Maria watched the sun slip lower until it kissed the edge of the horizon. From her vantage in the hayloft of the barn, she had an uninterrupted view out over the flat French countryside. She sat on the edge of the loft floor, her legs hanging free out into the open air. It wasn’t much, but her view above the fields and wall gave her the slightest sensation that she was in the air once more.

“I thought I’d find you here,” a French-accented female voice called from deep in the rear of the loft

Maria turned to see Mademoiselle Garnier climbing up from the loft ladder, her hiding place hadn’t remained secret for long.

“Your Lieutenant Commander said you might be up here.” The woman added for context smiling as she approached. Maria noted that Matheson would need to be put to death for spilling state secrets.

“I was just… hoping for a little peace and quiet, it’s been a long few days.”

“I can leave if you wish?”

“No, that’s ok.” Maria smiled. “This is your home, isn’t it? I’d feel awfully rude asking you to leave.”

Yvette nodded. “It was my husband’s farm and now it is mine. One day we will grow crops and feed animals only. For now, they are a disguise so we can make war.”

Maria regarded the Frenchwoman for a moment. She was in her mid-thirties, her red hair was wavy and full and flowed down past thin shoulders as it hung free. She was small in stature, but there was a stubborn strength to her that belied her size. Her skin was rich with freckles and her eyes shone brightly in the growing gloom of the barn. Yvette Garnier sat down beside her on the edge of the loft floor and swung her legs in the open air like a child.

“Your Lieutenant Commander, he said you were a pilot?”

Maria sighed wistfully, “Yes, Hurricanes.”

Yvette inclined her head and looked at the British woman beside her. “I did not think your military allowed women to fight, no?”

“I… uh no, not ordinarily, but It’s uh, desperate times I suppose.” she lied quickly, hoping the fear she felt at her slip didn’t show. This was the first time she was among friends since their escape, but she wasn’t quite prepared to explain her true origins yet. She wasn’t sure how people might react to her peculiar situation. She was more surprised by the urge to be treated only as the woman she appeared to be.

“That they are,” the Frenchwoman agreed sadly. “Men, they are fools to discount us; we are just as capable as them, often more so.”

While she couldn’t relate to the woman’s frustrations by direct experience yet, she felt a sudden surge of kinship with her. Whether it was by fate or design, this was her lot in life now too. She didn’t lament the loss of what little male advantages she had once had; it had been admittedly quite small. She swore then that she would prove to them that she was their equal. She smiled, looking out over the fields. “They’ll learn; this war will see to that.”

Yvette nodded. “I wish that were true ma chérie, I wish that were true.”

“You never know,” Maria shrugged. “A lot of things change, some of them we don’t expect.”

“They are too focused on keeping us barefoot and pregnant to truly let us truly be their equals.” Yvette scoffed. “These men, however, these airmen; they respect you. That much is obvious to see.”

“They’re good people.”

“That is what we have here, this Marquis. This little group, we are a family created by war, just like you are with those men, not kin, but family nonetheless.”

Maria smiled and said nothing.

“Though I think more perhaps than a friend, in one case?”

Maria looked at Yvette sharply, “No, that’s…” She tried to find a defense or a reason to deny the assertion but failed. “Yes, you are correct.”

Yvette smiled broadly. “The Lieutenant Commander, yes? I have seen how he looks at you. Unlike you, he does not hide it well.”

“He does?”

“Certainement chérie! He has the look of love: The eyes, they linger when you are not looking.”

Maria felt her skin flush and she allowed herself a slight smile at the thought. “We are… working out what we are,” she admitted slowly, glancing sidelong at Yvette. “It is something we should have waited for… until we were home I think.”

The Frenchwoman nodded sagely. “To find something in all this chaos, it is special, I think. We can be smart in life or we can take comfort while we can, do not blame yourself.”

“It’s… complicated.” Maria sighed.

Yvette glanced at the woman beside her and shrugged. “Life is complicated.”

The farmhouse was not as comfortable as the hotels or guesthouses the group had stayed at during their escape from incarceration, however, it had provided the first truly safe night of rest they had experienced in many long months. There were no guards to keep them in, no door to suddenly burst open in the dark of the night. For the first time since England, they slept peacefully.

Maria stretched out in her bed and stared up at the white ceiling. Outside she could hear the sounds of the farmyard coming alive for the day. She had felt slightly guilty taking up an entire room to herself while the boys shared, but she was more than aware now that it was no longer appropriate for her to bunk with them. She smiled to herself as she remembered their long months together in the camp and her blossoming; had it ever really been appropriate?

