Rivalry

Mission two: trapped

Three weeks had passed since the events in the ardennes. The tank platoon had driven swiftly to Paris, pursued by vast legions of Rommel's armoured companies, and lieutenant colonel Maybury had received Maria's reports with a mixture of relief, sadness and reprimand.

And now here she was, freshly arrived in paris, only to be informed that lord Gort and Tristan were not here. She wanted to strangle the lieutenant colonel, as he had simply left orders to join him in calais, where they were marshalling the british forces. Full colonel apparently, she thought bitterly, having been informed by his telegram of his promotion. It really was rubbing salt into Maria's wounded pride. Ugh! I can just imagine his smug tone of voice! And he hasn't even been fighting!

It had been three days out of the ardennes when Maria had had the chance to ask Niall what had happened to sergeant Macavoy. He had shaken his head in misery, and he along with corporal Murray had narrated the events leading to his death. Niall had watched his commanding officer break down. She had not let a single tear fall upon hearing his final message, but had stared blankly into the distance, torment and grief radiating off her in waves. He had hesitantly asked her what 'favour' he had owed her, and she replied: "I helped him transfer from the Navy to the Infantry. He got terrible seasickness, and so was convinced that i saved his life somehow. He repaid what he owed, a thousandfold. far more than he should have done." She had whispered the last part, and returned to the silence that was her shield.

Maria felt ill at ease, wandering the streets of Paris in the evening. The beautiful city had become deserted of decent folk, giving dominion to the more unsavoury characters of the night. there was a chilling atmosphere. She simply shrugged it off, no one in their right mind would attack a soldier, particularly when the germans loomed. The grandiose gothic architecture of the Notre Dame seemed sad somehow to the girl in full uniform, as if the gargoyles and the saints knew what was coming, and were weeping.

There's no time for petty jealousies. Maria reminded herself sternly as she crossed a bridge over the seine. She put her concerns behind the dam in her head, into a steadily filling reservoir of anger, helplessness, shame, doubt and other unwanted emotions. Little did she know it, but this was the last time she would see Paris as it truly was, a free city bursting with the new culture of the era. Maria really wasn't a fan of the expressionist styles and the cabaret, but she saw how indoctrination of traditional values throughout her childhood made her see these things in a certain light. Besides, it put smiles on people's faces, and Maria had seen how it brought Paris to life, and with it much beauty.

Maria wearily turned her mind back to business. Everywhere she turned it felt like there was a radio blaring the news of the germans advancing west on paris, or newspapers with grainy photographs of german tanks obviously taken in haste. It was a bittersweet reminder- on one hand, it was depressing to think about. But on the other, it inspired the girl to never lose like that again. Never again. Maria leaned on the side of the bridge and watched the occasional lantern-strung barge float by. At least it's a nice evening. I'm sure that the platoon is living it up in the french barracks! They deserve it after a week of sleep deprivation.

Lieutenant Crosse's platoon, had for the past few weeks been bombarded by the germans in the Race to paris, staged several ambushes and, for a bit of fun, left Erwin Rommel more taunting messages painted on barns and large rocks. Funny at the time, granted, but Maria still felt bad since he had been... so kind in treating her wounds and letting her go free. It was like they had a connection created by her debt to him, and his honourable actions towards her. And yet he was to her the ideal commander, intelligent, just, tactically brilliant and had a competitive streak hat he did not let become a weakness, one that he had easily exploited in her. If only he wasn't fighting for The Nazis, they could have been good friends. But they weren't friends, so where did that leave Maria? She couldn't find an answer, so she walked back to the riverbank and on towards the officers barracks in the Hôtel de Ville where she could get some sleep before heading out tomorrow. Not until she had checked on her platoon though. Murray and Clifford would be the ringleaders of the ruckus, undoubtedly.

And as she walked up to the mess hall, the answer came to her, and it made her happy for some weird reason.

Erwin Rommel, hmm?  A true rival.

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Erwin could see the vague outline of Paris, although he had orders to head to the northern coastline and bypass the strong defences around the city. He presumed that was where Lieutenant crosse's platoon had retreated to, having left a last insult daubed in white paint on a large wooden farmhouse. He was currently standing in front of it, his men fending off violent bursts of laughter. Even klaus had cracked a smile. Where they had found the time he did not know, only that his lenient attitude towards that pretty blonde had dissolved to nothing and by god, if he ever caught her again, he would personally see to it that she went straight to stalag luft. On second thought, that may be a bit... extreme. A public humiliation would suffice. The comment in front of him just wounded his pride, really.

"Erwin Rommel has the brain of a grasshopper. His tank stratagems are crushed like a bug under lieutenant crosse's boot." Read the white paint in german. Calm down Erwin. He exhaled slowly as the soldiers went off into another round of hysteria. Just think of that cocky lieutenant bowing to the floor in your presence and surrendering in front of all of her men. That calmed him down sufficiently. He turned to his men, and snapped at them to set up camp. Klaus radioed a full halt to the other members of the seventh army.

On the long journey to the french capital tank after tank had fallen to Maria's guerrilla tactics. One would have thought that on the agricultural plains of northern France, a tank would have been easy to spot, but ohhh no. She had proved surprisingly inventive in concealing her tanks, using scarce buildings as cover and had even disguised a tank as a hay bale. No real damage had been done, however, mainly just slowing the tank columns down by shooting the treads on the leading vehicles, and forcing his men to repair them. And the Luftwaffe hadn't been much help when it came to pinpointing their location either. Erwin was broken out of his reverie by the scent of cooking provisions. He retrieved his mess kit and helped himself to a portion of potatoes and stew. Day after day, they ate the same food. For a life punctuated by bursts of adrenaline, action and violence, moments like this were incessantly mundane. Oh how Erwin longed to go to a restaurant in stuttgart and eat to his heart's content the foods that were served there. But until the war was over, he was stuck with this disgusting mush, and wouldn't even be able to sample the Parisian cuisine, because of his new orders to go north from OKW.

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Morning came, and Maria's men were ready to leave Paris. Maria herself had had a good night's sleep, and had bid a solemn farewell to the french general in charge of the Paris garrison, who had eyed her with the look of a man condemned. 'Please, Don't leave' his sad eyes had seemed to say, but they both knew orders were orders, and had to be obeyed.

The tanks left the garrison in the northeast of the city at eight o'clock, and immediately made swift progress towards the north. Apparently, the other british tank divisions were massing for an attack on Rommel near Arras. She was fairly sure that Rommel had been heading for Paris last time she had checked over her shoulder, but admitted defeat when she had been shown recon images of german panzers heading north, in Rommel's signature formation. She would get there as fast as possible then, to avenge Macavoy and his men, as well as finally change the direction of this disastrous war.