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J ust the two of them would fly into France that night. After a day of final preparations, Lizzie passed the evening alone, dozing for a few hours at a safe house after going for a drink with Val in a nearby pub.

‘Are you clear on your cover story?’ Val asked between sips of gin and tonic. ‘This time it’s two cover stories to coordinate, so it’s vital you memorise every detail of both your backgrounds.’

Lizzie needed to keep a clear head and opted for a fruit drink that didn’t taste at all fruity.

She wouldn’t sleep in a bed until at least the following night in Toulouse, and that was only if things went according to plan.

She stopped her thoughts from spiralling into the other grim possibilities.

There was no point going there or she would be frozen with fear.

It was difficult to relax at the safe house, which was a cold, sparsely furnished flat in a tall Victorian building.

Lizzie wandered about, feeling like she’d broken into a stranger’s home, and they might return at any second.

She didn’t get much rest and was grateful when Jack pulled up outside at midnight and beeped his horn.

Lizzie exited the building, clutching her small French-made case, and Jack jumped out of the car to open the door for her. The summer’s night held a chill wind and Lizzie shivered, grateful for her raincoat.

‘I’d better not kiss you in case we’re being watched,’ Lizzie murmured.

‘It’s unlikely, because we’re stretched so thin, but you never know, I suppose. I shall claim my outstanding kiss later.’

Lizzie touched his arm. His presence made her feel better and her nerves settled.

Jack squeezed her hand before pulling away smoothly. ‘How was it in there?’ he asked after a few minutes of companionable silence as the car navigated the quiet, dark streets.

‘Strange,’ Lizzie said. ‘The waiting is always tough.’

‘True. I would much have preferred for you to come back to the flat with me, but Val organised the safe house.’

‘Me too. She meant well. Val doesn’t know I spend at least three nights a week at your place. I shall have to make sure she never gets the chance to discuss my comings and goings with my mother.’

Jack’s deep laugh rumbled through the car, the familiar sound comforting Lizzie. ‘There would be some serious gaps in your schedule.’

Jack drove the car out of London and along eerie country lanes towards their departure point.

‘Usual airfield?’ Lizzie asked.

‘Yes.’

Lizzie had flown out of England from the same top-secret airfield on every mission. She still didn’t know its official name or location, other than it was somewhere in the Bedfordshire countryside.

‘I don’t know about confusing the Germans in the event of invasion, but the lack of road signs certainly confuses the heck out of me,’ Lizzie remarked.

‘That’s the idea.’

Jack had drummed it into her during her training, the less agents knew, the better, in case they were captured and interrogated.

‘Bloody Hitler has had more than enough success bombing the hell out of us, without pointing him to our airfields used for special operations.’

Soon they turned off the road and stopped at a barrier. The soldier on guard recognised Jack, and he waved them through after a brief security check.

By now, Lizzie’s heart was drumming fast, and memories of previous flights swirled around her mind. She knew the drill, she reminded herself.

‘You alright?’ Jack murmured as they pulled up near a hut.

Lizzie nodded. ‘A bit nervous. You?’

‘It’s only natural. Won’t be long now and we’ll be on our way.’

Lizzie recalled Jack telling her to greet nerves as an old friend. They were her mind’s way of preparing her for potential danger.

The sergeant offered them a cup of tea, which had become something of a pre-flight routine for Lizzie, and she accepted the steaming enamel mug gratefully as she reflected on the day’s events.

A costume and props specialist had kitted them out that morning and Lizzie had checked her bag, clothes and pockets repeatedly, almost obsessively.

English pocket litter, as they called it in spycraft, could get them killed.

If they were caught by the Germans, or even searched by French Vichy police, something as seemingly innocuous as a London bus ticket would scream British special agent.

Lizzie observed Jack as he chatted amiably with the soldier, as though it was the most normal thing in the world to be hurled from a tiny plane into the French skies in the middle of the night.

Jack was so confident, Lizzie thought. She wished she could be that calm under duress and she took several deep breaths to steady herself.

Her hands were clammy, and she wiped them on her raincoat.

To distract herself and pass the time, she sipped her tea and thought about the clothes the head seamstress of the SOE French fashion department had kitted her out with.

The clothing was similar to that which she had worn on her virgin mission to Reims the previous summer.

The weather would be hot in the South of France in June, and she wore a pale summer dress beneath her summer raincoat.

In the early hours of the morning, in a windy airfield in Bedfordshire, it was chilly, and she shivered, partly with cold and partly from apprehension.

Lizzy spotted the pilot entering the cockpit of the Westland Lysander, and her stomach was ablaze with nerves as she looked over at Jack.

‘There’s our Lizzie,’ Jack said as he crossed to her side, and pointed to the plane.

Lizzie was always too nervous to appreciate the significance of the Lysander aircraft’s nickname, but Jack found it amusing.

‘Shall we?’ he said, taking her mug and placing it on a small table in the hut.

Lizzie straightened her back and drew herself up to her full height.

Her stomach and chest tingled, and the adrenaline rushed through her body.

‘No time like the present,’ she said. In her experience, the sooner she boarded, the better.

Standing there thinking about the danger they were about to face would only increase the fear that had already gripped her.

The sergeant accompanied them to the aircraft, where the navigator awaited them and welcomed them aboard, introducing them to the pilot, who called out a friendly hello.

