

Slipping into the street a few feet behind them, she casually adjusted her gray cashmere sweater as she walked, keeping her eyes peeled for…

Oh there he was, thank God.

Far ahead of them, a tall, rail-thin teenager with sandy blond hair was exiting a shop, nonchalantly adjusting his beaten bomber jacket for the autumn wind and lighting up a cigarette before he went on his way.

He's been trained well, Alix thought as she watched him eye storefronts that he passed, checking their reflections to ensure the target was still behind him.

Alix knew the plan: Front & Follow surveillance for as many blocks as it took to isolate the targets. Diederik would be leading them. When the signal was given, Alix would eliminate the target and any present company, meaning Schreiber.

No witnesses.

No mercy.

It had to be done.

Out of the corner of her eye as she walked, Alix could see the quick glint of a gun barrel in the sunlight as it disappeared over a nearby rooftop.

She knew better than to look; it would only draw attention to his position.

Andries, their sniper, was lying prone above, waiting for someone's signal but she wasn't sure whose or, frankly, why.

It wasn't as though she needed the back-up. It would be messy but she could still take care of this.

After about fifteen to twenty minutes, the last block was ending and she saw Diederik pause to discard his cigarette before ducking inside another shop.

It was time.

Neumann and Schreiber turned the corner behind the last building and Alix quickened her pace, slipping behind them soundlessly as she too disappeared from view.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Captain Neumann had been first. As he was the most capable target, Alix needed to ensure he didn't have time to react. Two bullets in the back of the head; he was dead before he hit the ground.

Schreiber was a different story.

He had tried to make a run for it: a fool's error.

As though he would get far.

As though they weren't prepared.

The second he tried to round the corner, he slammed smack-dab into the chest of John Van Kooijk, who had materialized out of the shadows like a spectre.

In his faded jacket and sweater, he resembled more a schoolteacher than a viable threat, but the bright orange band around his sleeve had Schreiber recoiling like he'd accidentally singed his hand on a hot stove.

Van Kooijk said something in German, his tone soft yet mocking and Alix understood the gist of it:

"Going somewhere, Ludwig?"

The teenager began stammering in rapid-fire German as he looked fearfully from Alix to Van Kooijk and back to Alix, wild-eyed as he noticed the loaded gun in her hand.

"What is he saying?" Alix asked out of the corner of her mouth in French and Van Kooijk shrugged casually.

"Begging for his life, offering us money, nothing out of the ordinary."

Alix wished she hadn't asked. The look of pure terror in the boy's eyes was stomach-churning enough as it is.

But he'd seen her face.

He could compromise them.

He had to die.

Besides, if she didn't do it, Andries the sniper would, and she trusted her own hand more.

She would be gentle, Alix decided silently as she cocked her revolver. As gentle as Death could be. He was still a child.

Schreiber was trying to shrink away but his back hit the unforgiving brick wall behind him; there was nowhere to run.

Alix wished to God she would go blind or her hands would shake or her heart would stop, something for her body to be in congruence with the stream of doubts clouding her mind.

At the end of the day, Schreiber was still just a brainwashed kid who’d been manipulated and he would pay for it with his life.

How was that fair?

How was that justice?

But despite her fervent wishes, her training betrayed her: her sight was clear, hand still, heartbeat steady.

This was her job.

This was her purpose.

She’d read his file. Schreiber was a Senior Section Leader of the Hitler Youth, after all, and a runner for the Wehrmacht. Whatever information the eighteen year old was carrying could be vital and they would never get it from him alive.

But the frantic look in Schreiber's terrified eyes brought back an unwanted memory and Alix felt her chest tighten like a vise.

╔══ •🖤🖤•🖤🖤•🖤🖤• ══╗

7 Years Earlier: November 24th, 1937. Susquehanna Hunt Club, Pennsylvania.

"Pull the trigger already," her father hissed from behind her. "Sbrigati, while it's still there."

Sixteen year old Alix gulped nervously as she stared down the barrel of her borrowed shotgun into the clearing ahead of them.

The slender, almost skeletal form of the flame-red fox was in full view, just steps away, as it bent gracefully to drink from one of the preserve’s many ponds.

The fresh, cherry stain of blood was visible on its muzzle so Gio had surmised that it must’ve made a recent kill, probably a rabbit or some other small, unfortunate forest-dweller it had happened across.

Alix's finger hovered anxiously over the trigger, her hands quivering so much that she could hardly aim properly.

