The King Tiger tank was a remarkable piece of engineering. The allies may have had more tanks and even faster tanks, but for armour and weaponry, it was still the best.

Otto eased himself into his commander's hatch on the turret, pleased to be among familiar surroundings once more. He had persisted with his applications to rejoin the Panzer unit so often that eventually they relented just to keep him quiet.

He loathed his desk job with a passion, and they were crying out for seasoned and experienced officers in the 5th and 6th Waffen SS Panzer Armies. Things had changed, and by early November 1944, he found himself as a squadron commander with many young and inexperienced men under his command.

His old unit was disbanded and is old comrades were scattered amongst the new divisions. Those who remained alive, that is.

There was a push planned. The Americans and other Allies were not the best communicators, and each General seemed to have his own agenda. Thus, a chance was seen to drive northwest between the advancing armies in the Ardennes from the Eifel Hills, and, if successful, cross the Meuse, and aim for Antwerp. This would cut off a large part of the Allied Armies, and give the Germans an avenue between the enemy to break out and attack the undefended rear, and all the supply lines.

A lot depended on luck, and covert plans were made to utilise American speaking Germans to secure key bridges and cross roads to hold and cause disinformation to confuse the enemy for long enough to break out and seize the precious fuel that was stored behind the American lies.

The key was the fuel. Without it, the counter offensive was doomed, as tanks needed fuel to be effective. They also needed good weather, or rather bad weather so the aircraft spotter planes could not get airborne, and a lot of luck!

Otto found his leg hurt whatever he did, so he was still capable of commanding a squadron of tanks, far better than a squadron of pen pushers! His commanding officer was pleased to have him, despite his bad leg; he was still an effective and experienced tank commander.

The medical officer gave him some pills for the pain. He didn't think they worked, but he took them and hoped that they would just ease the edge off.

He found his troops were woefully ill equipped to go into battle. He began a strict training regime, one based on his experience in Russia, where they were out numbered, out gunned and over run all the way back from Stalingrad.

As he looked at the map and with his knowledge of the vastly superior and well-equipped allied armies, he feared another winter, like Stalingrad, was just around the corner.

He thought of the pretty French girl, who had so captivated his heart in Holland. Janine's smile had stayed with him for the months since he last saw her, looking forlorn and distressed as the Germans withdrew, leaving her alone and wretched on the road.

He felt a mixture of guilt and anger as he thought about her. No sooner had he found someone who was special enough to give him a ray of hope in an otherwise dark and bleak existence that he then lost her.

He thought he had loved Maria, the nurse who had brought him back to the land of the living. He had been devastated when the news of her death was broken to him. He now doubted he really loved her, he was simply grateful to meet a human being who brought him succour when he needed it most.

He could not even picture her face any more.

He could picture Janine.

He could see her eyes, her smile and the feel of her soft and warm breast.

He remembered that first and only real kiss they had shared as they said farewell, and he held the hope that fate would bring them together once more.

She had said she would wait for him. He frowned, for above everything else, he wished that she would.

Some trucks arrived with some precious ammunition. Everything was in short supply, ammunition, fuel, spares, food and warm clothing. Many of his men were wearing a variety of clothes, most were not even military issue, and many 'borrowed' from Allied POWs. The long leather jackets from Tommies, and the zip-up jerkins from the American GIs. Some even sported Russian fur hats taken from the Russians in a campaign he'd rather forget.

He supervised the distribution of the shells to his tanks. They were still far short of an ideal load. They would have to be very lucky indeed for this offensive to come off.

His men were scrounging, begging and stealing fuel from any and every source. It was more precious that gold at this moment, and Otto knew that reaching the fuel dump behind the enemy lines was the most crucial point of the whole plan.

Personally, he felt that the whole plan was a waste of time and effort. He thought that anything that would farther the length of the war was sheer stupidity. His thoughts strayed back to Janine, and of her smile.

More than anything else in the world, he wanted to be with her right now. He wanted to take her away from any hint of this bloody war, and cherish her for the rest of their lives.

Otto was totally, completely and utterly in love with her, and he liked the feeling. For the first time in many years, he now had something to live for.

Many miles away, the girl in question had come across a German who had an interesting tale. He was a young NCO in an engineer unit. Part of his duties had been to recover any corpses of US soldiers, together with as much of their equipment as possible.

