Night Train

Been a while since I've published something, so here it is. :yes:

A three-part short story just before World War II, in France, around the border of Alsace-Lorraine. And Paris. And France as a whole. :book:

Part one, below. Please enjoy! ~D


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Night Train

9^th of December,1938
Colmar, Alsace
6:35 PM



Horns blared in the distance, twice then, thrice even, shattering the utter silence that engulfed the little train station. The shrill of the train made his spine tingle, forcing him upright and making him forget for a fleeting moment the bitter cold that crept under his woolen overcoat, somehow inadequate against the galloping winter. It was a cold December evening, and he was all alone on a small train station platform on the border with Germany. France was tingling with worry, the newspapers were rolling out in record numbers, global diplomacy was failing and here he was on the border with a hostile country. He sighed. Small snowflakes gently fell on the train tracks in front of him, illuminated by a half-moon that made joyful light pockets around his leather boots. Everything else however was a dark, lifeless maze. Around him there were six lampposts, each one of them holding a small oil lamp, but only two of them were lit. But none of that mattered to him now. The train was coming.

The horns blared again. The train was getting closer. His fingers dug deeper inside the side pocket of his overcoat and reached for a cigarette. He brought the cigarette to his mouth and fumbled about for an entire minute until the wind died down to allow him to light up the heavy Turkish blend. Flurries of snow wafted around the station with increasing intensity but even the cold mattered little by now. He was curious. And his curiosity would be quenched once that curious train would stop in the station.

Moments later, he caught glimpse of the steel behemoth. In the darkness of that December evening, there was not much to distinguish from a nondescript black locomotive that chugged along on the railway lines. But the red stripes on the side of the locomotive were evident, causing him to frown a bit. Red stripes usually indicated trains that would stop in big cities, not local train stations. And Colmar was far from being a city. At most it was a local town, a border outpost. Despite his sudden worry, the train stopped in the station as planned, dropping off one single passenger who waved meekly as he approached.

“Good evening, Alexandre.”

The man from the train shook Alexandre's hand firmly. Dressed in a similar woolen overcoat, he wore a generic brown fedora on his head and twisted the collar of his overcoat upwards to protect himself from the rushing flurries that swept through the station. Somewhat shorter than his station guest, he bowed his head slightly, indicating Alexandre as his superior, even if on paper he was the one of higher rank. The Frenchman gave a curt nod.

“I see you have changed trains, Klaus,” replied Alexandre.

“Sort of. There was a murder on the train from Strasbourg to Colmar, so they sent over one of the trains that was supposed to take the Geneva – Paris route.”

“A murder?”

“Nothing related to our concerns. A triangle of love, as is rather the norm these days.”

“So you came with the red stripes?”

Klaus nodded. “Quite. I got here in record time, I did not expect to arrive at 6:40.”

Alexandre gave a quick glance to his white gold wristwatch. The sleek line of the bezel stood out in the darkness, the two thin hands showing fifteen minutes to 7. He slid his hand back into his pocket and nudged his fellow companion onwards. The two men walked away from the station in silence in the crackles of the snow crunching beneath their boots, echoing even louder in the almost complete silence of the small town. Colmar was a quiet place, with rows of timber-framed houses huddled around a small bridge over the river Lauch. Small pockets of lights indicated that most of the inhabitants were inside their houses with the snow rumbling through the streets. Most of the population had sympathies with the French republic, but there was more than just a vocal minority who would be more than happy to see the Nazi Party install the swastikas on the roof of the town hall. Alexandre knew that, Klaus as well, but neither of them spoke of this openly.

They trodded through the beaten path from the station down to the centre of the village, whisking themselves to the snow-capped bridge over the Lauch.

“It's been one month, Klaus.”

Klaus nodded, more to himself rather than in acknowledgment.

“One month since that ugly night.”

Alexandre nodded. “That night, what was it you called it, Kristallnacht?” he said, accentuating the German word with a particular Parisian twist. Klaus smiled to himself but nodded in agreement. “Yes, that night. A shame, and a cause of worry.”

“The outlook is grim, Monsieur Reythier, it's grim.” He glanced to his French companion, but the man only stared at him back. “But I suppose you already know that.”

