Seacliff

Chapter sixty-six: Saving Corporal Mortimer

1940

"Halt!" Aidan shouted, throwing down his rifle to raise up his arms. "Halt! Nicht schiessen! Bitte nicht schiessen!"

Aidan bellowed his plea not to shoot once more for good measure, and the German troops surrounding him stopped advancing. A few pairs of cautious feet crunched forward in the snow.

"Wer zum Teufel bist du?"

Aidan took a moment to decipher the words. Who the hell are you?

"Mortimer! Korporal Mortimer, with the Irish Guards. I'm a spy." The Jerries' rifles rattled. "A German spy!" Aidan quickly clarified. "I'm spying on the British – or at least I was, I got separated from my unit. Please! Please don't shoot."

"Why should we believe you?"

"You shouldn't..." The rifles rose on him again. "But! But! Are you sure you can afford not to believe me? If I am telling the truth... and the intelligence I have collected dies with me..."

"Who is your commanding officer?"

"You wouldn't know him. He..." Aidan exhaled ripples of steam. "He's in Belgium. He's expecting my report any day now."

"That's awfully convenient," the Jerry noted, inching nearer.

Aidan struggled to hold his ground. "I can imagine what it sounds like. But you can either kill me now, and risk jeopardizing a military intelligence mission. Or let me live, help me get to Oslo – "

"Oslo? I thought your superior was in Belgium."

"He is." Aidan nodded slowly. "He is. But I can communicate with him through a secure line from Oslo."

"Why not go back to the British and continue spying?" some other Fritz wondered.

Bollocks.

"I can't – " Beads of perspiration formed under Aidan's helmet. "I can't go back... because I need to send my report in. I figure it's better to remain naturally MIA than disappear from my company under suspicious circumstances."

Aidan bit his tongue to keep from blabbering on about the elaborate backstory he'd concocted in five minutes. Nothing crumbled quicker than a house built on lies and stacking them up at speed would be sure to blow his cover.

The Fritz stomped up to him. Picking the discarded rifle, he tossed it to a comrade and checked Aidan's insignia.

"He is who he says he is," Fritz concluded. "Mortimer, Corporal. Spy or no spy... A British officer could be worth more to us alive."

"Thank you!" Aidan exclaimed. "Glad to be of service."

Fritz grinned. "Congratulations, Herr Korporal, you get to live another day. If it turns out you're lying... you'll wish you hadn't."

*

"Privatzimmer für den Herrn Korporal."

Fritz shoved Aidan into a cramped cabin aboard a south-bound vessel. The heavy metal door fell shut, clanging as it locked. His 'private room' did not exactly boast corporal-worthy amenities and his wrists hurt from the handcuffs, but at least he was alive, heading for Oslo.

In a few days, the ship would reach the North Sea, where he could jump overboard and swim to Scotland. As much as he would have liked to go straight to Jemmy, the nearest French coast was farther away from Norway's southern tip than Aberdeen or Orkney. And he'd have to make the voyage underwater without his sealskin.

"One step at a time," Aidan told himself. That misty-river calm from his late-night London walk had evaded him since his capture, his mind under continuous strain to maintain the spy façade. "One step at a time. You either do this, or you die."