This, she discovered, was in answer to a question relating to whether he had received any strange orders recently.

"What did you do with the corpses?" she asked.

"Put them in a barn. Stripped them and gave the dog-tags to a Waffen SS NCO."

"What happened to them after that?"

The man shrugged.

"No idea. Their kit was packed up and shipped out in SS trucks. I saw a pioneer unit digging a large hole. I guessed they were to be buried."

She finished with this prisoner, and immediately sought out Chuck Brewster. He was in his office arguing with another officer.

"Yes?" he asked, looking a little put out at her arrival.

"I can come back later, if you want?" she said.

He smiled and relaxed.

"No, come in Janine. This is Major Hawkins; he is with intelligence. He wants us to ask twice as many questions as we are already. I was telling him we have enough to do as it is."

"I've just had a strange one. A German Engineer NCO had been ordered to retrieve dead GIs and strip them of all equipment. The equipment was shipped out in SS trucks."

Both men stared at her.

"Go on."

"That's it. I think they are planning some form of covert action, using English speakers masquerading as GIs," she said, passing over the questionnaire.

"Steve, this is Janine Chavanay. She is one of our interpreters and one of our best screening officers. She is responsible for the forms being as comprehensive as they are."

The other man eyed the French tricolour sewn on Janine's sleeve below her 'Interpreter' flashes.

"Ah, vous etes francaise?" Steve asked, in very good French.

"Mais oui, monsieur," she replied with a smile.

"I lived in France for a couple of years after college. I loved it. Where are you from?"

"Latterly, Reims. But my mother and I travelled around quite a bit. I grew up near Menton in the south."

"I don't know Reims. But I guess the whole goddamn country is wrecked by the damn Krauts!"

She smiled, but said nothing.

"This report, what are they up to?" Chuck asked, bringing the subject back to operational matters.

Steve took the paper and read through it.

"Who knows, but it doesn't seem to amount to much," he said.

Janine took a chance.

"I disagree. I met one SS officer who was educated in New York. He could pass as an American with no trouble, and there are probably many more. If they managed to get behind our lines, they could sabotage our communications and supply lines. They could even assist a counter offensive by seizing key locations," she said.

"Janine worked as an interpreter for a French medical unit, they were taken over by the SS, and she has first hand experience with their methods," Chuck explained, with a somewhat abbreviated version.

"Hmm. Okay, I'll pass this down the line. If they are planning anything, we should get more whispers to confirm it," Steve said. He nodded to chuck, and shook Janine's hand.

"Enchante, mademoiselle," he said and left.

"Arrogant son of a bitch!" muttered Chuck.

Janine smiled, and left him grumbling.

It was many weeks after Market Garden, William Cameron walked amongst the damaged town of Arnhem, seeing for himself the place his son had last been seen.

His ADC came up to him.

"Brigadier?"

"What is it, Mike?"

"A Dutch woman has found something. I think you ought to come and see."

They went to a temporary Military Police post. A local woman was standing there, and there was a damp heap on the table.

It was a full battle dress, including a Sten gun and Webley pistol.

The MP sergeant handed Will a soggy army pay book.

It was his son's.

"This lady went back to her house, and these were found in the garden. It seems that the Germans used her house for a billet, and the place is in a real mess."

The uniform was complete, even down to Jamie's underwear. Will picked up the wallet. The photograph of himself, his late wife and their little boy looked back at him. It still had two pounds and ten shillings in the notes section.

"It's Jamie's!" he said, sadly.

"This was found nearby, sir," the sergeant said.

He handed Will the small metal disk on a chord.

Embossed on the disk were the words: - 2nd Lieut. J.A.D. Cameron, Cameron Highlanders, and his army number.

Will seemed to crumple from the inside, and sat down.

"I'm sorry sir," said the Sergeant.

"One thing, Brigadier," said his ADC.

"What?"

"If it is all here, like this, then it looks as if he had found some civvy clothes, and got rid of anything that if the Germans found on him, they would know immediately who he was. I think he was trying to evade them."

"You think he is alive?"

"Think about it, sir. If the Germans captured him then why is his stuff here? If he had been shot, how did he manage to get rid of his uniform? There are no holes or blood on the clothing, so I should think he put them in the blanket, and hid them so he could evade the enemy!"