Sitting up, she brushed the hair from her eyes and smiled to herself. For the first time in this entire enterprise, she felt reasonably confident that they might finally see home again. That is if this silly caper with the French didn’t get them all killed.

Slipping from the bed, she stripped off her night dress and regarded her nude body in the mirror. With the exclusion of one small inconsistency, she was extremely pleased with what she saw looking back at her. Now that her mind was no longer denying the blatant truth, the reflection she saw was undeniably female. From the curve of her buttock to the swell of her small breasts and the delicate smoothness of her musculature, she could only see Maria Campbell in the mirror and she was happy about that fact.

Dressing quickly in a simple burgundy house dress, she applied light makeup and brushed her hair before checking her reflection once more. She smiled; the young woman staring back at her in the mirror felt correct. This war, this silly romp across Europe was quite possibly the worst place to discover herself, but she could not deny that it had happened; she was most certainly glad that it did.

Venturing downstairs, she was drawn to the kitchen by the smell of food and the sounds of conversation. Entering the room, she was surprised to find she was close to the last to arrive.

“Bout time you joined us lassie,” Hamley grinned, saluting her with a steaming mug of French coffee. “It must be nice tae have a lie-in when there’s a war on.”

“I think I was rather exhausted,” she grinned sheepishly.

“Ignore him, we’re all a little early.” Matheson smiled as he handed her a mug. “Feels good to be out of the Jerry togs for a bit doesn’t it?”

Accepting the beverage gratefully, Maria nodded and took a seat at the table. “It does indeed, I can’t say that I’m not rather glad. It’s certainly nice to sit here like civilized people and speak English too.” She pursed her lips and frowned. “I assume we’re reprising our Jerry disguises for this SS job?”

Matheson nodded. “That’s the plan, but that’s tomorrow’s problem according to Monsoir Laurent. We have a fairly narrow window of opportunity when their contingent is reduced.”

“How so?”

Matheson pulled out a sheaf of photographs showing a French country house surrounded by trees. “Before the war, a wealthy local Jewish businessman lived here. After the Jerries rocked up, he magically vanished and they took the place over to house their local SS Police unit that was tasked with rounding up partisans and politicos in the area. While typically there are up to twenty of them around the place, we expect them to be much reduced tomorrow. Something about a well-known partisan expected to blow up a rail line near Wancourt.”

“But nobody’s going to be there, right?” Maria surmised, catching on to the plot. “Are they likely to buy this?”

Matheson nodded. “The French are burning a reliable source on this one to guarantee our friends will be out of town. We should have the element of surprise and fairly equal numbers.”

“We’re pilots, not soldiers. Are you sure this is the only way?”

“Don’t see a great deal of options,” Maddox admitted dryly. “Although you’re welcome to try and ask nicely.”

“I just worry we’ll end up out of our depth.”

“We get in, we take control of the head honcho and while we do that, Laurent’s men will secure the exterior. Once we have the Frenchmen, we can be gone before they know what hit them. If this all goes to plan, there won’t be a shot fired in anger.”

Maria sipped the coffee and pondered the plan for a moment. It did on paper at least, seem efficient and practical. With their German disguises, they should be able to pass relatively unmolested into their enemies' inner sanctum. Far enough at least to get a senior man at gunpoint and use him as a bargaining chip. They were not soldiers, they were not spies, but it was possible… maybe.

If anything the plan seemed far more like a bank robbery than a military operation. They were after all stealing a valuable asset from their enemy; human life. What strange twist of fate landed them here? Allied pilots and aircrew sitting around a French farmhouse table plotting to break into their enemies' headquarters after escaping a prison camp only a week ago?

The entire bloody thing sounded insane.

Matheson and Maddox left with Laurent to reconnoiter the SS headquarters in Saint Léger ahead of the next day’s planned incursion. That had left Maria, Arthur, and Mike behind with most of the Marquis members at their home base. Their French hosts had been welcoming to the Allied prisoners, showing them no ill will over the events at Dunquerue. Maria remembered her brother Christopher expressing great guilt over their abandonment of the French on the beaches as they turned tails and ran from the German guns.

Her fears of their qualifications aside, helping the French to free their men was the right thing to do she reasoned. They were uniquely placed to help, and if successful, could do so with limited bloodshed. She wasn’t naive enough to believe that it would be that easy, the plan carried significant risk to them more than anyone. She had to admit, that their portrayal of Germans had withstood scrutiny several times over the length of their journey to date. Once more, it should be reasonably possible for a far less selfish cause. The only risk was their lack of any orders or paperwork in a more formal setting. Regardless, they had to make the effort; she could only imagine what the Germans were doing to those partisans in their custody while they waited.

