She secreted the girls in her wardrobe and moved across to take a seat at the dressing table, from where she extracted a tool of her former trade.
Anne-Marie was walking around the garden, the exercise helping ease the back pain that plagued her every waking moment.
Her bump had become so much more pronounced in a short period of time, so much so that none of the clothing she had purchased for the later stages of the third trimester were simply not up to the job.
Waddling for all she was worth, Anne-Marie made her way towards the groundsman’s lodge and the toilet that she desperately needed.
The stairs creaked, marking the progress of the hunters.
Armande settled herself in relaxed fashion, although the weight in her hand was more than she remembered.
Her bedroom door flew open as a boot pushed it.
The sound of the door striking her mother’s ornate rococo chair was quickly followed by two heavy shots.
Armande Fleriot put both on target, and the would-be assassin flew back into the hall with as much grace and life as a popped balloon.
A shape tumbled through the door and she fired again, this time missing.
The second man rolled behind the gold leaf bed end and came up in the firing position, getting off two shots before a single 7.65mm bullet took him on the bridge of the nose and continued its journey into the man’s brain.
The first had passed along the side of her head and removed much of her right ear.
It was very messy but of little note.
The second bullet had hit her high in the left chest, throwing her backwards and against the dressing table, breaking her collarbone.
Despite the pain, Armande Fleriot kept her Browning 1922 pistol firmly sighted on the doorway.
In the garden, the unmistakable sound of shots carried to Anne-Marie, and to the two men stalking her.
She disappeared into the groundsman’s lodge, cursing herself for not having the wits to have her own weapon to hand.
Alternatives quickly suggested themselves, and she armed herself as best she could
Holding her breath, and without the slightest concern for her dignity, she allowed the hot urine to trickle down her legs as she focussed on the doorway.
A shadow played across the gap and she tensed ready to strike.
The door gently opened outwards, and she sensed the presence without seeing.
It was enough and she trusted her instincts.
The sickle swept out of the doorway, curving back round towards her in its natural arc, and contacted soft yielding flesh.
The scream was cut short as she yanked back on the handle, the high-pitched sound replaced by the gurgling of a severe throat wound on a dying man.
“Merde! Chienne!”
The other man put six shots through the wooden walls, hoping to hit the woman who had mortally wounded his brother.
Anne-Marie grunted and sagged to the ground as two struck her and robbed her of her strength.
The shooter heard her sounds of pain and knew he had hit home.
Moving carefully to the half-open door, he stuck his head round and saw their female target lying on the ground trying hard to stem the flow of blood from her left thigh.
He brought his pistol up and tapped her on the side of the head, hard enough to break the skin, not hard enough to knock her out.
“You fucking bitch. That’s my brother lying there.”
The man was still dying noisily, but vengeance was all the surviving brother thought of, not that he could do anything with his sibling’s gaping throat wound in any case.
“I’m going to kill your fucking baby first, and then I’m going to shoot you to pieces, starting with your face.”
Anne-Marie, in pain and with shock starting to take its toll, summoned up the strength to plant a gobbet of spit on the man’s chest in a show of defiance.
“Fucking SS whore! You fucking SS…”
He heard and turned in the briefest of moments…
Blood sprayed over Anne-Marie’s face and chest, then more that came like a fireman’s hose.
She never heard the shots that took the life of the man who nearly killed her.
Five bullets entered his body at almost point blank range, entering from as low as his navel to the highest point at his neck, and it was the neck wound that produced the geyser of blood.
The Colt Ace .22 was a practice weapon, one not normally used for the purpose of killing, but at close range, a .22 bullet can do a lot of damage, and five on target would bring a lot of hurt on whatever they hit.
The fourth shot was the one that killed him, clipping the aorta before expending the rest of its low power in the stomach beyond.
He toppled forward and his weight dropped across Anne-Marie’s legs, dislocating her right ankle in one swift and excruciatingly painful second.
The damaged aorta let go and the second brother went on his brief, dark journey.
Tears clouded Anne-Marie’s eyes as she sought the identity of her saviour.
She dabbed her eyes with her good hand and found a handkerchief pressed into her hand.
“Ami… are you hurt very badly, Ami?”
Anne-Marie’s floating brain suddenly focussed.
She carefully took the loaded and cocked gun from her stepdaughter Greta.
“Are there any more of them?”
“No, Ami… there were just four.”
“Two in the house?”
“Aunty shot them both. She says they are no longer a concern.”
“Good. I’m fine, Cherie. Madame is unhurt? You’re both unhurt?”
“Aunty is hurt but she says not bad. Greta is looking after her. I came to find you.”
“And you brought your practice pistol, you clever girl.”
“I had to do something, Ami.”
“You did, Magda.”
She kissed her stepdaughter despite the pain that her movements caused.
“Now, find Jerome and ask him to call the doctor and then get me to a phone.”
“I don’t think Jerome is very well, Ami.”
Anne-Marie cursed herself for being so stupid.
“Find Madame Besoinine instead.”
“She’s in the hallway. I don’t think she’s very well either, Ami.”
“Ok, ok, sorry Cherie. Can you ring for the doctor yourself?”
“But of course!”
The indignation on the eleven year old’s face was writ large.
Anne-Marie could almost sense the assurance in her eyes.
‘If I can shoot a man then a telephone call is easy!’
“Of course you can. I’ll wait here. Ring for the doctor and then help your sister with Aunty.”
Magda took to her heels, a girl with a mission, leaving Anne-Marie to suffer the pain of her injuries and ponder the events that had nearly snuffed out her life and that of her unborn child.
She kept a tight grip on the practice pistol… just in case.
Some time later, Commandant Vincennes received a call from Anne-Marie Knocke, one that created a maelstrom of activity within the local ranks of the SDECE.
The four bodies were quickly taken away and an investigation started to discover who they were and why they had come to kill.
Each man was clean… in as much as there was nothing to identify, except some cash and smoking materials.
No ID whatsoever.
Each man had a bag, probably to carry away the objects they looted, but the sense of it all was that they were there solely for the purpose of killing.
The prime target was the subject of much speculation, and the pregnant Deux agent was considered top of the list.
1058 hrs, Friday 14th March 1947, Rhein-Main Airbase, Frankfurt, Germany.