Chapter 7

The huge butcher and his much smaller brother followed Honey to her bicycle.

She watched them toss it up on the back of their delivery truck with relative ease. The three of them squeezed into the front seat of the tiny cab and she could feel Claude's muscular thigh pressing into her flesh like a wrestler searching for a weak point to attack. His silent brother Andre on the other side was trying his best to not make contact with her leg but with little success. Honey wondered if it was simply because he was shy or that he didn't like girls.

The other brother whose name was Anton stayed back at the butcher shop because it was the only place the others in the covert cell knew where to contact in the event of some disaster. Even though the younger brother Andre was silent and possibly shy, she knew he had a Webley under his jacket and she saw the slicing blade he had stashed up his sleeve in a convenient place to catch someone unaware. It was altogether possible that he had hidden talents and would be a valuable asset to the operation. She envied him the Webley because it looked just like the one her father generally carried in his coat pocket even when just going to meet friends. It was the first handgun she had fired as a young girl and the bruise on her thumb was a fond memory.

The little popgun in her purse was deadly but only up close and personal. It was more for her peace of mind than a serious threat. Of course, the Webley made a hell of a bang but if you were unfortunate enough to get hit with one of the lead messengers, you were definitely down for the count. It was rather like the American M1911 Colt .45 automatic that so popular in the Philippines in stopping the drugged up tribesmen with no fear of death or pain.

She was partial to the knife just like Claude's younger brother but she liked it better in the dark when it couldn't be seen by her target.

The warehouse that was their destination was dark and deserted when they arrived. That actually was encouraging because they all preferred to do their business without any eyes watching what they did. The delivery truck was backed into the platform and both Claude and Andre started loading the coils of wire they would need to hook up the remote detonators. The bridge was so huge that if they tried to do it any other way the whole affair would come right down on their heads. She wasn't sure about the butcher and his brother but she knew she had no desire to give it all for the cause without a halfway decent plan for an exit strategy.

The trip back to the village was much quicker than the bicycle journey. They started immediately and it was shortly after midnight that they pulled up to the thick woods that adjoined the river and the rail junction. Her cache of weapons and cash was not far away and she decided that if things went sour with the operation, she would head to the hidden stash and make her way to the channel without returning to the farmhouse and the other members of the resistance group. For some strange reason, she felt that the weak link in the group was right in the farmhouse, but she had no idea which of the men or women was the turncoat. She suspected that Marcel was right in his assumption that his unit was betrayed by someone in the group and probably had saved his neck by keeping far away from further involvement with the resistance cell.

She squatted down behind a fallen tree and did her business knowing that both Claude and Andre could hear her water hitting the dry leaves on the fast-cooling ground. They moved in closer to the bridge and dug out a space under an above-ground root leading from a huge tree that made an easy marker for their hidden packages. Now all they had to do was to send someone back to the farmhouse and get the explosives and the detonators to give them all the supplies they needed to blow the bridge.

Andre took the back-pack filled with the meat from the store and set off into the village on her bicycle. It seemed strange to see him on a woman's bicycle but with the shortages, it probably would go by unnoticed by anyone looking for oddities. She watched him pedaling off with a determined look and she had mixed feelings about letting him take her place to collect the equipment. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched but it was highly unlikely since they had arrived in dark and hidden the delivery van nicely in the thick bushes well off the side of the road.

She told Andre to just get the supplies and to bring back only two men to help him carry it and not to tell anyone where they were located. He looked at her funny but didn't say a word and just went out headed to the farm. Honey thought it was a bit strange that they had not met many patrols all the way in from Paris but figured it was probably due to the Allies making a surprise landing on the coast in the middle of the worse weather they had seen for quite some time.

When she dug up the radio and made contact briefly with Whitehall, she confirmed her instructions were still to demolish the bridge to cut off German reinforcements from being sent to the coast. They seemed to think that she was still working with the cell back at the farmhouse but she didn't say anything in the clear because there was always a chance it would make itself back to the turncoat who was throwing a wrench into the British/French resistance movement. Claude watched her but made no comment and she really liked that because he was a man of very few words.

Since there was quite a bit of time left before Andre returned with the other men and the equipment and there was nothing else they could do in the meanwhile, she suggested they simply get some rest and stay out of sight. His response was to pull her down to the mattress in the small kitchen and cover her long lean body with his muscular trunk and strong thighs. She was close to laughing because she had just meant to get some shut-eye and he translated that as an opportunity to hump like rabbits with danger in the air all around them. The atmosphere was exciting to her pulse, to her heartbeat and to her throbbing pussy. Soon the small kitchen was echoing with the sound of her unabashed grunts of pleasure as the burly French butcher pounded her meat like he was tenderizing a veal cutlet.