Chapter Text
Paris, March 1944
Aramis lay in his concealed hiding spot on the flat roof of an old apartment building, entrenched behind a thick wrought iron railing. Ranging his MAS-36 rifle to the potential target was difficult through the elaborate pattern, but it concealed him well.
According to secret information his group within the French Résistance had received, the convoy he’d been waiting for should arrive in a few minutes with the most important decoding machine for the Enigma. The Enigma machine, an encryption device developed and used in the early- to mid-20th century to protect commercial, diplomatic and military communication, was employed extensively by Nazi Germany during the war in all branches of the German military. The arrival of the decoding machine in Paris seemed to be like a sign from heaven. The documents previously stolen by his brothers and him had been helpful in more than one way. Unfortunately, even the most scholarly amongst the Résistance members were unable to decode many of the ciphers encrypted by the Enigma. If this decoding machine came into the hands of the Résistance and their Allies, this would have a major impact on the further course of the war. Furthermore, there would be the high possibility to push back the Third Reich, maybe even to their annihilation.
Only for this reason had Aramis refrained from his usual target preparations and taken the risk of short-cutting his exploration of the point of attack. He usually needed a whole week to scan the locations, but this time he dealt with it in one day. As the plans were passed on to the Résistance, they’d learned they not only included the route of the SS convoy, but also the time slots. The Gestapo had disguised the whole operation as a visit of the German trade delegation. As a result, there were hardly any Gestapo or SS men on the street, so Aramis was able to spy completely unnoticed.
“325m- Just try to find me,” teased Aramis, knowing he had found the perfect hiding spot. No one would suspect him from this far away.
It was well known that since World War I the French government had other priorities than to invest money in the acquisition of modern weapons for its infantry. So far the MAS-36 was still the best rifle Aramis could get. It was a cumbersome rifle and even if one could use 7.5mm calibre cartridges, originally developed for the Chatellerault M24 machine gun, reloading proved to be difficult. In addition, the MAS-36 had no safety mechanisms and soldiers were instructed to load the gun only immediately before combat. Although of comparatively simple construction, the weapon was very robust and due to its short barrel quite easy to handle. Both had proved to be an advantage for Aramis and he was glad that he could take a well-kept specimen from the troops with him when he left the army regulars. He had optimized the rifle for his own purposes in painstaking detailed work. Thus he had managed to extend the range of the rifle by another 50m and now he could shoot almost from a distance of 350m assuming good conditions. No German would trust such a relic of a French weapon, and thanks to this fact- and his talent, every one if his operations had been successful without any major losses.
Aramis rubbed his eyes briefly. It was exhausting to continually concentrate while scanning the area, so he blinked a few times to dispel the tiredness. Confidently thinking of his brothers, whom he had already seen going into the tiny house right next to the small trade office where the handover would take place, eased his growing impatience. This is taking too long.
But Aramis would patiently wait until the convoy stopped and the Germans got out of the vehicles. Known for his excellent shot and nearly faster than human reload speed, it was Aramis's job to cover Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan below as they executed their ambush. After this was done, Aramis would disappear into safety on his escape route. By him and his brothers taking different routes they would return to the garrison and, if lucky, they would have brought into their possession one of the most valuable treasures of the German Reich.
“Everything fine and proper, Sir,” reported Aramis, mildly amused, to dispel the dullness of waiting.
He shivered due to the cold air, and wrapped himself up in his thick sheepskin field jacket. Though the sun in March could warm up, the air was still wintery and cold. Laying on a blanket on the ice cold stone floor of the roof he was happy about his choice to wear his bleak wild boar leather trousers, too. He grimaced a little bit annoyed because of underestimating the cold wind, which dropped his body temperature more than expected.
His eyes wandered constantly to the little church at the end of the street, about 800m away from him. It seemed to be much smaller than the surrounding buildings but its steeple was a little bit higher than the adjacent tenement houses. Only the cross on top was clearly visible for Aramis due to the clear afternoon sky on this cold day of March.
The bright rays of the sun made it shine golden and Aramis allowed himself a brief moment of silence.
He sorrowfully sighed feeling torn between his warm thoughts of his brothers and what he was about to do to guarantee their safeness. Killing men was never easy. On the one hand he knew those German soldiers were responsible for horrible deeds by spreading fear and horror and not giving a fucking dime about the lives of others. They believed in their God given superiority their Führer always talked about. On the other hand they were also men, brothers or sons of people who loved them. For sure the soldiers were able to love too.
“Lord, have mercy on them,” he prayed to overcome his sense of guilt, bothered by the fact that many of them might be dead within the next hour.
Aramis didn’t have any more time to speculate about the upcoming tide of events, because the convoy of cars came around the corner and stopped in front of the small office building. Aramis took a deep breath and immediately focused on his task. Nothing or nobody could distract him when he was scope-locked on his goals.
“There you gents are. Just get out, I'm waiting for you.” Recognizing the insignia of their uniforms, Aramis identified them as high ranking officers even from a distance. Accompanied by several ordinary Wehrmacht soldiers, they slowly walked towards the stairs of the house entrance.