Holding onto this thought, Will was a little less upset, and it gave him something to live for. He realised just how much his son meant to him, perhaps for the first time in his life, he actually thought of someone other than himself.

"Poor little sod! God, I hope he's alright!"

A couple of days later, General Bradley looked at Janine's report.

He passed it to Brigadier William Cameron, the British Liaison officer to the US army general staff.

"What do you think, Bill?"

"An intelligent report, and if true, worrying. How strong is the line, General?"

"Strong enough."

"How about for a single strike of a mass of German armour at one specific point?"

They looked at the map, and it became very obvious that such a counter-offensive could have serious consequences for his men. The troops were spread out over a broad front, and many had been in the line for a long time, and were tired and fed up.

The recent damp and cold weather had sapped their morale, and it was apparent that the war would not be over by Christmas, as hoped.

"Pass the word. All units are to be wary of any strange units that seem out of place. Inform all unit commanders that we believe that Germans are going to try to infiltrate the line by posing as US soldiers, and they are to put in place new and rapidly changing password and security systems," General Bradley said.

He then looked at his support units, and where his lines were weakest. There were several points, and he just didn't have enough to cover them all!

William Cameron was looking at the report in his hand. Ever since the news of his son being missing in action, he had fostered a hope that Jamie was still alive.

As he gazed at the handwriting on this single sheet of paper, he wondered if it was wishful thinking. The writing seemed familiar, yet subtly different. The name on the bottom of the form was of a Janine Chavanay, FF Int.

This meant she was a Free French interpreter. So, not even British, a woman, and probably middle aged.

It wasn't the first time he had seen handwriting that reminded him of his son. He had seen a letter only three weeks ago from someone in hospital, and it turned out to be an Engineer Officer who had both legs amputated.

He gave to paper back to the General, and sighed.

"Bill, what are the Germans most short of?"

"I don't know. Fuel?"

"Exactly. Now, if you wanted fuel, and the enemy had it. What would you do?"

"Shortest route. Secure the route first, and just go for it."

"I want all our fuel depots marked on this map. I want each one to have armoured support, and alert all MP units to patrol the routes from the front to the depots. See if air reconnaissance can sweep all areas to our immediate front, and pay attention to any build up of enemy tanks."

"How long for, General?" asked one of his staff officers.

"Hell, I don't know. Until something happens, I guess."

"Now what?" Bill asked.

"Now, we wait."

No further information was forthcoming to confirm Janine's suspicions. The weather closed in, and December arrived promising more cold and wet weather. The air reconnaissance units were grounded due to low cloud base and worsening conditions, and complacency set in everywhere as nothing happened anywhere.

December arrived with some colder weather. The fighting died away, and an uneasy stalemate existed, with sporadic and unpredictable bursts of minor actions. Even the stream of POWs became a trickle, and Janine found herself with time on her hands for the first time in weeks.

She now wore the trousers in preference to the skirt, for warmth and comfort. She had several layers of clothing, and was still cold and damp.

She hung about and found getting bored was worse than being too busy. Time, and time again, her mind turned to Otto, and she wanted to know he was all right.

On the 16th December, there was a lull in the foul weather, and Chuck asked her if she fancied a drive to clear their minds. He booked out a jeep and they drove towards a nearby town, just for a change in the routine. None of the team had had a break in weeks, and it was a really nice change and get out for a while.

They came to a cross roads, and the signpost had been removed. Janine took out the map and checked it.

"Left," she said.

Chuck swung the jeep left and they continued down there for a while.

The came to a small village, which, in peace time it would have been a tourist's delight. The small square was deserted, and the café looked as if it had been closed for a millennia.

They drove straight through and approached a small bridge on the far side of the village. A squad of MPs were gathered round a truck, and obviously receiving instructions from the officer.

Chuck slowed. He frowned, as an MP officer, he thought he knew every MP in this area, but these were strangers.

The Lieutenant smiled and wandered over. He saluted Chuck.

"Hi Capt'n. Can I help you?"

"Yeah, which unit are you guys with?" Chuck asked, returning the salute.

The canvas cover was over the jeep, and Janine was so wrapped up in scarves, a woolly hat and a hood that no one could recognise her. She suddenly stiffened, and one hand crept out and grabbed Chuck by the wrist.

"We're with the 33rd. We just moved in this area last night. Extra patrols against possible insurgencies, or sumptin'," the Lieutenant said. His New York accent was very obvious.

