Agent Chawla - A World War II Spy Novel

February 1st, 1942 - Northern France

The steady humming drone of the dual-engine Whitworth Whitley bomber broke through the cool night air. The moon glimmered between the low hanging grey clouds, reflecting dully against the bombers’ metallic fuselage. Francis Poulter crouched above a gaping hole in the bomber’s floor, wearing his full body beige jumpsuit and a parachute on his back. Through the hole he could see the ground, a thousand feet below, rushing past at high speed.

“You all set?” yelled the stern faced Royal Air Force (RAF) dispatcher over the cacophony of noise.

Francis gave the man a thumbs up as his black wiry hair whipped in the breeze. The dryness in his mouth and the nauseating churning nervousness overwhelmed his senses.

“Landing site is coming up, it’ll just be a few seconds now,” the dispatcher said giving him a nod.

Francis nodded back. He looked to the circular glowing red light mounted near one of the cabin’s blacked out windows. It’s light source doused the entire cabin in a reddish glow. Once the light turned green he knew he would be parachute jumping out the bomber’s floor into France. The dispatcher checked his wristwatch casually. Francis couldn’t help envying the man as he looked completely at ease—a stark contrast to himself who had felt the anticipatory butterflies in his stomach for the past few days. Now it felt as if those butterflies had multiplied twenty fold as the plane jostled in the night air. A thousand foot parachute drop awaited him, and on any day this would be enough to make his hands sweaty. But today, he was dropping into Nazi Germany’s occupied France.

Francis was one of the first few specially trained civilian agents whom were being dropped all across Nazi occupied Europe. Their mission was to do whatever they could to disrupt and sabotage the Nazi war machine. In order to do that they would have to organize the French Resistance network. For these simple reasons Francis would be hunted by the Nazis. If they were caught, they would face torture and probable death. But Francis had known these risks. He knew what he had signed up for, and he was desperate to contribute to the war effort.

Francis’ skin tingled with goosepimples as he looked back to his fellow agent, a young woman named Valerie. Her face was deathly pale, her pale blue eyes wide and alert. Francis gave her a reassuring nod, his stomach now swirling hotly. Valerie wiped her curly brown hair out of her eyes and nodded back.

“Standby...” the RAF man said holding a hand to his headset. He gave Francis one last reassuring nod. Francis scooted towards the edge of the hole in the floor. The cabin light turned green.

“GO GO GO!” the dispatcher yelled.

Francis jumped. His stomach lurched and the brisk cool air engulfed him. His breath heaved as his parachute pulled out from behind him, tugging his body violently. Francis looked down towards the ground, five hundred feet below him. The grass and evergreen trees were dark charcoal green even in the winter moonlight. He looked back over his shoulder. Valerie was five hundred feet behind him, her parachute billowing into form above her.

The Whitworth Whitley bomber’s engines droned on, echoing throughout the sky like hives of angry bees. Another parachute billowed into form behind Valerie; this wasn’t buoying the weight of person, but rather their radio which would be crucial in being able to contact with their handlers back in London. Francis looked down towards the ever approaching ground, his body coursing with adrenaline. Where are they?

In the expansive plowed field below he could see the white and red flares lined up in formation, but no signs of shadowy figures he could discern were human. Without another thought he glided himself forward and touched the ground bracing himself as the chute fell behind him. His silk chute fell to the ground behind him in a heap. Francis quickly worked to undo the buckles of his jump suit.

He looked up towards the surrounding tall evergreens. Nothing. No one at all to greet them. Someone had to lay out the flares... he thought. A creeping paranoia tickled his neck as if spiders were crawling on his back. And he hated spiders. ...unless the Germans were setting a trap and we had just sprung it.

The threat of their network being infiltrated or the local chaperones betraying them to the Nazis and Gestapo was not out of the question. Shaking the thought out of his head, he went to work winding up his parachute, the silk dragging roughly along the dirt. Francis started thinking ahead. Next step was to bury it. And then make it to the safe house...if it’s still safe.

Francis looked up to see Valerie thirty yards away from him, taking off her parachute and rolling it up.

The field was newly tilled with furrows. A tilling machine was on the far end, a large metallic mechanism that could be drawn with horses or tractors. A vague thought about what the farmer would be growing here crossed his mind. But that wasn’t important now.

The supplies and radio were lying about a hundred yards away beyond where Valerie was. A hundred yards ahead of him he saw the darkened outline of a two story house through the trees.

