Present Day, San Francisco

  Hilary raised her eyebrows. "Well, I wonder what that was all about."

"I don't know and honestly don't care." Tyrea seemed to have plunged fully into her work, so Colleen was surprised that she had been listening at all, let alone have an opinion. Although she would stake a grand that Tyrea had an opinion on almost everything.

"You don't seem to like him very much." Her statement was met with another steely glare.

"Listen sweety, in this job there is a ladder. Top to bottom it's like this. There is the Chief, or Mr. White, who is the editor and manager. Then his assistants, reporters-"

"Which don't worry, there's a pole for the reporters too," Hilary informed the red head in front of her.

Ignoring the chinner, she continued- "secretaries and all them. Anyway the point is way down here-" Positioning her hands in midair below her chair for clarification. "-is Jerry."

"Well, he seems a right gee." She inclined forward. "As you get to know me you'll realize how much I care about your groups and totem poles. I really can't see how this place can function with so many divisions."

"Are you finished?"

Colleen set Jerry's bag down and crossed her arms.

"Good. I don't have any interest in who you choose as friends as long as they don't interfere with your job, or the running of this office. No matter how divided you might think this employment family is.

"So, if you were such a perfect person why don't you actually get up and do some work instead of just taking up valuable space."

Colleen shrugged. "I'm Jake, so whats my first assignment?"

"To give that bag to them." Following the other newshawk's line of sight, she saw the charge entering through the glass door. From the racket, it sounded as if this mission might be quite a tasking endeavor.

A mid-sized chap slung the door open with another taller man tagging shortly behind. The forerunner had rusty hair cut close, playful sky blue eyes, and a smirk that seemed to be permanently pasted to his mouth. The latter was about a foot higher than the first, with a handsome face which, at this point of time was full of despair and anxiety; dark brown hair, and evoking azure eyes.

The typist sprang to her feet. "You don't have to bother, I'll take it to them."

"Oh, no trouble. As a matter-of-fact I want to meet the former journalist. I assume by your enthusiasm that's who it is?"

Hilary sadly sank into her chair, as Colleen began her trek towards the two. "You could come with me."

"Okay!" Those tight curls bounced excitedly as she lept to her feet in hot pursuit at the invitation. Together they continued the walk across the office and navigated amongst a large variety of workers.

As they approached, they couldn't help but notice the unmistakable New York and British accents. "Oh really!" came a protest from the Englishman.

"Yeah, do really think that I would have messed up with her if you and Devon hadn't barged through?"

With an exasperated sigh he tried to negotiate with reason; which Colleen suspected, was far beyond his friends understanding "We were in the middle of a grocery store! In line to be assisted! It wasn't our fault that the clerk slapped you. She must have been one of those strange girls that like to know something about the bloke before he asks her out."

The accused stepped back and crossed his arms across his chest. "Like what?"

"Oh I don't know..." He hesitated. "Your name might possibly be a good place to start."

"Yes, I completely agree. I'm Colleen Brennen, and I'm sure that you already know Hilary." Extending her hand towards the rational one, out of the corner of her eye she saw the secretary do  a slight curtsy.

"Charmed." She giggled.

"Hullo. I'm Robert Newman, and this is Mr. Louis."

"Ah, you can call 'im the Professor. Everyone else does." He waved his hand as if shooing a fly, dismissing the use of proper names. "Private Joshua Louis, third class. At your service, ma'am."

August 14, 1945 Location: Germany, Time: 13:15 aka 1:15pm

"I have been watching you, following you. In fact, one time when you had left the camp I thought that you had seen me." LeBeau raised an eyebrow. "Did you?"

"Yes I did, although it was just for a moment." Devon glanced at the blue beret, most likely the article that had given the man away.

Their leader scoffed, quickly said something about a 'souris' to the other Frenchman in a disapproving tone, and then marched out of the room, slamming the door behind him. "Jacques has always disliked me; though I don't know why."

"Maybe he sees you as a threat to his command," Louis suggested.

"Ce n'est pas grave." LeBeau answered.

"We don't speak French." Gracon went to rest his hand on the knife beside him, but Devon flashed him a hard look of warning. So far the Frenchies had given them more reasons to trust them than to not. But Devon would hold them at arms length; still, that was no reason to threaten them as Gracon almost did.

"Excuse me. I meant that it doesn't matter," LeBeau replied apologetically.

"Why were you following us?" Gracon keyed in.

"Well originally we wanted to know who you were. When I found out that you were Americans and I told the Commander. He wanted me to keep an eye on you. Just in case you needed help, which you obviously did."

"You speak good English for a Frenchman," Bruiser rumbled.

LeBeau jumped and faced the large man.

"He is really just a big Teddy Bear," Louis teased, trying to calm him.

"Louis!" Bruiser covered the space between them in a matter of seconds. "Shut up, before I pound you."

"That is enough!" Devon ordered. "Louis this no time for sarcasm, and Bruiser, back down."

"That was sarcasm?" LeBeau cautiously glanced up at the large man.

Bruiser stepped back to his place, refocusing on his enquiry. "Answer my question."

"My Mother was French, but my Father was an American. So, they wanted me to speak both fluently. And with the assistance of both of them, I succeeded. After learning those two languages, my love for other tongues grew. Now I can also speak German and Italian as well."

The door was opened and their leader stomped in. "Do you want to get your men out of the Germans' hands?"