"Oh, no one told me," said Chuck, who realised that the death-like grip on his wrist was actually hurting.

"SS!" she whispered.

"Okay, Lieutenant. Good luck, see ya," he said, and spun the Jeep in a 180 turn and sped away as fast as he could.

"The officer, it was Rudi Heinmann. He is an SS Untersturmfuehrer. I met him near Arnhem," she said, looking back. The MPs were gathered in the road, all looking at their departing Jeep.

Unbeknown to Chuck and Janine, the German counter-offensive, that became known as the battle of the Bulge, had just started. Otto and his tanks in the 5th and 6th SS Panzer Armies were rolling, and the quiet before the mother of all battles was about to be shattered.

The Jeep shot round a corner, and nearly collided with two Sherman tanks that were parked at the crossroads. The two tank commanders were arguing about which road to follow.

Chuck interrupted their discussion.

"Hey guys, there is a group of Krauts just down the road, dressed as MPs. The officer is known to be an SS officer that this French girl met in Holland. How about you get to kick some ass?"

The master sergeant, on the top of one of the Shermans, spat on the ground.

"And just how do we know you ain't a fucking Kraut, Captain?"

Chuck looked him right in the eye.

"You tell me any goddamn Kraut who played for the Dallas Cowboys for four seasons?"

"Chuck Brewster?"

"The same, but it is Captain Chuck goddamn Brewster, to you Sergeant."

The man grinned and gave orders to his crew, and the tank's engines burst into life.

Minutes later the two tanks were making their way towards the bridge and the small band of fifteen Germans.

Rudi Heinmann stared after the American Jeep. He was slightly worried. The MP Captain was a little too quick to leave them, and he suspected that their mission was in danger. He had noticed that there was another man in the jeep, but hadn't got close enough to see him.

However, he told himself that nothing he'd said or done had given them away, and he relaxed. His task was to hold the bridge until the panzers reached his position. If the bridge fell, or worse, was destroyed, then the German armour had extra fifteen miles to go to get fuel.

It was vitally important that the bridge was held intact so as to preserve the precious fuel they had.

When the first American tank appeared, he wasn't too bothered. Tanks came and went all day. The Americans were notoriously bad at map reading, and with French place names they were even worse. They had already misdirected five or six lost crews.

When the second tank came into view, and the commanders suddenly closed down the hatches, his heart almost stopped.

They knew.

The first shell confirmed it, and their stolen Truck exploded, killing five of his men.

Two minutes, and six shells later, the three survivors raised their hands. They only had rifles and side arms. They had no chance.

The Jeep returned and the tall Captain came over to where Rudi stood with his hands on his head.

The other person in the jeep got out and walked over. Janine took her hood and hat off, and shook her blonde hair free.

Rudi's eyes closed slightly in recognition.

"Hello Rudi. Fancy seeing you here!" she said in German.

He nodded. Now he understood. She was an American Agent, and he had been identified.

He slipped his hand down and grasped the small US grenade that was hanging from his jacket. He released the pin and threw it towards the girl.

Several shots rang out, and he died before the grenade exploded.

Janine and Chuck stared at the grenade, and Janine simply jumped off the bridge into the stream. The grenade exploded, and Chuck was slower. As he dived behind the parapet, a chunk of shrapnel entered his leg just above the knee, narrowly missing his artery. The men on the tank were safe, but the other two phoney MPs died in the blast.

Janine was cold and wet, but she was also unharmed. As she dragged herself out of the water, she saw the men from the tank bandaging Chuck's leg.

Suddenly, she heard the noise of many tracks and engines. Turning she saw the eerie silhouettes of a great many Tiger tanks approaching on the other side of the river.

"The Bridge - blow the bridge!" she screamed through chattering teeth.

The two Shermans moved closer, and lowered their barrels to the aim at the bridge.

The leading German tank opened fire, and an explosion took out a chunk of masonry at the side of one of the Shermans.

Both the American tanks fired, and the bridge disintegrated. The masonry falling the five or six metres into the river.

Then one of the Shermans received a hit on its left track, and the crew jumped to safety.

With the help of one of the tankless Americans, Janine dragged Chuck into the jeep, and jumped behind the wheel. The other crewmen squeezed in the back. She slammed it into reverse, and another shell exploded exactly where the jeep had been resting.

