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Fire On Fire: Chapter 13

(Ch. 12) ... (Ch. 1)

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Summary: Operation Market Garden is underway and American intelligence operatives, now commanded by the British SOE, have their own battles to fight. Sometimes painful situations demand painful sacrifices.

May or may not feature a Smol cameo...👀

WARNINGS: Death, Angst, Violence against women

A/N: Sorry this took so long; I tried to do the thing where I wait & release a chapter once I'm ahead but I'm way too impulsive for that so here lol 💀💖

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @emmythespacecowgirl @bellewintersroe @holdingforgeneralhugs

Contemporary: September 17th, 1944. Eindhoven, Netherlands.

Alix was just finishing up what would be her tenth interrogation of the day when she heard what sounded like singing in the streets outside the hotel they were using as a home base.

She cocked her head and looked over to Andries, the sniper standing beside her, with curiosity in her eyes.

He only shrugged.

"We are happy to be liberated," he said simply before aiming a glare at the man they had backed up against the room's wall.

"Most of us anyway."

The collaborator shook his head, quailing under the teenager's stern gaze.

"I am innocent!" he babbled, his heavily Dutch-accented French coming out barely comprehensible due to his nerves. "What you accuse me of, I would never...You have the wrong man!"

"You're telling me you're not…" Alix checked the coded list of targets she'd kept stashed inside her fake Passport.

"Maurits Van Der Waal? Because if you're not, then there must be somebody else out there who looks just like you and lives at your address selling out your Jewish neighbors to the SS."

“N-No, I am Maurits,” the man stammered, rocking back and forth on his heels “But I…I never help the SS, never.”

“You were seen, you idiot,” Andries snapped harshly, pulling several photographs out of the pocket of his dark green coat and thrusting them into Van Der Waal’s shaking hands.

The collaborator inspected the photos silently, all the blood draining from his face as he realized he’d been caught.

Alix’s dark eyes narrowed as she watched the middle-aged collaborator blubbering excuses pathetically before her, her anger simmering in her stomach.

This rat would get a quick death, she thought bitterly. A mercy he didn’t deserve.

The thirty Jewish families he had sold out to the SS would not be so lucky.

“How much are they paying you, Maurits?” she demanded, cocking the gun with a click. “How much is a human life worth to you?”

“815 Guilder each, by the looks of it," the blond boy, Diederik, answered for him from the corner desk.

He held up a notepad full of decoded messages for them to see and read off, "All of them made out to a...Mr. Maurits Van Der Waal, imagine that."

"Those aren't mine!" Van Der Waal lied lamely, practically bleating through his tears like a goat. "I'm innocent!"

"Tragic," Alix remarked dryly. "Anyway, please face the wall now."

"And if…if I don't?" he sniveled pathetically, a note of hope raising his words. "Will you free me?"

A hope Alix would crush like an insect under her heel.

“If you don’t face the wall, then I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

"Well that went well!" Andries commented moments later, as Alix wordlessly knelt to retrieve items from the pockets of the tenth collaborator, who now lay dead on the floor.

Oh yeah, she wanted to snap. Just fucking splendid.

There was a fine line between doing one’s duty and reveling in it, and for the Dutch Resistance, that line seemed to be blurring more and more by the hour.

When she had finished collecting the necessary supplies from the dead man's pockets, one of the younger fighters, a small redheaded boy named Piers, joined Andries in dragging the body over to the corner with the other nine corpses.

Alix didn't know how the Resistance was disposing of the bodies but some things were better left unknown so she didn't ask. There were more pressing matters anyway.

The radio on the desk in front of Diederik crackled to life and he pressed the headset harder against his ear as he strained to hear.

Alix could tell by his concentration-scrunched face that the connection was poor but the boy appeared to still recognize the voice on the other end of the line.

He quickly jotted down some notes before turning to Alix, who had crossed the room to meet him.

"It's Kristof," he responded, tearing a page from his notepad and handing her the coded address he'd just taken down. "The SOE says it's time."

Alix nodded her assent. Nix and Van Kooijk were on the other side of town and she would have to meet them on her way.

The trick would be finding them in the crowds.

Checking herself for blood in the mirror one last time, she smoothed the invisible wrinkles from her skirt before slipping her gun and handheld radio into her purse and quietly exiting the room.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Stepping out of the hotel and into the street was like being suddenly thrust into a carnival. Jubilant whoops filled the air and streams of bright ticker-tape rained down like flurries of rainbow-colored snow but Alix didn't have time to enjoy the celebration.