This was the moment when Aramis was supposed to fire, but something irritated him about the scenario running down on the main square. He couldn't name his unusual feelings, but nothing seemed to be right anymore. What irritated him was the reserved behavior of the officers. Generally German officers were proud and confident, certain of their superiority and all too often radiated an unmistakable arrogance of power. These traits were completely missing, and the officers seemed like puppets out of place. Out of gut instinct he decided to eliminate the soldiers of the Wehrmacht first. He fired three times in a row and three men fell.
Then the long awaited hell broke loose. The Wehrmacht soldiers started to react. From the corner of his eyes Aramis saw Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan approaching from the side street, but he simply concentrated on his next shot. He had just pulled the trigger when suddenly two things unexpectedly happened. One of the German soldiers fired a smoke grenade in his direction and soon the whole scene was filled with a dark grey-black smog, immediately blocking his field of view.
At the same instant a large part of the plaster parapet in front of him was blown away. Sharp pieces of plaster flew into his face and scratched his forehead and cheeks and Aramis had no time to turn away. The very next moment another bullet hit a few centimeters beside him, shattering the stone floor of the roof. Thanks to the ceiling no large piece could enter his body and he quickly sought cover, dropping his rifle and burying his head under his arms thus laying flat as a pancake. He sensed another bullet flying just above him and was forced to roll over to the left and seek shelter behind a thicker railing post.
What the hell is going on? He carefully risked a glance but none of it made sense. Screams came from the forecourt of the trade office below, throwing Aramis’s mind into a frenzy. His heartbeat quickened, his forehead broke out in sweat. His friends were in danger. Damn it!
“Don’t give up your location, you can still do this,” he murmured to himself. He peaked down at the forecourt, desperately trying to find his friends.
Crack.
Plaster shattered beside his head as a bullet embedded itself into the wall. Aramis ducked, grunted and knew he had to move. “I’m sorry friends, but I’m not good to you dead.”
Leaving his friends without support, Aramis cursed and grabbed his rifle before darting toward his planned escape route. More plaster shattered, gravel from the roof ricocheted off his shins as bullets whizzed past him, landing too close for comfort. His legs pumped faster as he crossed the roof as did his heartbeat. More bullets reigned down around him as he ran. “Merde! Merde! Merde!”
He found refuge behind a stone balcony post, let out a breath to try and calm his nerves and senses. “Where are you?” he breathed, risking a peak around the post. He drew his head back immediately when stone chips cut and scratched his face from where another bullet embedded in the post.
He hadn’t seen much in his quick reconnaissance of the court below, but off in the distance he’d seen a church tower. “No way you made the shot from there.” He took another deep breath, felt his pulse slow, his senses regulate and risked another look. Blood rushed from his head, pooled in his feet when he saw someone- just their head, poking above the brick and stone balcony rail of the bell tower. “When the hell did the Nazis develop weapons with that kind of range?”
He remembered rumors of German physicists working with engineers to develop weapons with such enormous reach. He could hardly imagine that they had either manufactured them or that they were already set for action. He was proven wrong because the next bullet hit the ground next to him and he was forced again to take cover.
Now Aramis was sure that at least two snipers had aimed at him. Running out of options he had to make a quick plan to escape. Under any circumstances he had to save the lives of his friends and brothers. In order to do so, he had to change his position, find a better field of view. Quickly, he moved in the opposite direction away from the waft of smoke. He found his escape well chosen, took another deep breath and started to run in a zigzag. In the blaze of gunfire from the German snipers he figured out that they had no real intention whatsoever to hit him. If it had been their goal to kill him, he would already be dead. With their bullets they kept him moving. However, when he reached the edge of the roof and started to climb down the small iron fire ladder, the gun fire intensified and he had no other choice but to jump onto the adjacent roof approximately six feet away.
Aramis jumped, rolled over and found cover behind the wall of the larger house, which immediately interrupted the sniper’s field of view. Hastily he placed himself into a kneeling position and brought his rifle at the ready. Right away he opened fire towards the turmoil down below in the main square. The wind blew the smoke into the opposite direction and he had a clearer view of the scene of chaos. Only a few minutes had gone by since he had left his original position and Aramis risked a glance.
“Thank God, you made it back, mes amis”, he sighed in relief. Regardless of the danger, Aramis fired endlessly at anyone who came too close to his friends or tried to cut off their escape route, thus revealing his position openly. It was worth it because three other soldiers fell and therefore his brothers had the opportunity to retreat mainly unharmed. Porthos turned back, moving his head as if searching for him, but even though their eyes didn't really meet due to the great distance, Aramis literally felt the moment when Porthos must have spotted him. He felt infinite relief when he saw his friends could escape. Even though the whole ambush had gone terribly wrong. Aramis had secured his friend’s escape route, and that’s all that mattered.
Merde, you bloody bastards are here too soon.
Swallowing hard, Aramis refused to let go of his targets until he felt a shotgun barrel on his right temple. Closing his eyes he slowly took his finger off the trigger and pulled himself up. Unexpectedly, Gestapo stormtroopers surrounded him very quickly, shouted at him, and Aramis quickly put down his rifle. He drew back his hands from the weapon and sank backwards. Still kneeling, he raised his arms behind his head and waited for the inevitable blow, which, however, wasn’t yet to come. Instead, the men started to yell at him with orders which he barely understood- their French was not good enough, and their German language sounded too harsh.