Flooney Island 1940

Expect

The three-story house, painted to blend with the yellow-green hues of the surrounding environment, was discreetly positioned behind a row of palm trees. In its yard, a DK5 military truck sat parked, and at the gate, merely two soldiers stood guard, presenting an ostensibly weak defense. Andreas paused at a distance, concealing himself behind the sturdy trunk of a tree, waiting patiently.

"Major," Captain Joy Reiser uttered, swallowing nervously, his hand quivering on his gun: "Is it truly the 'Lion of the Seas'?"

In the French Army's intelligence headquarters on Funy Island, several female officers efficiently destroyed documents and files under Chazo's directive, located on the building's second floor.

"Yes, Joy, his arrogance is unmistakable. His confident self-disclosure convinced me it's him. The brief skirmish revealed his formidable, even fearsome, nature. He won't be ensnared by the same trap twice, but it merits our endeavor," Chazo affirmed.

Observing Major Rilke's wounded shoulder and his pallid complexion, Captain Joy Reiser understood the gravity of the situation. Only a terrifyingly capable adversary could have inflicted such damage on Major Rilke so swiftly. With a significant portion of the island's military forces already evacuated and their defenses critically weakened, their slim hope rested on Major Rilke's strategic acumen.

At the moment, a dozen guards were stationed in ambush on the first floor, with the entrance guards creating an illusion of vulnerability that could provoke an overconfident enemy into a fatal mistake. The moment the enemy let down their guard, the guns concealed on the first floor would unleash their firepower without hesitation.

"Joy, stay alert and steady your gun," Chazo instructed Joy, who was crouching in front of the window, before handing over the documents to his female adjutant beside him. "Catherine, get some gasoline."

The beautiful adjutant's brows were tightly furrowed, her expression on the verge of tears, but her solid military training enabled her to hold back her tears. She went downstairs to the storeroom to find gasoline.

"Burn it all," Chazo ordered the staff officer beside him, who was organizing documents. "Don't feel sorry; their mission is already complete."

The staff officer, with a grim face, protested, "Major, even though the enemy is strong, we haven't lost yet. Isn't this too premature? These are our efforts!"

Chazo fixed his gaze on him, paused, and then said, "Loch, have you forgotten what's most important in intelligence? Our lives? Our efforts? Think about it. If even a single piece of paper falls into the enemy's hands, how many of our compatriots' lives will be lost? The Bomb machine must be destroyed; otherwise, the German army will reinforce the Enigma code, and then even Bletchley Park will be worried."

"Besides, Bletchley Park is our last hope. Loch, be strong. Facing an unknown enemy, we must always be prepared for death. But before death, we must not leave them anything."

Major’s resolve inspired the intelligence department members, who silently continued to destroy the documents. After Catherine brought the gasoline, Chazo severed all the connections to the Bomb machine, dismantled it into pieces, doused it with gasoline, and burned it completely.

Chazo Rilke's expression was grave; in just one day, he had lost the two most important things in his life.

The billowing smoke from the intelligence building alerted Andreas that he could no longer wait; he needed an intact radio device. He resolved to act as soon as it got dark.

The brilliant sunset spread across the sky, reminiscent of the previous day when Chazo, filled with joy, drove to the seaside cabin, looking forward to a lavish dinner prepared by his sister. But now, Fiona lay alone on the cold ground, as he, avoiding his subordinates, silently shed tears, even unable to give his beloved sister a proper burial.

Colonel Hinze seemed to be very patient, not appearing yet. Chazo, crouched by the window, turned to Joy and asked, "Seen anything?"

Joy shook his head, "Nothing, it's too quiet. There's not a stir in the dense forest."

"Let me have a look." Chazo took the binoculars and peered into the forest. The woods were lush, with vines wildly intertwining and tangling. As night fell, it turned pitch black, like a terrifying abyss hiding monsters. The headquarters building turned off its lights, both now enveloped in darkness.

"Major, I need to use the restroom," Joy said.

"Okay, be careful, keep low, and move slowly," Chazo advised. However, Joy, stiff from crouching all day, wobbled as he stood up. Chazo was about to assist him when a sharp whistle pierced the air.