She was doing her best to wade through the ever-growing crush of people but she was being jostled from all sides like a toy boat on ocean waves as civilians and soldiers alike rushed to participate in the festivities.

Keeping a white-knuckle grip on her purse, Alix managed to shuffle her way further into the crowd, passing scores of troopers from Dog and Fox company on her way.

Seeing the almost frantic urgency with which the Dutch townspeople were greeting servicemembers, the young agent was suddenly grateful to be in civilian clothes because she didn't need that kind of attention right now.

She needed to find her handler and her contact so she could complete her mission. Nixon had her bottle of Prussic Acid in his pocket because he didn’t trust her to carry it– “It’s liquid cyanide for Christ’s sake!”-- so she would need to retrieve it before locating her target.

As she tried to blend in with the crowd, slipping in behind a cluster of ANC nurses, Alix couldn’t help but study them with a twinge of envy. She wore the same Red Cross armband as they did when she was in uniform, carried the same aid bag slung over her shoulder.

But instead of tourniquets, she carried garrote wire and guns. Instead of syringes, she carried knives. Instead of administering medicine, she would be administering poison.

The women walking next to her got to save lives; all Alix did was take them.

As if somehow reading her thoughts, the freckle-faced nurse to her left gave her a kindhearted smile and in her bright, toothy grin Alix was pretty sure she saw a glimpse of her friend Don shining through.

The spy returned the smile, the fleeting reminder of her own humanity equipping her with the necessary resolve to continue her journey.

She had work to do.

Gathering the dark polka-dotted material of her skirt in her hands and trying not to break an ankle on the cobblestones, Alix squeezed by the nurses and pressed on ahead.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

But by the time she reached the edge of the herd, the joy-filled singing had transformed into something else. Nightmarish, broken screams, jeers, and a grief-stricken wailing that made Alix's stomach twist echoed off the cobblestones. For a moment, she froze, almost unable to fully comprehend the hellish scenes of chaos unfolding in front of her.

The townspeople were brutal, seizing local women from the crowd and hurling them to their knees in the center of the circle. Some looked to be no older than their late teens, bawling as they were stripped to their slips in front of the merciless horde, the roaring of the mob only increasing in intensity as swastikas were daubed onto their foreheads with ink-like tar.

Alix couldn't understand Dutch but she could understand body language and every microexpression on the citizens' faces screamed disgust and hatred.

The women were sobbing, red-faced and quaking with fear as they were yanked by their hair to older women manning clippers like weapons, who would shear them and shove them away afterwards with an almost sanctimonious revulsion.

As the victims were being hauled to their feet, Alix managed to force her eyes away from the mob, searching the faces around her frantically as the harsh burn of rage began to sear her stomach.

Why was no one stopping this?

Even with her training, Alix knew she would never be able to take on a crowd this large by herself. She would need backup.

Where was Joe? Where were Skip and Don? Where the hell was the Resistance?

More and more women were being dragged into the fray and two tall, skinny teenagers shoved their way past Alix, forcing a terrified girl in a salmon-colored dress into the circle with them.

Her bloodshot hazel eyes were wide, tears streaming down her reddened face as the fabric was violently torn from her body.

For a brief second, she met Alix’s horrified gaze before thrusting a hand out in a desperate plea for the agent’s help.

Feeling a violent jolt of grief in her stomach, Alix strained as far forward as she could to reach the girl’s hand but she was too late.

The boy in the burgundy sweater pivoted, wrenching the girl’s arm away and holding her still as they began shearing her head and that’s when Alix saw it.

The boys were wearing orange armbands.

This was the Resistance.

Sickened and infuriated, Alix lunged toward the center of the circle, ready to rip the frightened girl from their grasp, when she felt a calloused hand clutching her upper arm.

Whipping her head around, she met the worried glance of Lieutenant Nixon, whose painfully tight grip on her bicep was the only thing keeping her from launching herself into the fray.

"Niccolò, let go or I swear to God, I’ll break your fucking hand."

It wasn’t an empty threat this time and her handler knew it too, but even so, he didn't flinch.

“The mission, Adelina,” he hissed, tightening his hold on her arm. "Do you want to blow our cover?"

Alix was practically seeing red.