‘Alright?’ Jack asked once they settled into their seats.

Lizzie nodded. ‘Usually, we’d have said goodbye by now and I’d be sitting here pining for you and wishing I didn’t have to leave you.’

Jack reached for Lizzie’s hand. ‘And now you don’t. We’re together all the way, Madame Dubois.’

Lizzie’s eyes glowed with unshed tears. Her emotions were in a tangle, in a mix of terror at what they were about to do, and an intense wave of love for Jack and gratitude that they would face this mission together as husband and wife.

It was a surreal adventure, and she squeezed his hand in return and felt the warmth of his fingers cradle hers.

Madame Dubois. She let her mind wander. What would it be like after the war to be Mrs King?

Would they be blessed with children? She hoped so.

Then her thoughts flickered back to the young boy lying dead on the ground after the night when hell and brimstone rained down on them.

She thought of his parents sobbing and remembered the child’s name.

Lizzie raised her chin, and fear lessened its grip on her as the memory of Joey filled her mind.

If they didn’t win this war, it would be far worse in the future.

Her colourful imagination painted a future of Hitler and his Nazi mob marching into London.

Britain had succeeded in seeing the Boche off in the Battle of Britain, and Hitler had abandoned his invasion plans.

The Blitz had taken its toll, but the British people’s spirit was strong.

‘Safe trip, Seagrove,’ Jack whispered in her ear.

The engines roared as they waited for take-off.

‘I’ve got a surprise for you,’ Jack said, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a ball of material like a magician and unfurling it across Lizzie’s lap. ‘Voila!’

She gasped and her fingers caressed the soft material. ‘My lucky yellow scarf! Oh, my goodness, this is wonderful.’

Jack styled the scarf around her neck. ‘There, that’s where it belongs.’

‘But how on earth did you get it back?’

‘I did a bit of digging and called in a favour from a fellow in props.’

Lizzie turned to Jack and flung her arms around him. ‘Thank you! That was so thoughtful, and I love it.’ Her eyes shone as she stared up at him and they drew apart just as the navigator reappeared.

‘We’re going undercover as husband and wife,’ Jack said. ‘Practicing so we don’t stand out like a sore thumb.’

The navigator inclined his head. ‘Best of luck to you, Captain. I hope to have the honour of bringing you both home.’

The navigator returned to his seat, and they were left alone once more. The fuselage was cold, and Lizzie rubbed her arms.

Jack reached down and produced a big wad of padded material. ‘Put this over you. The flight will be longer than to northern France, so you can sleep a bit if you want.’

Jack smiled into Lizzie’s eyes as he covered her with the jumpsuit. ‘I’ll wake you up when it’s time to get into our gear. No point doing it for a while yet. You’ll be more comfortable like this.’

The plane shuddered and groaned as it lifted off the ground, and soon they were airborne.

As the tiny aircraft braved the dark sky, transporting its indomitable team, Lizzie looked out the window.

The whole country was under blackout, so she could only make out a few sporadic lights in the distance.

She was in awe of the pilots and crews who flew into enemy territory as a routine part of their job.

Lizzie was terrified when she had to parachute in, and months passed between missions.

The RAF stared death in the face every day, and as the plane darted over England towards the North Sea, Lizzie thought of Jack’s brother Henry and prayed he was safe.

Her thoughts inevitably turned to Hannah, who was Henry’s fiancée, and her trusted friend and partner in the French Resistance.

Lizzie couldn’t drift off to sleep, she was far too on edge, but she kept her eyes closed and relished the feel of Jack’s hand on hers as she rested.

Usually, she felt so alone as she waited for the moment when she must say goodbye to her one connection to Britain and launch herself into the French skies.

The navigator called out to them when they were thirty minutes from the drop zone.

Lizzie stretched before standing and climbing into the jumpsuit, one hand gripping Jack’s shoulder. He bent to close the parallel zips. ‘You look great in a striptease suit!’

Lizzie remembered how funny she thought it was when she prepared for her first mission and learnt the jumpsuit was called a striptease suit. ‘I hope the only striptease I’ll be doing is taking this bloody thing off after we jump,’ she said.

‘Don’t be a spoilsport, darling. I’m sure we’ll have time for a proper striptease in Toulouse.’

‘You’re remarkably confident about us being welcome to stay at the chateau, considering your uncle doesn’t even know we’re coming, and he dislikes the English.’

‘It’ll be fine. He’ll be happy to have the company. You’ll see.’

The navigator’s voice rang out through the cool night air. ‘Ten minutes to the drop zone.’

‘That went quickly,’ Lizzie said.

‘We’re flying over the South of France now. It’s nearly time. You ready?’

Lizzie nodded, and she kissed Jack quickly, her expression sombre. ‘Good luck, Raven.’

‘Good luck, Seagrove. Do you want to go first or second?’

Lizzie replied without hesitation. ‘First, definitely first.’

They donned their helmets, and the navigator entered the small cabin to attach the ripcords ready for them to jump. Then he addressed them both. ‘It’s almost time.’

They moved into position as the hatch flipped open.

Wind whirled into their faces and Lizzie’s eyes watered. Her heart pounded, and she stood there trying to calm herself, feeling like she was in a dream.

’10, 9, 8 …’ The navigator counted.