Shadows of the World » Band of Brothers

38: The Power of Fire

"If I am to perish by the power of fire, At least let that fire be yours." - Ovid, Metamorphoses

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As the sun set behind her, Juliette knocked on the door to the vast mansion, stepping back from the door and waiting anxiously for it to open. She was overly conscious of the laundry bag in her hands and what was hidden amongst the linens. She could only pray they wouldn't search her.

The door swung open with exaggerated vigour, the person on the other side clearly trying to demonstrate his annoyance at being disturbed through the action. His expression of disgust, however, dropped once he saw her, his eyebrows rising promptly. "Wer sind Sie denn?"

Juliette shook her head, feigning confusion. "I am sorry," she began in a thick French accent, "my German is not very good. I am here to change the beds. I am told you are expecting me?"

"I was expecting Simone," he returned, scanning her up and down unashamedly.

Jules looked to her feet, bashful. "Simone has become ill and has sent me in her place. I am sorry if this is an inconvenience to you."

The man smiled that shark-like smile Jules had come to associate with the higher-ranking Nazis. He opened the door wider for her. "It is no bother. The bedrooms are all upstairs. I would show you myself but I am in important company, you understand."

She nodded, ducking her head demurely. "Thank you, monsieur."

After making her way upstairs Jules checked every room to make sure there were no other people up there, servants or Nazis, and headed straight for the main study. She had to be quick about this because if she was caught there would be no way of explaining why a maid was lurking around a study that should have been locked.

When she arrived at the desired room she made quick work of picking the lock using a pin she'd hidden in her hair and slipped in undetected. Rifling through the laundry bag she found the lighter she'd hidden there, placed the bag on the desk chair, and lit it up. The fire quickly spread from the wooden chair to the wooden desk which contained many a locked drawer full of agent interrogation confessions yet to be analysed.

She slipped back out, leaving the door open for necessity of spreading the fire, and picked the lock of the second study. She set light to that desk, too, which took a little bit more effort due to the varnish on it and the lack of a laundry bag for assistance.

When she came back into the hallway the fire had already spread rapidly and she felt a blast of heat on her face which no doubt left soot on her skin. She descended the stairs quickly and silently, checking to make sure she was unobserved before she opened the front door and stepped out.

Just as her feet hit the ground she heard the distinct sound of the safety clicking off of a gun behind her, and then felt the cold barrel pressing into the back of her head. Her eyes shot up from the floor, widened in surprise.

"Going somewhere?"

She tried to give an obvious tremble. "Monsieur, when I came up the stairs there was a fire. I did not notice until it had spread. I was going for help."

"And you didn't think to tell us, the inhabitants of the house?"

"Oh, I am sorry, I thought -" she stammered out.

"I find it rather strange that the minute a maid I don't recognise sets foot in the house a fire starts, don't you? Who are you?" the man from before demanded coldly.

"Monsieur, we will burn," she pleaded, searching frantically for any sign that Martin was watching and would come to her rescue, though she hardly knew how he would pull that off.