Women were being mercilessly brutalized in the street and all Nix was worried about was their stupid fucking mission?!

But before she could reply, John Van Kooijk emerged from behind them, wearing his usual expression of thinly-veiled smugness.

“Problem?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow, and Alix narrowed her eyes.

“Oh there’s about to be,” she snarled.

The words had barely left her mouth when the agent felt Nixon’s fingers clamp down even harder on her bicep, strengthening his hold in case she decided to try something.

“Be civil to our friend, Lina,” her handler cautioned and Alix snorted with derision, swiveling her head back to meet his eyes.

“Given that my first instinct was to throttle our ‘friend’, I think I’m being perfectly fucking civil right now.”

Turning back to the Resistance leader, Alix gestured with her free hand to the chaos unfolding before them.

“Now, care to explain what the Hell is going on?”

The Dutchman was seemingly unfazed.

"They are collaborators," he stated with a careless shrug. "It is what they have earned."

"What exactly did they do?" Alix demanded, her French coming out rapid-fire in her fury. "Who did they betray?"

"They slept with the enemy," was the vague reply. "This is merciful. We could have had them shot for that."

"This is mercy?" Alix barked out a harsh, humorless laugh. "No, this is a bullshit attempt at retaliation."

Her nostrils were flaring with rage and one fist was balled when she spoke next, the boiling inside her building like a volcano seconds from erupting.

"And for the record, taking your misplaced anger out on people who have no say sounds an awful lot like the enemy we're supposed to be fighting."

"You interrogated and executed ten men only hours ago, yes?" The Resistance leader eyed her skeptically. "But now the Sparrow has a conscience?"

"It was quick,” Alix retorted defensively. “I wasn't torturing people!"

"Neither are we!" Van Kooijk seemed genuinely perplexed at her objections. "This is justice!"

"No, this is vengeance," Alix countered, yanking her arm out of Nixon's cautioning grasp.

"And I want none of it! Go find yourselves a new attack-dog because I'm done."

With that, she pushed past them, storming off ahead but Nixon followed her, keeping himself chained to her right side as they walked so he could deliberately block her from the circle.

"Simmer down, will you?" Nixon had switched from French to Italian effortlessly but even still, his words carried an unusually sharp edge that only served to fan the flames of Alix’s rage further.

“Simmer down, are you fucking kidding me?” Alix was bristling with indignation now but she fought to keep her face impartial and her voice steely calm to avoid arousing suspicion.

“After that? After what they were doing to those girls?”

A small gaggle of civilians passed them by, heading in the direction that the pair had just come from.

Noticing their glances, Nixon faked a laugh as though she’d just said something funny, as though they were merely two friends taking a stroll and not two intelligence operatives seconds away from a fistfight.

Alix played along, painting on a fake smile and nonchalantly lighting up a cigarette, her stride never faltering.

They were both in civilian clothing– Nix in his boxy khaki overcoat that concealed his uniform and Alix in her dark sweater and spotted skirt – so it didn’t take long for the eyes of the Dutch citizens to stray from them as they continued on their journey.

“Just focus on the mission, alright?” Nix commanded out of the corner of his mouth.

"Fuck the mission,” Alix returned quietly. “I'm not doing any favors for people who torture women for fun."

"Oh for Christ’s sake, Adelina, I don't like it either," Nixon sighed in exasperation once the Dutch citizens were out of earshot.

"But if you blow our cover trying to stop this shit, then you can’t take care of Kruger, and more people are going to get hurt. And it won't just be collaborators like this time, it'll be our assets too, other operatives, innocent civilians, maybe troopers too. Is that what you want?"

"Of course it isn’t," Alix snapped as she felt the sudden weight of the prepped cyanide vials being covertly dropped into her purse. "I’m still planning on finishing the mission. I'm just not working with those assholes to do it."

Lieutenant Nixon frowned.

He could already tell where this was going.

"No,” he stated firmly, cutting Alix off before she had even clarified.

“You’re not refusing backup on this one. Any other target, maybe, but not with an SS Lieutenant, not on my watch.”

“Niccolò,” Alix scolded, the clacking of her saddle shoes on the pavement accenting her words. “I’ll be fine. The man’s got trench fever, for Christ’s sake. He might be dead before I even get there.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Nixon argued. “You could be acting on faulty intel. There’s a leak in the SOE, remember?”