Maria hadn’t detected any surprise from the others with regard to her appearance that morning in civilian attire. She knew that she had told them that she wasn’t planning to go back to being Brian but to see it in reality was a different matter.

With their now greater proximity to home, she began to worry about her return to England. What would they make of her? Would they allow her to exist as she was? All of her documents referred to her as Brian Campbell, a young man and an Officer. She was, after all, a pilot in His Majesty’s Royal Air Force, could she be ordered to return to being a man?

While she had only presented outwardly as female for a very limited time, it had become abundantly clear that this was her future. Even if her body had not put her in this position, she was almost certain now that this had been inside her for many years. She knew now that her heart and soul were feminine; she simply worked better this way. The disjointed and disconnected child had finally grown into a woman who knew her own mind.

The idea of returning to being Brian, if her body would even permit it, felt so wrong to her now. It was as though she had finally worn spectacles after a lifetime of short-sightedness. The idea of willingly seeing less again was unthinkable to her.

Living to enjoy it, that would be the true question. Their trip had been far from over when they first met their French comrades. Now, they were preparing to assault a local headquarters of the infamous Schutzstaffel, the SS. Their military units had been viciously effective during the Battle for France according to her brother Christopher. She was most certainly apprehensive about the prospect of seeking out trouble. They had survived entering one German installation back in Manching, but here on the front lines and with such a serious group? She certainly hoped Andrew knew what he was doing.

Unwilling to spend more time alone with her thoughts, Maria sought out the company of others. It was a strange reversal of norms she admitted. Before the war, she had always found great comfort in being alone. Now, being alone only brought questions. Whether it had been her time in the camp living in close proximity to others or finally finding people she wanted to be around, she wasn’t sure.

Wandering out into the farm yard, Maria found Arthur Hamley tinkering with an ancient-looking tractor. The Irishman was stripped to his vest and elbow-deep in the machine’s oily engine.

“Didn’t take you for a mechanic.” She called, leaning against the machine’s rear wheel.

Hamley glanced up at her and grinned. “Aye lass, long before the war I worked for me Da’s garage back home in Dublin. That was a long time before I moved to England and settled down with the missus.”

Maria smiled. “You looking forward to seeing them?”

Hamley cursed as a wrench slipped. “Aye, although I expect a good hiding from the wife for putting her through all this heartache.”

“French putting you to good use?”

The Irishman nodded. “I asked if they had anythin’ that needed doing. I didn’t want to sit around idle and start worrying this close to the end.”
“Don’t think we can pull it off?”

Hamley stood up and wiped his hands on an oily rag. He seemed to ponder the question for a moment before answering.

“Aye, I do think we can pull it off with a little luck. Will all of us come out unscathed? I bloody well hope so. To tell the truth, I’m more nervous about us actually getting home after it’s all done. With the camp and messing around pretending to be Jerries, I’m a little afraid I’ve forgotten how to live a normal life.”

“You and me both,” Maria smirked sarcastically. “I’m debating doing a runner and living in a French barn till the war is over.”

Hamley closed the tractor’s bonnet and propped one of his big feet up on the front tire. “You sure ended up in a pickle didn’t you eh?”

“You could say that,” Maria replied darkly. “I might end up in a looney bin before Friday.”

Hamley pursed his lips and frowned. “That’s no way to think lass. Sure enough, I have no idea what it will be like when we get home, but I know we’ll all be grand. I have no idea what happened to you, but I can tell with certainty that there’s no bloody way they can confuse you for a boy.”

“That’s the problem isnt it?” Maria shrugged, “One left, and suddenly I return.”

The large Irishman went to clasp her by the shoulder but reconsidered the gesture and grinned at his still oily paw. “I don’t think you ever were one to begin with girl. I’m sure those that matter will see that right enough.”

“Thanks, Arthur,” Maria smiled genuinely. “Your girls have a jolly good father.”

“You wouldn’t think it to listen to them!” he chucked. “That pair would decry me the devil himself!”

Hamley climbed up onto the tractor and turned the key in the ignition. The old machine coughed several times before smoke billowed out of its exhaust stack as it rumbled unsteadily to life. After a few minutes of revving the engine, he shut the beast down and hopped back down to the cobbled farmyard.

“Good as new,” he beamed proudly. “I haven’t lost me touch!”