The remaining Sherman fired on the Tiger, and the shell ricocheted screaming off into the field, as the thick armour held and the American's shell failed to pierce the enemy tank. The Sherman retreated firing, but the Germans had to roll to a halt. Two more Tigers rolled in along side the lead tank, and all three continued to fire on the rapidly retreating Americans.

Janine had spun the jeep round, and was racing down the road. She zigzagged in a haphazard fashion, hoping that the German gunners would leave her alone. Clods of earth and stones erupted beside and beyond them as the German shells attempted to stop their flight.

Chuck was pale, and hanging on tightly, his face a mask of pain. The pale faces of the tank crew stared back at their comrades, who were still retreating, firing as they went.

They out stripped the Sherman, and raced through the village. Janine drove like a woman possessed, and as soon as they found a military unit, she swung to a halt and told them what had happened.

Chuck had lapsed into unconsciousness, and once satisfied that the commanders were aware of the situation, she made for the field Hospital.

She pulled up outside and the crew helped her with Chuck. They took him from the jeep. An orderly appeared, and took him straight into surgery, and they were able to get to work on him straight away.

As it happened, there were few casualties at that time, but over the next few months, many men would pass through their hands, some of who were never to see their home again.

The German offensive was almost successful. It frightened the Allies, who only just managed to regroup and hold the line. Many lives were lost, but in the final analysis, it was the lack of fuel and sheer weight of allied numbers that really defeated the Germans.

Otto wiped the sweat and dust from his eyes. They had advanced far further and faster than they had thought. American tanks destroyed the bridge they had hoped to cross, just as they approached. They had to cross the river by the next bridge down, which had been secured by another covert team. However, they lost valuable time and fuel in doing so.

Now, in the thick of a tank battle, Otto realised that they had failed. The Americans and British just had so much more. A line of Shermans was stretched across the ridge, and despite being smaller, lighter and with less powerful guns, they had the firepower to lay a devastating barrage, and one by one the Tigers fell.

However, they took many Allied tanks and lives with them.

Otto watched as his gunner loaded their last shell. The man looked at him, and Otto shrugged. They were operating on fumes now, and once the shell was gone, they may as well pack in.

The shell fired and the track of an advancing Sherman blew apart. The tank rolled off the remains of its track. It was a sitting duck. Unfortunately, there was no more ammunition.

Otto ordered his tank to withdraw rapidly. As they reversed, he saw the motionless tanks of his comrades, whose fuel had already given out.

They reached a small copse, and then the engine died.

"Out. Head for home lads." he said.

Carl, his gunner tired to help him.

""No. Just go. I'll slow you down. Good luck!" he said.

He took his belt off, and managed to struggle out of the tank. His leg ached abominably, as he had been cooped up in that damned tin can for several days. He limped away and sat down by a tree some way from the tank. He even retained his ebony stick with silver top. He took out his cigarettes and lit up his last one. As he drew the smoke into his lungs, he smiled.

"Now, Janine, my little flower, where the hell are you? Come on fate, it is time for you to something right, for once."

He was still there when a Sherman rolled to a halt some distance away. It simply opened fire, and destroyed his tank. US Infantry swarmed everywhere, and he raised his arms. He wasn't armed, and as soon as his leg injury was identified, he was marched, slowly and painfully to the rear.

Chuck was patched up and sent back to an R&R centre. His report of the incident landed on General Bradley's desk. Although not conclusive, their small action had given the Allies a small respite, and an edge that may have assisted the victory. The General submitted a report in turn, which landed on the desk of General Charles De Gaulle. At the sight of the action by a Frenchwoman, and that she was a civilian interpreter to boot, wheels were put in motion.

Eisenhower summoned his commanders and they talked through their options. The line was strengthened, and the push for Germany was restarted with vigour.

Chuck was sitting in a chair at the window of the old French Chateau. It was snowing, and the nurses were decorating the place ready for Christmas.

Lt. Colonel Max Clifford walked over to him.

"Chuck!"

Chuck looked up.

"Colonel. Good to see you."

Max pulled up a chair and sat down.

"You chose the right time to take a wound. We have never been so busy."

"Sorry sir. I didn't intend to. So, which poor sucker is doing my job?"

"The only one with the experience and common sense. The French girl."

"You put Janine in charge?" Chuck asked, surprised.

