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region.” He turned back and faced Harris. “But there is a glass factory in Fains, and we have reliable information that they plan to turn it into a munitions factory.
    Harris didn’t reply, too riveted to speak.
    “The head of the resistance group, called Vipère by the way, is an Alsatian named Curel,” Forrest continued. “Very tough old bird, a recipient of the Croix de Guerre in the first war. He comes from a town in Alsace, Merlebach, which was ceded back to the French by the Germans in ‘18. In ‘21 Curel came to Fains to work in the mine outside the town. Now he’s too old to fight, but the hate is still there, and he’s organized this group to do what they can.”  
    Forrest put down the pointer and sighed. “Unfortunately, his band consists mainly of kids too young for conscription who’ve escaped deportation to the labor camps by one chance or another, and veterans like himself who are past their salad days. That’s one of the reasons they need you.”
      Harris leaned forward in his chair.
    Forrest held the younger man’s gaze as he said, “We want you to help build the Résistance in the area, develop these people so that they can carry on without you after this mission. They’re eager, and tough, but untrained, disorganized. If you can get them going and show them the ropes, they’ll be able to continue the work against the Germans when you’re gone.”  
    Harris’s blue eyes were fixed on Forrest’s face. He didn’t say anything, merely waited for the major to continue.
    Forrest studied the captain for a moment, then proceeded. “The Germans have established their headquarters in the hospital at Bar-le-Duc. The commander is Colonel Anton Becker, old school, regular army. He’s way out of favor with Hitler’s boys, but his father, now dead, was an aristocrat with an ancient title and plenty of money. The Krauts didn’t want to antagonize the rest of the family, some of whom were contributing heavily to the war effort, so instead of punching his ticket they sent him to France. Ostensibly he’s just babysitting the locals, making sure they don’t get out of line. But Curel and his boys have noticed a lot of activity around the factory lately, the Germans asking questions about the maximum temperatures the furnaces will bear, advisors being sent in, that sort of thing. Last week one of the kids in Curel’s group spotted one of the ‘advisors’ melting metal bars and pouring the liquid into bullet molds. It seems pretty clear what they’re up to, and they’re apparently counting on using the regular staff at the factory as the labor force. All it would require would be some retraining and they’d have a ready-made munitions machine.”
    Forrest sat once more at his desk and folded his hands on the blotter. “You were selected for a number of reasons, only one of which is that you’re a crack jumper. You’ll be flown in at night and you’ll parachute into the woods on the shore of the river L’ornain, a branch of the Marne which flows through Fains and Bar-le-Duc. Your contact will be a teenager named Alain Duclos. Curel is so sure he’s right about this German plan for the factory because they’ve allowed this Alain, and a group of other Fains boys who work there, to remain rather than sending them over the border to Germany for forced labor. The Krauts don’t do anything without a reason and Curel is betting that they’ll need the young men for the new scheme. This Duclos kid will hide you out and put you in contact with Curel. Duclos is ideal because his sister-in-law is an American who speaks French and German, the widow of Duclos’ brother, who was killed fighting the Germans last year. Duclos senior, the boy’s father, is the mayor of the town, but a collaborator.”
    Harris raised his brows. “Interesting family,” he said dryly. It was the first comment he’d made.  
    Forrest nodded in agreement. “Obviously the father could be a problem, but Intelligence