The Frenchman nodded. “Kristallnacht scared a number of locals away. Colmar is now turning into a ghost town, and it's not good for our cause. No matter how we put it, we cannot convince the locals to stay around these places unless they're committed to our cause or committed to their families.”

“This place sits right on the border, I would expect them not to stay around.”

“Some do.” Alexandre sighed. “Why have I been called here?”

Klaus stopped. For a moment he stood silent, unsure on what to say. He fumbled his hands in the air, trying to force his words to come out, to express at least some semblance of a coherent idea, but nothing came out of it. He felt Alexandre's stare on him. Klaus sighed and pointed towards a row of houses, even if they were not what he wanted to convey.

“We caught two Germans trying to infiltrate themselves around these places. They went right under our noses, and worse even, we caught them with a Frenchman who lived in the villages down the south of the Maginot line.”

“That's all they've done?”

Klaus shook his head. “The plan was rather well conceived. They posed as tourists from the Far East, even if they looked as every bit from here as possible, and tried to ask around about the Maginot line. One of the local farmers even took them to a deserted area of the line that we have not even bothered to repair or even take care of.”

“Spies?”

“More than that. Something is going on around these places, and I don't like it.”

Alexandre rolled his eyes. “And what am I supposed to do?”

“Interrogate them, that is all.”

Alexandre suddenly looked downwards. Interrogation was something he hated, but given that Klaus was his superior and his close friend, he could not say no. By now they reached the curiously deserted centre of the town. The narrow Lauch river ran right in its midst, but given that this was mid-December, the river was frozen solid. Alexandre glanced over the bridge, down the length of the Lauch, watching the snow fall down on the slanted roofs of the houses built about a century ago. Snow crunched and crackled underneath their leather boots as they walked in silence between the houses huddled around the riverbank. It was bitterly cold, the snow had picked up in intensity and even they struggled to utter any other word except for a prolonged sigh as they weathered through the streets.


They snaked their way down the length of the riverbank in silence until they reached a small plaza. The junction connected four smaller side streets, but Klaus led Alexandre into a timber-framed two story house right on the edge of the riverbank. A small light above the door waned and flickered as the wind blew. Klaus twisted the handle and pushed the door aside, closing it behind them with the wind howling one last time in their ears. A small flight of stairs led them to the first floor, which was nothing more than a room adjoined by four separate doors in the dim light of another flickering light. Klaus pointed to the first door on the right.


“After you, Alexandre.”


The Frenchman raised an eyebrow for a moment but said nothing. He quickly twisted the door handle and entered the room, a rectangle shaped meeting area with two windows overlooking the plaza below and a large table with eight chairs occupying most of the space. In the back corner two wooden bookcases were filled with papers and binders full of documents, which Alexandre speculated those were the local police records.


Two men stood at the table, both of them lazily puffing from their cigarettes, their eyes fixed on this tall newcomer and his more known companion. At first, they did not pay much attention to the newcomer but Klaus ordered them to stand up and salute in military fashion. The men rose from their seats and did so as they were ordered, receiving a curteous nod from Alexandre in return. The Frenchman threw his overcoat on the table and glanced around.


“Where are they?”


“Locked in the prison below, Monsieur,” replied one of the policemen.


“Bring them. Let us have a personal chat with them.”


The two policemen nodded in approval and left the room, leaving Alexandre Reythier, lieutenant of the French intelligence agencies, alone with Klaus. They spoke nothing before the policemen returned with two young adults, no more than twenty years old each, dirty and ragged, dressed in brown tattered clothes and reeking of body odour. The two policemen threw the prisoners onto the desk with alarming brutality, chaining them down to the small wooden chairs underneath. Not content with the chain, they pinned them down to the edge of the table and took out their pistols, sticking them against the prisoners' necks. Reythier said nothing, and neither did Klaus, since neither of them had any idea of how dangerous these two prisoners were.


Reythier took up a chair and sat down, eyeing both of the boys.


“Apparently, both of you tried to gather information about the Maginot line. Can I ask why were you so curious about it?” asked Reythier in perfect German.


Neither of the boys said anything. Their eyes were fixed on Reythier, but he only returned an elegant smile with the corner of his mouth. He turned his head to Klaus and nodded, to which the German-born Frenchman produced from his overcoat a small notebook. Alexandre took the notebook and opened it on the table, hunching closer to his prisoners.