"Yup, officially. I have to inform you, that as from yesterday, Janine Chavanay has been commissioned in the Free French army as a Captain, no less. Young lieutenant Maxwell was nominally in charge, but I told him to just do what the lady said. But she took over this morning, and is running a tight little ship."

They both laughed.

"How is my girl?" Chuck asked.

"Good. She saved your sorry ass. It looks like she's gonna get a medal from us, the French and the British!"

"No shit? How come?"

"Well, when Ike read your report, he decide to recommend her for a medal. Then the French wanted to because she is one of theirs. Then the British decided they wanted in on the act, and are trying to work out what they can give her."

Chuck laughed.

"How's she take it?"

"How do you think?"

"She told them to go away and stop being silly."

"Almost word for word."

"How much longer can this go on?"

"I don't know, Chuck. I would like to go home too."

Chuck stared out of the window.

"Some people don't have homes to go back to. Others have homes but no one in them!"

"War is a bitch," Max said, and passed his friend a bottle of bourbon.

"Thanks."

"No problem. I have two glasses as well, if you want."

"I want."

They poured themselves two stiff measures and toasted peace.

Janine was sorting through the list of that day's screening.

They had managed three hundred and twelve.

She was exhausted. She checked every list to see if Otto's name was on it.

There was a knock on her door. Her door, it was Captain Brewster's door really, but the colonel had told her to just get on and do the job. She kept seeing the captain's rank on her shoulders and smiled. In a matter of a few months she had risen a long way, in three different armies!

"Yes?"

It was Sergeant Ryan.

"Another batch just in, ma'am. Where do you want them?"

"More? Shit, we haven't room for the ones we've already got! Where are these from?" "Most of them are tank crews from the offensive. They are no trouble, just as fed up as the rest of us."

"Put them in compound one. How many officers?"

The sergeant checked his list.

"Twenty five."

"Senior man?"

"A Sturmbannfuehrer, so that makes him a Major, right?" "Right. Name?" she asked, hardy daring to hope.

"Schneider, Otto. Commander of a Tiger squadron, taken in a forest when his tank ran out of fuel. Has a leg injury."

Janine's heart was racing, and she struggled to remain calm on the outside.

"Oh, recent or old injury?"

"Must be old, he walks with a stick."

She looked at her watch.

"Put them all into the compound. Oh, and bring the senior officer to me in interview room one."

"Now ma'am? Shouldn't you get some rest?"

"Now, please. I just want to get him to try to help persuade his men to cooperate with us. So a few words should do it."

"You're the boss," he said and left.

Janine went to her filing cabinet, and removed the bottle of cognac and two glasses she had placed there. She put them into her briefcase, and made her way to the interview rooms.

The place was all but deserted now, as the teams were taking a well-earned rest before starting again tomorrow.

She placed her briefcase on the floor, and went and stood by the barred window.

There was a knock on the door, and she waited facing the window. "Sit there," the sergeant said to the dishevelled Major. There was the sound of the chair being moved and then of someone sitting.

Then, "Sturmbannfuehrer Schneider, ma'am."

"Thank you. I'll call you when I'm done," she said.

She turned and looked at Otto. The sergeant closed the door.

Otto was sitting staring at her in frank disbelief, his eyes were brimming with tears, and at that moment she knew she still loved him.

"Hello Otto. It seems fate has interceded for us," she said in German, and smiled.

Otto had been marched for about two miles before his leg collapsed. Reluctantly, the US soldiers allowed him to travel in a truck with some other wounded Germans.

They had travelled for some miles before stopping at a makeshift POW compound. Within the compound were tents, and there were six sub-compounds. He smiled as he recognised the system. This was the screening area, to weed out those who would be called to account, or could assist the intelligence officers in any way.

They stood in the rain as they were counted and details obtained. He felt remarkably calm and in good spirits. He didn't have to fight any more.

He watched the young Americans, with their shiny new equipment and strange lack of military discipline. They corralled the POWs into a compound and issued them all with blankets and mess tins. They were lined up and given the best meal he'd had in ages.

He was shown a tent and allocated a bed. Then a sergeant had come for him.

He was really very tired, and his leg was aching abominably.

"Where am I being taken?" he asked, in English.

"You are the senior officer of the new POWS. The Captain wants to speak to you," he told him.

He was taken to a room, and a man was stood in the shadows by the window.