The windows glowed a soft amber color. The lights are on…someone must be there then. Why the hell aren’t they here though? That’s specifically what Major Buckmaster told us. Carrying his parachute under his arm, he jogged over to Valerie. “Where are they?” he asked in an anxious whisper.

“I don’t know,” she whispered back, hurriedly folding her parachute.

“Yeah...” he said.

Francis whipped his head around taking in the full surroundings. Nothing, still nothing.The hairs on his arms stood on end. Not a breath of wind, just a cold misty layer of moisture near the ground.

A dog’s bark cleaved through the air. Francis’ eyes widened, his heartbeat intensifying. It had sounded like a large dog. Was that a German Shepard? Francis thought. From his training he knew German Shepards were the dog of choice for the Germans. But perhaps it was just a house pet of the people who were supposed to take them in…hopefully. Francis and Valerie jerked their heads searching for the origin of the noise. Francis felt the blood leave his extremities.

“I think it’s coming from the house,” he said scanning the trees for movement.

Two flashlights flicked on waving around the trees in front of them. The dog barked again. Francis could see three dark figures moving among the trees. Were they friend or foe?

“Are they friendlies?” Valerie asked in a whisper. Francis stood still for a few moments watching the flashlights starting to trace up and down the tree line.

“Let’s not wait to find out,” Francis said. “Come on!”

He grabbed Valerie’s arm and pulled her up.

“But the radio!” Valerie said.

”Just leave it!” Francis said, shoving the folded parachute out of her arms. They sprinted across the tilled dirt, kicking up dirt as they went. The edge of the trees were only three hundred yards in front of them.

One of the flashlights flashed in their direction, illuminating the sides of their faces as they ran.

“Da sind sie!” shouted a voice from behind them. Oh shit! The dog barked loudly sending chills up Francis’ spine. He heard more muffled shouts from behind them, the flashlights flailing wildly along the tilled earth.

“Shit!” Valerie yelled as they continued running. Francis glanced back over his shoulder. The figure of a huge dog was galloping after them, German Shepard by the look of it.

Just keep going!

They were almost to the trees. Just a few hundred yards more.

“AHHH!” Valerie’s yell split through the air.

Francis looked back and skidded to a stop in the dirt. The huge German Shepard had his jaws clamped around Valerie’s calf, growling. Blood was pooling through the fabric of her pants. Valerie kicked the dog’s muzzle forcefully sending it backwards to the ground whining. The dog shook its head vigorously, and stumbled to its feet, growling at Valerie once more.

More shouts in German echoed through the field. The dog bared his teeth threatening to pounce.

No!

Francis reached into his coat drawing his pistol. Valerie groaning in pain, tried to do the same, but was struggling to find it. BANG! An earsplitting shockwave rent through the air. The dog fell to the ground, its teeth still bared.

For a split second, Francis held his pistol outstretched at the animal, staring wide-eyed. It was the first living thing he had killed.

Valerie reached for her calf, a bloody gash ripped through her pants. She tried to stand. “Ah!” Valerie yelled as she hobbled to her knees. “Just go! I can’t make it!” Valerie said desperately.

Francis looked up, his pistol still in hand. The two flashlights blinded his eyes, but he could see the two figures behind the blinding light, running towards them, still shouting in German.

They were less than a hundred yards from them now.

Francis squatted to the ground trying to lift her shoulder. “Come on you can—”

Valerie shook her head vigorously, her eyes welling with tears. “I can’t!” she shouted back. “Just go!”

Francis looked into her blue, tear filled eyes. I can’t just leave her to die!

“Go!” Valerie shouted, pushing him away. The two Germans were less than fifty yards from them now. Francis recognized the guns in their hands: an MP-40 submachine gun and the other a Luger pistol. Francis aimed to the first soldier.

“Waffen nieder! Waffen nieder!” yelled the Germans, pointing their guns back at him.

It was now or never.

“Go!” Valerie yelled once more.

Francis fired. BANG BANG! The first soldier yelled and collapsed to the dirt. Francis aimed to the second soldier.

Muzzle flashes burst from the second soldier’s pistol.

Two gun shots split the air. BANG BANG! Searing pains shot through Francis’ sternum and back. The smell of burnt flesh overwhelmed his senses. His grip on his pistol faltered and his legs collapsed beneath him.

“NO!” a scream filled his ears.

The flashlight blinded his eyes and all became white.