“That’s the risk we take with every mission. It’s never stopped us before.”

“The stakes were never this high before,” Nixon contended, massaging his temple. “The Wehrmacht is one thing but this is the goddamn SS. At least let me send Andries to Oosterbeek with you, just in case. One sniper and I’ll let it go, alright?”

Alix scowled.

“I said No,” she maintained testily after a short drag from her cigarette. “So you can save your breath. I don’t want anything to do with them after what the fuck we just saw. Either I go in alone or I don’t go at all.”

“Putain de merde, Adelina, will you fucking listen?” Realizing his tone had risen slightly, he took a deep breath before lowering his voice again. “You may be willing to gamble with your life but I'm not. I’ll be with the Brits and the 101st so I won’t be on comms and if something happens–”

“If something happens, I’ll take care of it myself,” Alix finished for him with a puff of smoke. “You told HQ I was more than capable, remember?”

“I knew I’d regret saying that,” Nixon muttered with a shake of his head. "I just didn't think it'd be so goddamn soon."

“Besides,” Alix reminded him with a reassuring, sisterly bump to the shoulder.

“Everyone knows Kruger’s an arrogant alcoholic who thinks he’s God’s gift to women. It should be a piece of cake to get him alone and finish the job. I'll be back in no time."

“Still,” Nixon grimaced. “He’s an SS officer. He was trained for adverse situations and if he gets the upper hand at any point, you’re done.”

“Which is why I won’t let him,” Alix assured bracingly. “The man’s not superhuman. He’s already sick, probably drunk, and once he drinks the Prussic Acid, he’s toast. No backup needed.”

Nixon let out a small huff of displeasure and as he glanced at his watch, his frown only deepened.

Both he and Alix knew he didn’t have time to argue. He still needed to ditch his coat somewhere, coordinate with Winters and rejoin Van Kooijk’s group before the Airborne offensive could truly begin.

“Fine,” he grunted with a shake of his head. “But if you get yourself killed, Liebgott, Muck, Malarkey and I are splitting the 10 Grand. Not that I need it.”

Alix cocked an eyebrow.

“I don’t remember designating you as a beneficiary. The others, yes, but not you.”

“Well I think I deserve to be too,” Nixon remarked wryly and hooked her into a light headlock, mussing up her hair with his knuckles.

“As compensation for putting up with your bullshit for 2 years. I already have one pain-in-the-ass sister, I never asked for another!”

Alix gave him a smack on the arm and he released her with a gentle push in the opposite direction.

“Now get a move-on, will you, before your mark leaves the country.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Alix commented with an eyeroll. “Just don’t go getting your hopes up on that payout, alright Gi-”

The younger agent cut herself off abruptly, the realization of her mistake briefly punching the breath out of her. Her smile slipped and she saw Nixon’s bushy eyebrows raise in surprise. But if he recognized the name from her file, he chose not to comment on it.

There was a second of silence as a mutual understanding seemed to pass between the two. There was nothing either of them could do about the dangers of the situation.

All they could do was trust each other: trust that he had prepared her enough for anything she might face and trust that at least some of the SOE's intel was good.

Her life would depend on it.

"Hey, any words of wisdom you'd like to impart before you go, oh great teacher?" Alix inquired jokingly as she tried to keep her mind off the very real possibility that she could be walking into an elaborate trap with no backup.

Lieutenant Nixon mulled the question over for a moment before responding, "You’d better not end up dead or I’ll kill you myself. Clear?”

“Careful, Nico,” Alix deadpanned, shortening his codename just to irk him. “I think you were almost nice for a second.”

Nixon snorted.

"Don’t get used to it,” he snarked. “Someone has to keep you humble.”

With that, her case officer reluctantly stepped off into an alleyway, leaving Alix to continue the rest of her journey alone.

Reaching the Post Office, the spy made her way to the employee side entrance, where according to plan, a slightly-rusted bicycle was waiting for her, propped up invitingly against the building.

And partially tucked underneath the back wheel was a faded orange hair ribbon, subtly designating the bike as belonging to a Resistance member. Easing it away from the wall, she gingerly placed her purse in the basket, arranging it with the utmost care so she could avoid any cyanide leaking onto her designer heels or her gun.

Taking one final breath to settle the uneasy feeling plaguing her, Alix bid a silent goodbye to Eindhoven and began the long ride to the SS headquarters in Oosterbeek.

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