The sergeant told him to sit, so he did so.

Then the sergeant spoke to the person.

"Sturmbannfuehrer Schneider, ma'am."

"Thank you. I'll call you when I'm done," she said.

As soon as he heard her voice, he knew!

When she turned round and looked at him, his heart melted and tears came to his eyes.

Her hair was even more golden than he remembered, a little shorter perhaps, but wavy and delightful. She seemed to have filled out a little, perhaps the American food was helping. She was wearing US army fatigues. He could see captains stars and a French flag on her shoulder. Her bosom seemed fuller, and her smile was as wonderful as ever.

She was the most beautiful girl in the world!

"Hello Otto. It seems fate has interceded for us," she said, and smiled right into his heart.

He couldn't move, and she walked slowly over to the table. She sat opposite him, and leaned down and picked up the briefcase.

She took out the bottle and the glasses, and poured them both a drink. She passed him a glass.

"To us," she said, raising her glass. He could see the tears in her eyes.

"Us!" he repeated and drank.

He put the empty glass down.

"You look wonderful!" he said, in German.

"You don't. You look like shit!" she said, and he laughed. He hadn't laughed properly since she had last been with him.

"So, you got the job then?"

"So it seems."

"And a captain, but those aren't US rank stars," he observed, frowning.

"Je suis francaise, I am a Capitaine in the Free French Army."

"I love you Janine!"

"I know," she said, teasing him.

"What happens now?"

"Now? Well first, I stand up, like this," she said, and stood up.

"Then I move over here next to you, like so," she said.

"Then you stand up and kiss me."

He did as he was told.

They kissed as lovers. Tenderly yet with a hidden passion built on the time spent apart. For a brief moment, two became as one, and Janine knew then that she had lost her heart to this man.

The kiss went on and she held him so close and tight, that she never wanted to be apart from him again.

This time, her body responded and she allowed the feelings to flow freely. She ached for him. She wanted to possess and be possessed. She now knew what it was like to be a woman.

Otto started to cry.

The kiss came to an end, and he crumpled onto the chair. She sat on the table and held him. His whole body was wracked with sobs. Years of suffering and pain were being released. Her love for him had restored his belief in himself and in humankind. It was almost more than he could take.

She held his head and gently rocked him.

"Shh. Its okay now, I'm here. I'm yours. I love you so much!"

Otto had much to release, and for the first time in his life he allowed his feelings to take over and he surrendered to them.

After many minutes, he regained control.

She smiled and kissed his tears.

"I love you," she said.

He smiled and she produced a handkerchief. She wiped his face. It was very dirty.

She poured another drink for each of them.

They drank. He smiled, content simply to be in her company again. She put the bottle and glasses back in her case.

"As I asked before, what happens now?" he said.

She shrugged.

"Tomorrow, I will formally interview you. Then you will be sent back to the rear and eventually will end up in a proper facility. I have to sort out some things first, and then, hopefully, when the fighting stops, we can make a life for ourselves somewhere no one knows either of us."

"Marry me?"

"Of course, but do you mind if we finish the war first?"

He chuckled.

"I also need to get the courage to tell you those secrets you know I have. I won't marry you until they are clear," she said.

"I don't need to know them."

"You might not, but I need you to know. These are major things in my life, and I don't know the best way of telling you."

"I am in no rush."

"That's a good job, for it may take me a while."

"Janine?"

"What?"

"You don't have any cigarettes, by any chance?" "That, my love, is one nasty habit you are definitely giving up," she told him, and called the Sergeant. She turned and threw him a pack.

"Just to make the journey easier," she said with her lovely smile. Then she was gone.

Otto was taken back to his compound, and as he made his way to his tent, he had the most idiotic smile on his face.

He lay on his bed, and lit a cigarette. It was an American brand, and not one with which he was familiar. It was too smooth for his taste, and he found it almost tasteless, yet it was still a cigarette. He held it up and wondered what silly sod had invented this rather stupid and pointless activity.

A tired Obersturmfuehrer was watching him from the next bunk.

"Sir, you look remarkably pleased about something."

Otto looked at the man.

"I am. I don't have to be afraid any more," he said.

"What about your family?"

Otto smiled.

"I have just found my family," he said, and closed his eyes. The Obersturmfuehrer looked across at Otto and frowned. No one should look that happy to be a POW.