“Two weeks, that's all it took you. Two weeks in which you bought rifles, war grenades, stabbed two innocent farmers and proceeded to investigate the south part of the Maginot line. And on top of that...” Reythier paused, extracting two files from the back of the notebook. “You two are apparently part of the Nazi youth. Top recruits.”


Reythier expected no reaction. He got none from them, except two dismissive shrugs and a roll of the eyes. Alexandre flipped the notebook around.


“All of this gets you prison for life. Or, in the worst case, a quick hanging in the woods just down the river.”


The remark hit a soft spot. One of the boys, a short-haired blonde with scratch marks all over his face, hissed towards Reythier.


“Herr Hitler will save us.”


Reythier laughed. “Your own superiors won't even know you're missing by the time the local judge orders your execution. So, in case you want to live, help us. I believe you can help us answer the question of what were you doing around the Maginot.”


“We were doing nothing. We are tourists, nothing more!”


Reythier sighed. He nodded off to one of the policemen, who saluted and left the room, leaving Klaus to attend to one of the prisoners. Alexandre closed he notebook, rose from the table and headed for the window behind him. The window's handles were black, rotten bits of wood, forcing him to twist the mechanism by itself, before the window finally budged from its position. Cold winter air swept inside the room with an almost destructive force. The unsecured papers on the shelves and on the table quickly flew through the room. It didn't bother Klaus, or Reythier for that matter, who lighted up another one of his Turkish cigarettes at the edge of the window. It was only a short puff before he heard the crackle of the gun echo in the Colmar silence.


Before Reythier reacted, and before Klaus even understood what happened, the door swung wide open and stopped violently against the edge of the wall. A lone gunman, dressed in a beige overcoat, held up a large calibre revolver and barged inside the room. With quick movements he shot the last policeman square in the head, before he aimed for Klaus who ducked underneath the table. The gunman shot at Klaus but missed his target, shooting off the last bullets in the two prisoners who did not even turn their heads to face the gunman. In a rather late reply, Reythier took out his own pistol and fired two quick shots towards the gunman. The bullets hit the assailnt in the chest and the neck, severing the carotid artery, before he collapsed in a pool of blood by the edge of the door.


The whole encounter lasted less than twenty seconds. And Alexandre quickly realised that the two policemen were now dead. And so was the assailant. But so were the two prisoners.


Only Alexandre and Klaus survived.



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Feedback and comments welcome. :bow:

Part 2. :bow:

Feedback and comments welcome.


***
Colmar, Alsace
9th of December, 1938
9:15 PM


“I phoned to Paris, told them what happened. They couldn't give me much help but they told me to look out for anything suspicious.”

Reythier shrugged. He heard that before. Two hours before they were close to solving the problem of the Nazi spies, now they were both injured, almost murdered by a lone gunman and with no leads to follow. A whole team of local policemen and two experts joined in from Strasbourg to examine the crime scene but it would take a bit more time before they could tell them more information than they knew already.

Reythier smirked. He stood on a chair in the room adjacent to the interrogation room they used before, standing at the desk of the local constable. Klaus stood by the edge of the table, phone receptor still in hand, looking at Reythier as if to ask what to do or where to phone next. Reythier motioned with his hand and Klaus dropped the receptor back in its place. He watched as Klaus took a beige wooden chair and drew up near him.

“So, what now, Alexandre?”

Reythier raised his eyebrows, twisting his hand to his colleague. “You tell me Klaus. You came here and brought me in this mess. Why did you come here in the first place? Just for the interrogation?”

Klaus shook his head. “No. And yes.”

“No and yes? That makes no sense.” Reythier straightened his posture, suddenly curious. “There's more to this. You were expecting something from those Nazi boys.”

Klaus nodded. “I did. Let me call the constable.”

Klaus stood up and returned a couple of minutes later with the local constable of Colmar, the chief of the police of this little town, visibly shaken and greeting rather meekly Reythier whom he met a couple of hours earlier. Sporting a sleek moustache, the man's greying hairs were overtaking his little remaining hair, somehow accentuating the deep wrinkles on his forehead. Border constables are not exactly having an easy time, Reythier thought. The constable was dressed in the typical dark uniform but he kept his pistol unholstered this time, visible and always at hand in case any more gunmen would have a swift swipe at Reythier and Klaus. The police officer took a wooden chair from the corner of the room and placed himself on the other side of the table, facing Reythier directly.