As if sensing her hesitation, the canid froze before glancing up directly across the pond, its delicate nose twitching and ears pricked as it located the threat: Her.

Its sharp, pointed features and wide, fear-filled eyes seemed to stare into her soul and Alix was struggling to breathe, suddenly feeling as though she'd swallowed a boulder.

Noticing his sister's discomfort, Gio let out a muffled cough into his elbow. It was barely audible but it was enough to startle the fox, which immediately darted back into the mottled green woods, disappearing from view as quickly as it had appeared.

Once it was gone, the tension in the sixteen year old's shoulders released but she was still shaking.

“For God’s sake, figlia mia,” their father had fumed as the three of them made their way back to the car, the weight of his footsteps telling her exactly how pissed off he was.

“They’re vermin.”

“They're still living things!” Alix retorted incredulously. "Besides, if the club wanted them gone, they'd be gone!"

"They're a nuisance is what they are," Emilio continued contemptuously, ignoring her as he yanked the car door open. "Your brother knows. He would have shot it, wouldn't you, Gio? Would've brought us home a nice fox pelt."

"So she didn't shoot it, big deal," nineteen year old Gio replied, immediately jumping to his sister's defense and Alix gave her brother a wan smile of appreciation.

As the family’s golden boy, Gio was the only person in the world who could get away with talking to their father like that.

"Alix isn't a hunter and she doesn't have to be. She's not me, Pa."

"I'm all too aware, believe me," Emilio replied acerbically, the barb in his tone stinging like the tears starting to slide down Alix's cheeks.

Gio reached over and silently put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"He can go fuck himself," her brother whispered. "You just stay gentle, okay? It's who you are."

"Cavolo," their father swore under his breath with a roll of his eyes as they began the drive home. "Getting weepy over a damn fox. Pathetic."

╚══ •🖤🖤•🖤🖤•🖤🖤• ══╝

Contemporary: September 17th, 1944. Eindhoven, Netherlands.

“Tell him he’s free to go,” Alix said so quietly at first that it was barely audible.

“What?” Van Kooijk peered at her as though she’d sprung a second head, his brows furrowing. “Forgive me, I must have misunderstood.”

The OSS agent gritted her teeth and repeated herself tersely once again, overenunciating each word so her French was impossible to mishear.

“Tell. Him. He’s. Free. To. Go.”

"But he isn't," the Resistance leader maintained doggedly.

A strong look of contempt crossed his face and Alix wasn't sure whether it was aimed at her or Schreiber.

"You realize he is Hitlerjugend, yes?"

Van Kooijk kept talking, not waiting for an answer. "I am telling you, letting him go would be a mistake."

"I'm aware. Tell him anyway."

Despite what Alix could only assume were muttered curses, Van Kooijk grudgingly obeyed, addressing the boy in a clipped tone.

Schreiber's eyes went round with surprise and he broke into a toothy grin of relief.

He looked over to Alix but she couldn't meet his gaze, studying the ground intently instead as she tried to wrestle her misgivings under control.

The handgun at her side felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

"Danke!" he kept repeating over and over. "Danke! Vielen dank!"

Van Kooijk didn't reply, instead spitting vehemently at the soil under their feet, seemingly the only act of displeasure he could think of that didn't include butchering the boy on the spot.

Half-laughing with relief, Schreiber quickly turned to leave.

A fatal mistake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alix's OSS-issue suppressor ensured he never heard the shots.

The first bullet hit him square in the upper back, the sheer force of it sending him lurching forward as though he'd been shoved.

Crimson began to blossom through the back of his tan shirt, still neatly tucked into his uniform as he stumbled to his knees and Alix squeezed the trigger a second time, the final shot landing just behind his right ear, keeling him over entirely as his face met the earth.

The agent tucked her gun back into the waistband of her trousers and took a couple steps toward the bodies before turning back to Van Kooijk.

Even he was still, leaning a shoulder against the building in stunned silence.

Alix felt bile rising in her throat at the sight of the two bloodied corpses at her feet but she forced her nausea back down, focusing instead on discarding her blood-stained sweater, tearing and scattering the pieces in the dirt with a frightening ferocity.

She was just in her undershirt and trousers now but she couldn't even feel the wind anymore. As quickly as the nausea had appeared, it vanished, replaced only by...a numbness.

"Hey John?”

The Resistance leader glanced up at the sound of his name and Alix met his gaze head-on, dark eyes boring into glass-green.

Any warmth in her tone was gone, her voice as cold and deadly as the winter chill.

“Don’t ever question me again.”

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