Bang! Blood splattered, and Catherine screamed sharply. Joy Reiser's head exploded from a gunshot, collapsing beside Chazo. His brain matter, mixed with blood, splattered everywhere, nearly causing Catherine to vomit from the stench.

"Damn it!" Chazo quickly ducked, thinking, where? Where is that damned German?! Why is there no reaction from the guards?

He noticed one of the guards at the door looking around anxiously, while the other seemed oddly stationary, leaning against the wall.

Suddenly, the patrolling guard gestured towards the soldiers inside before firing a shot into the dense forest. The indoor guards were puzzled, not understanding what was happening, with some craning their necks to get a better view.

The guard fired several shots into the forest, then swiftly turned around, reversing his gun, and unleashed a barrage of bullets at them.

Bang, bang, bang! Glass shattered, and blood sprayed as several indoor guards were instantly killed, realizing too late that the door guards had been silently eliminated.

"Oh God! We can't escape," Catherine cried, aware of the grim fate awaiting captured intelligence officers. She would rather die now than endure the brutal interrogations and tortures.

Chaos erupted inside the building, and Chazo turned back, shouting lowly, "Soldiers! Remember who you are! We will fight to the last moment. Loch! Get up and destroy all the radios!"

"Major, if we destroy the radios, we'll have no way out!" Loch cried out in despair.

Chazo sneered, "Likewise, the enemy has no way out!"

Meanwhile, Andreas, concealed behind a cover, was acutely aware that time was crucial. If the French still had hope, they wouldn't destroy the radio equipment, but now he was about to extinguish their hope completely. Eliminating them wasn't difficult; Andreas had already crushed their morale and just needed to advance steadily. He checked his weapons; he had four MAS-36 rifles and a Berthier, with plenty of ammunition.

Half an hour later, Andreas, relying on his exceptional marksmanship, had almost completely annihilated the guards on the first floor. His left arm was wounded by a bullet shot from the second floor. As he charged towards the building, he glanced up, locking eyes with those hate-filled brown eyes.

Bang, bang, bang, almost one shot per soldier!

The frail intelligence officers trembled as they held their guns, and after Andreas took out Loch, who was destroying the radio equipment, he discarded his rifle for a pistol.

He knew that when he pushed open that door, he would see those eyes again.

Andreas vividly remembered the gaze of Major Rilke, a mixture of triumph and unwilling resignation, as he pointed the gun at his head upon storming the command room.

Suffering from intense chest tightness followed by a fierce bout of coughing, Andreas awoke in the medical room. The duel concluded with the colonel regaining consciousness first, his collapse due more to post-combat exhaustion than external force.

He had emerged victorious.

Struggling to his feet, Andreas administered several more morphine injections to himself and began carefully tending to his wounds with the medical supplies at hand. Despite the analgesic effect of the anesthetic, the ordeal was still immensely painful. Clenching his teeth against the pain, his face flushed red, sweat drenched his brow, and his brown hair stuck to his forehead as he gasped for air.

Once the bullet was extracted from his arm and the wound was dressed, he glanced at the still unconscious Chazo. The major's shoulder bandage was heavily blood-soaked, and his right hand was badly burnt, the skin charred black like a rotting rose. After a moment's thought, Andreas decided to treat his wounds; the major, who knew the entire truth, couldn't be allowed to die.

Enduring his own pain, Andreas lifted Chazo. He removed his shirt and unwrapped the blood-soaked bandages. The ghastly gunshot wound on the major's firm shoulder made the colonel avert his eyes swiftly.

But now, they were even. Reflecting on his own arm wound, he smirked self-deprecatingly.

After applying medication, Andreas rewrapped the wounds with fresh bandages, then tenderly handled Chazo's right hand, treating and bandaging it as well. Once everything was taken care of, he resecured the major to the medical bed before turning his attention to the radio equipment. After moving an officer's body aside, he started to repair the transmitter, thankfully only slightly damaged due to the officer's hesitation. The receiver, however, was beyond repair. Andreas resigned himself to fate; the Germans might come, or they might not.

Regaining his composure, Andreas began fixing the transmitter. Not one to be swayed by emotions, he worked despite his physical and emotional scars. Once the transmitter's light flickered on, signaling its readiness, he transmitted a coded message to the German naval headquarters, now only needing to patiently wait.