“Bonsoir again, Monsieur Reythier. I believe you wanted to speak to me.”

Reythier switched his position and smiled to the constable. “Oui, c'est vrai, monsieur Pernod. I asked to speak to you and I will be short about it. Have you experienced this before?”

Constable Pernod shook his head. “No, clearly not like this. But I have heard many stories and read more than a dozen reports about random people asking about our troops, our defences, our police even. Someone even asked whether the mayor of Colmar has a gun in his house.”

Reythier gave Klaus a quick look, underneath his eyebrows. “When did this happen, Monsieur Pernod?”

Constable Pernod dabbed for a few moments. “First report arrived on my table about four months ago. Ever since they have been increasing weekly, but nothing serious has ever happened until this very incident.”

“Four months. Did you know about those two young men?”

Pernod nodded. “I did. Two months ago one of my policemen came to inform me about them two posing as tourists, asking around about the Maginot line and other military objectives. One of the local farmers became suspicious and related that to one of my men.”

“Who then reported to you.”

“Correct. We counter-spied them, watched their movements, but nothing ever happened.”

“Until they stabbed those two farmers.”

“We knew it was them immediately. It happened just outside a deserted guard post. So I gathered my men and we arrested them quite quickly.”

“And brought them to us,” added Klaus, to which Pernod nodded.

Reythier nodded, but nodded out of reflex more than anything. The constable knew nothing more, and that was evident. They were no closer than they were a couple of hours ago. Reythier looked at Pernod.

“Constable, have you had any trouble with your men lately?”

“Yes, I have, but minor incidents. Why would you ask, Monsieur Reythier?”

Reythier did not immediately answer. He glanced around the room, scanning every inch of the desks, until he noticed a sheaf of blank papers in the corner just beside him. Sliding a piece of paper to the constable, he took out a fountain pen and wrote in the very corner of the paper: Do you suspect any of your men?

Much to Reythier's dismay, Pernod nodded.

The constable coughed. He coughed again, and again, and then stopped, pointing with his fingers towards the sheaf of papers. Three times. Three men he suspected, three men of aiding these foreign spies who were liquidated by a member of their own and nearly killed Reythier and Klaus as well. Reyhier looked at his undercover companion who motioned quickly with his fingers, signaling that Pernod should leave. The constable understood the motion, bowed slightly and stood up.

“Monsieur Reythier, I will send you more information once I have it.”

“Merci, Monsieur. Let us know as quick as you can.”

The man nodded in agreement, shook their hands and left the room to return to his policemen, leaving Klaus and Reythier alone in the room with their thoughts, suspicions and an awkward silence. Reythier leaned back on his chair and tapped the edge of the desk, lost in thought, using the fountain pen in a rhythmic movement that somehow did not annoy neither of them. He switched his gaze from the white gold nib to Klaus, whose rugged features and a slight six o'clock shadow were amplified by the lost look he wore for the past hours. Out of them, it was Klaus who was the shocked one, but Reythier had his moments when he needed his friend to slap him back into the real world. The Frenchman rose from his chair.

“I'm lost. What now?” asked Reythier.

Klaus kept rubbing his forehead. “Pernod was fidgeting too much.”

“Excuse moi?”

Klaus looked up at Reythier and nodded. “Yes. He was fidgeting quite a lot, he seemed nervous, his right foot was always jumping up and down. You could not see it, it was hidden by the desk, but I kept my eyes on his movements. For a police constable he was far too nervous.”

“You think he is hiding something?”

“I think there's more to it than the three suspicious policemen under his watch. And three...” Klaus stood up and held up 3 fingers. “Three policemen is three too many for this little place. How many does he have in the first place? 3 policemen out of 12, that's a quarter of his force. If 3 policemen are aiding these guys, then we should be lucky we escaped alive.”

“Keep in mind two of them have been killed.”

Klaus shook his head. “Those were our men. Counter-intelligence. I told them to disguise as local Colmar policemen.”

Reythier pointed to the door. “Did Pernod know about it?”

Klaus shook his head. “No. I kept him in the dark. I only asked for the room and for his silence on the matter.”

Reythier said nothing more. A number of moments later, a young policeman, no more than twenty years of age, pale skinned and rather shy in approaching them, knocked on the opened door. He bowed curtly, removed his cap and handed Klaus a crumpled note.