Maria watched the Irishman tinker with the tractor and smiled to herself. That little moment of normality was the man’s way of processing their situation. Even here, billeted with French Partizans on the eve of a potentially deadly mission, he was fixing with one of Yvette’s tractors just to make himself useful.

She would do whatever was needed to ensure that Arthur made it back to his wife and daughters. In doing so, perhaps she could banish the worry of imagining what her own father would think of his new daughter.

Once Andrew, Daniel, and the French returned from their reconnoiter of the SS headquarters, the plan was finalized over dinner in the farmhouse kitchen. The atmosphere was warm and jovial, despite their current circumstances. Eating with the French allowed them to relax and be themselves for once. It was a far throw away from the stiff and proper German act they had been portraying since their escape.

The French had prepared a delicious beef stew with fresh bread for dinner. Despite being simple food, it was one of the best meals that Maria had eaten in what felt like years. Here she sat with friends, with her brothers and their allies. There might be a war on, but at that table, one would be forgiven for thinking otherwise. For the first time in her life, Maria Campbell truly felt right in the world.

Maria had felt guilty for not helping with the meal. A small part of her brain told her that it would be expected for her to offer assistance, though her own experience in culinary matters was sorely limited. Thankfully, she was saved from her domestic inadequacies by a polite refusal from Yvette; she was a guest, it wouldn’t be proper to help.

The finalized plan was elegant in its simplicity, if still extremely risky. First thing in the morning, after the Germans had left to ambush the absent Laurent, the British would arrive posing as their own hunters. With the help of some German equipment acquired by the French, they would pose as a Luftwaffe unit tasked with hunting down themselves and beg the mightly Schutzstaffel Polizei for their assistance.

Once inside the base and while awaiting an audience with their top man, the French would slowly surround the house and prevent any reinforcements from arriving. Their job would be to subdue any resistance remaining inside the house and to liberate the French prisoners.

They would leave via a circuitous route to avoid a German tail before finally ditching the German lorry and uniforms. Once they were clear, the French would deliver them to a waiting Fishing trawler on the coast near Le Crotoy.

It was, Maria realized, their final hurdle. If everything went as they had planned, this would be their final night on the continent. The following evening, they would be dead, or at home in England. It was perhaps a grim way to look at matters but, she reasoned, a realistic one. It was a relief to know that it was likely all over after the following day. One final effort, and they could rest.

As she sat at the kitchen table, a glass of red wine in her hand, she took a moment to look at the people around her. The French, were here on the front lines of this war every day. They were fighting an enemy that had already conquered their land. This resistance, this partisan war would be bloody and terrifying and so very costly for them and their families but she could see that they had no other choice. This was their land, their homes, and their people. She could only hope that if England were ever conquered, that they might do the same.

The others, that group of men that she had first met on that awful day back in August were now her closest friends. Daniel Maddox, Michael Down, and Arthur Hamley were very special to her. She considered them family and no different to her own siblings. They had been there for her when she had nobody and nothing. They had protected her, helped her to grow, and supported her even in her darkest time. She knew at that moment that she would give her life for any of them if it was asked.

Andrew; that was a subject that she could barely begin to fathom. Never in her wildest dreams did she ever consider that she might have such feelings for a man? Here, in the midst of war and horror, she had discovered herself, and yet, she had also found another. For the first time in her life she had felt attraction, desire, and passion; emotions previously alien to her.

She had given herself to that man in her totality. To some, the passage of such a milestone transformed her from a girl to a woman. In truth, she still felt like a lost child, one who barely knew her own mind. When it came to Andrew Matheson, she could not truly evaluate her feelings until they had made it safely back to England. Once she had a better grasp on who she was, she would know for certain.

Her sex was not in doubt, she felt certain of that now, but she was still yet to truly know who that woman was. Maria Campbell was an infant; a lost and confused girl so very far from home and so disconnected from the real world that she truly couldn’t know her own feelings. Tomorrow night, back in England, she could begin that journey.

Looking around the table, Maria took in the merriment of her friends and comrades. She knew that regardless of the outcome of the following day, that they were doing the right thing. This might not win them the war, but it would be a start. In a world full of uncertainties, a world torn asunder by violence and suffering, that they had a duty to try. That by standing against that tide, they might be part of the solution. That start, that chink in the armor of the unstoppable juggernaut was the first step towards victory.

She regarded them, those few that sat around the kitchen table in that French farmhouse so far behind enemy lines on the eve of battle. They were but ordinary people, people thrown together by circumstance, by fate and their own fears.

“Now, is the winter of our discontent,” she murmured to herself.

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