March 10, 1918 It’s quite a shock to be back in occupied territory. Things have degraded even more here than before, and even though I’d been warned, the reality was unsettling. During my final two weeks in England I’d eaten very little food in preparation, so I wouldn’t stand out in a crowd of undernourished citizens. Even so, my eyes are not as sunken as the other women in Lille, where I’m stationed in Nord—Pas-de-Calais, and my skin is not …
It’s Only Hair March 4, 1918 We fell into a routine, Ambrosia, Felicia and I. Most days began with a modest breakfast of porridge and cream. Gone were the days when the cook would produce a smorgasbord of dishes each morning—fried kippers and kidneys, eggs either boiled, fried or scrambled, toast and butter with a variety of fruit jams, all consumed with a hot cup of tea with milk and sugar. Tea was still consumed, naturally, but it was weak, …
August 30, 1917 My fellow operatives, Jean and Armand, stared at the map that I had pencil drawn on letter sized piece of paper. “There is an electrified fence, on the other end of the forest,” Jean said finally, locking his gaze with mine. “But I am told the dutch will have neutralized it by the time you get there. They will also have an escape hatch.” When I had studied the original map, I’d recognized a pattern in the …
I’m stationed in a town called Kortrijk in Belgium. Soon after destroying the German phone exchange hut in Nivelle, I received word that it was too dangerous for me to stay there considering what I had done with Magda. The Germans were all over the site trying to establish what had happened. The sentry we’d drugged had come under intense interrogation. There was a price to be paid for letting him live. Within only a few days of arriving in …
July 30, 1917 With all my training in espionage and the people I have met and worked with, none come close to Magda. Around my age in her early twenties, she has pale skin and long dark hair rolled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. A Belgium citizen, she’s part of the secret resistance, daily putting her life in peril. I work in a cafe in Le Cirio—my new post—located in one of the buildings which …
May 28, 1917 Five days ago, I arrived at Ostende where I’m staying with an older Flemish couple. The man, whom I will call Monsieur Audelet, is in his early sixties and owns a fisherman’s supply store near the beach. I was posing as his shop assistant, a distant relative from France, who sadly, had recently lost her fiance on the battlefield. Monsieur Audelet and his wife Lenora lost a son to the Bosche two years ago and have been …