“Monsieur Pernod sends his regards.”

“Our salute to him. Thank you!” replied Reythier.

The policeman bowed again and left, leaving the two men alone. Klaus looked at Reythier, then back at the crumpled note. Reythier watched as his companion opened the note, revealing a small scribble in black ink.

“Follow the Night Train. What night train, what's this all about?”

Reythier took the paper from Klaus's hand. “Train, train, are there any trains coming back to Colmar this evening?”

“I have no clue. Let me check on that.”

Klaus phoned the train station and waited for a couple of minutes until a groggy foreman answered him. He slammed the phone receptor thirty seconds later.

“There's two more trains coming to Colmar. The next one is in 15 minutes and it's a regional train, stopping in Metz. The second one is coming back from Lyon, the red striped train I came with.”

“When is it coming?”

“In 35 minutes.”

“Arm your pistol, get two more cartridges with you and let's go. We'll wait at the station.”

-----


Part 3 to follow. :bow:

Part 3. The final part. :bow:

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Colmar, Alsace
9th of December, 1938
9:35 PM


10 minutes later, they left the police station and headed off back into the cold, the snow and the crackling sounds of white powder crumpling underneath their leather boots. Reythier said no word of their early departure, moving on without a word away from the police headquarters with Klaus trotting alongside him in silence. As they passed the petite boulangerie by the edge of the bridge over the Lauch, Klaus took a quick look behind him and patted Reythier slightly on his left arm.

“We left more than twenty minutes earlier than the train. It takes us at most five more minutes to get there.”

Reythier nodded, walking onwards without a side glance. “I don't believe Pernod.”

“Because of what I told you?”

“That too. But I have my own doubts. The story he told us is far too fantastic for me to even believe it.”

“What if he's right?”

Reythier shot Klaus a dubious glance. “What are you saying?”

“Pernod might be right.”

“The Lauch has higher chances of defrosting in a snowstorm than Pernod being right.” Reythier nodded over to the train station, slowly becoming visible in between the timber frame houses of Colmar. “No chance.”

“Then what are we doing here now?”

“Looking for three men.”

Klaus rose his hands in despair. “So you believe him!”

“Partly. He's got three accomplices, that's true.”

“How did you guess?”

“You'll see.”

“What are we looking for then?”

“Three men casting weird looks around this place. Should be easy to spot them.”

“In a crowd?”

“What crowd? Colmar doesn't even have five thousand people any more because of the threat of the war. What crowd? Who comes here in the middle of the winter? Ten people at most will come from the train. Look closely.”

“And if they're not there?”

“Then you keep looking.”


They arrived at the train station approximately one minute and a half earlier before the train arrived, allowing them to slide away from the station itself and into the waiting room. A dim light illuminated a small room on the side of the little house that dubbed as an office for the chief of the station and a waiting room, separated by a hastily constructed wall that was part white part grey because of improper finishing. A row of chairs were set on the right side as they entered, with their backs against the windows, which forced both Reythier and Klaus to take them and switch them around so they could see the incoming train. Both men stood down and placed their hands inside their pockets, clutching the grips of their pistols as they waited for the earlier train.

One minute later, already overdue even by their estimates, the black locomotive chugged along in the station and dropped off around twenty people who soon went to their business into Colmar. Because of the windows that overlooked the train tracks rather than the station, they could see neither of the passengers, forcing Klaus to protest with a measured gesture of his neck towards the train. Reythier watched his gesture but moved his head slightly downwards in disagreement. Unmoved, but fidgeting slightly, the two men waited for another thirty seconds in total silence until one man dressed in a black fedora and a woolen overcoat entered the waiting room.

“Bonsoir,” said Reythier, smiling slightly and inviting the man to sit down.

The man stopped for a brief moment, his hands still on the edge of the waiting room door.

“Bonsoir.” The man watched them from the edge of the entrance, somewhat confused and unsure of the two well dressed men sitting in the waiting room, chairs overturned towards the incoming train. “Are you waiting for the train?”

“Well, no. I am waiting for someone.”

“Ah. Well, everyone has left. It is just me now.”

Reythier moved his head. “Is it?”

Reythier's measured words somehow made the guest react hastily. Before he could pull out the pistol from the pocket of his overcoat, Reythier lunged at the man from the chair in one single swoop, smashing him against the wall of the waiting room. Immobilised, the man tried to react against the sudden fury of a tall Parisian who dealt two successive blows to his ribcage, shattering two ribs and forcing him to collapse sideways in pain. Overcome with pain and fear, the man could only watch as Reythier dealt a furious jab to his forehead, knocking him out cold right beside the entrance of the waiting room. The man slumped to the ground, inadvertently kicking the window of the waiting room door that was enough to alarm his friends.

Before Reythier had a chance to untangle himself from the battle, two men entered the waiting room from the opposite side, pistols at hand, aiming directly for Reythier's torso and head. But as Reythier had hoped, Klaus took out his own pistol in a clean arching maneouver, firing three successive rounds into the two assailants. Two of the bullets hit the first assailant in the right leg and right arm, forcing him to drop his pistol and collapse against the wall of the waiting room. The last bullet hit the remaining assailant in his left kneecap, throwing his face down against the cold pavement of the waiting room. All of them were still alive, but neither of the assailants were able to put up a fight any more.

Satisfied, Reythier motioned to Klaus who kept his pistol outstretched. The tall Parisian took the knocked out guest and dragged him over to the chairs in the wails of his comrades who were slowly bleeding on the waiting room floor.

“Shouldn't we get an ambulance, Alexandre?” asked Klaus.

Reythier looked at his watch. “Eight minutes. It's already on the way. I left a note for the junior policeman who helped me earlier.”

“Junior policeman? How come you trusted him?”

“Eager to serve the headquarters. The only one who could be trusted.”

Reythier sighed. The assailants were quickly searched and their pistols taken away, a precautionary measure to prevent any mishaps like four hours ago. He looked at the pistols and while two of them were of French origin, the last one, which belonged to the knocked out guest, was made by Walther Firearms. German. He raised the pistol to Klaus.

“Walther PPK. Foreign spies.”

Klaus looked at the two bleeding assailants. “How in the world did you guess, Alexandre?”

“Two details.” Reythier lifted up a finger. “Who knows the interrogation quarters of the police headquarters apart from Pernod or his close men? It's a random house hidden in the middle of a small town named Colmar. You want me to believe these foreign spies knew about it? Those two young men... Pernod knew about them. And the shooter was one of ours. Frenchman. Born in Alsace.”

Klaus muttered under his breath some words. “Second detail?”

“Pernod left the headquarters immediately after we spoke with him, instead of staying with his men to continue his investigation. That made me suspicious, along with what you told me, of him fidgeting during our quick conversation. So I figured out it had some connection with the night trains that come because of the note he gave us. But you would think of the night train that it would be the last one. Not the one before.”

“He tried to throw us off.”

“Correct.”

“Tres bien. I give up now. Tell me how you managed to notice the first one.”

“Pernod's police cap.”

Klaus rose an eyebrow. “His cap?”

“Constables wear a slightly different cap than the rank officers. And Pernod happened to be a reasonably important constable around here, so he had his own fashion touch to it. A blue and white ribbon.”

Klaus frowned. He took a glance around at the injured conspirators and took one of the hats lying on the floor, immediately noticing a small blue and white ribbon attached on the edge of the tip. Small, but noticeable. He showed it to Reythier.

“This?”

“Yes. That ribbon. It's their own mark of identification without having to talk.”

Silence quickly followed. Reythier watched as Klaus stood stumped with the hat in his hand, drawing his fingers slightly over the edge, right over the blue and white ribbon that somehow represented the flag of France. Or at least a portion of it. Reythier's friend held up the hat.

“And, what now? What happens with them?”

“Pernod left, but he will caught soon. I spoke with one of the policemen to deliver a note to the secret services in Lyon. Pernod is just a cog. We're in for bigger problems.”

Klaus threw the hat in one of the conspirator's faces and turned to Reythier.

“I'm worried.”

“You should.” Reythier adjusted his own hat. “Pernod is a little wave, something you feel when a wave touches your leg when you go to the sea in Biarritz or Saint-Tropez. We're in for a large wave, a destructive wave, that will sweep us away. Away, or sideways, either way it will be violent.” Reythier sighed. “Klaus, we're in for a war.”


---

Thank you for reading The Night Train. :bow:

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