"You know where they are?" Devon approached as if to test their trust.

"We're the Resistance, of course we know were they are." LeBeau smiled proudly.

"Your arrogance will get you killed." The Commander glared and shook his head wearily. "I have sent a message to England about you, and they will transfer it to America. Come. We must go to a safer location." He suddenly turned studying Devon, then nodded. "I have a plan."

Location: U.S.A Marine Corps Headquarters, Arlington, VA Time: 16:30 aka 4:30pm

"General!"

"Yes Sargent?" A kind-eyed man sat behind an oak desk, shuffling a stack of papers.

"We have just received a message from the French Underground delivered by England," the young pale-faced Sargent replied.

"Well, what is it?" Sitting erect, he pushed the documents aside.

The Sargent drew the piece of paper closer to his face to read. "It says: American soldiers need rescue, stop. Have submarine waiting in the North Sea, stop. Meet us in Emden"

"When?" the General enquired.

"Tomorrow night at 24:00."

"Make sure everything is ready."

"Sir." Saluting, he left.

He leaned into his high backed office chair. "So an old friend calls on me again. What do you suppose he got himself into this time Max...?"

The large Great Dane lifted his gray head, and only a lazy yawn was his sullen response.

Location: Germany, Time: 16:30 aka 4:30pm

The walk was long and tiresome. But Devon had other things on his mind besides the journey. He sensed something deep inside, and he wanted more insight into the Frenchman's past.

"So how did you get into the Resistance?" He wondered innocently to LeBeau, while taking off his helmet and smoothing down the unruly dark brown hair.

Silence filled the space between the two, and Devon looked down in surprise at the man who was now his colleague. The sparkle that had made life in his crystal blue eyes, looked almost tarnished and dull. "It's quite a long story."

After what LeBeau had said about his loving parents who wanted him to have the knowledge of other languages. Devon found that very hard to believe. "Well from what I've heard, we have plenty of time. I'd like to heard it."

A deep sigh followed. "My parents lived in a shack, on one of the poorest streets in Paris. When I was ten my father went to try and find a job. He said that he would be back before dark. But he never returned. My mother waited for him, and a few weeks later we received news that he had been killed. But something inside of me didn't believe that. I knew what had happened. My father, my supposed mentor, had ran away from his family, from me. And you know what for? Drugs. He had said that he had stopped, but I don't think that he did. So my mother had to find a job. For the next five years I saw her wither slowly away. I soon began looking for someone besides my overworked mother for attention. I wanted acceptance, and pretty soon I had collected some...  friends."

"From all the wrong places I assume," Devon commented, and LeBeau, nodding his assurance, continued.

"One day, a Christian missionary came to our house, what little it may have been. I was almost ashamed when mother let him in. He had a clean, light blue shirt, black trousers and gray eyes that sent a message of overwhelming joy, love and acceptance. Everything that I wanted. But he was certainly not what I was used to, as far as Fathers were concerned. Not that I had had much experience. But he wasn't wearing a stiff white collar, or a sour expression." He glanced at Devon. "My life began to change that day. By the time he had left, my mother was crying. I didn't understand why and went to her. I assumed the man had abused her, but she said that she had been saved, which was a new concept for me, and it took a long time for her to explain. For several months that pastor named Nathaniel Johnson visited us, and finally asked for my mother's hand in marriage. I agreed. So a few weeks later they were married and we moved into an actual house, and I finally had a family. They were the ones who wanted me to learn all the languages that I wanted. He asked if he could adopt me but I told him that I wanted to keep the LeBeau last name. Since I was now the only one left, thankfully he understood.

"For ten years things were as they should be. Until seven mouths ago the Gestapo suspected us for being traitors, smuggling Jews and being former Jews ourselves. Even though we weren't. They killed my parents and I was somehow able to escape. I was then captured by the French Resistance and joined them."

Devon hadn't exactly been in the mood for a whole genealogy. But he wanted to know about his past. He asked and he received it. The Sargent had listened wholeheartedly and was rather surprised at this short Frenchman's past. But with the Germans being involved, why should it surprise him? They were a ruthless people that were controlled by fear; if they were ordered to they would turn on each other without a second thought.

Devon could sense some type of bitterness in LeBeau. He thought about it, and then silently prayed that he would be able to minister, and possibly help the hurt man walking beside him before he and his troops left Germany.

Present Day, San Francisco

Jerry wandered out of Mr. White's office and palely approached them.

"Hey J.J!" Louis greeted, clapping him on the back as the newcomer sank into an unused seat. The shock evident on his face and placed throughout his hazel eyes.

"Are you okay?" Concern filled Colleen as she studied him.

Turning slightly, he stared vaguely at her; disbelief was all she could see.

"You were canned, right?" Louis slouched forward from Hilary's desk where he had been trying without avail to pry out a bit of emotion from the raven haired stone that was seated across from him.

The Professor squirmed like an anxious toddler under Hilary's hawklike gaze. He rested in a red-upholstered, high-back chair, that the secretary used for any visitors that might stop by to speak with the editor; who was notoriously known for making people wait for improper amounts of time.

Every now and then, Colleen would notice her frisky friend flash a starry white smile at the unnerved Englishman.

Tyrea suddenly raised her head, hopefully eyeing Jerry. "Oh?"

" No..." he whispered. "He promoted me... I'm a reporter."

Location: Germany,  Time: 17:08 aka 5:08pm

"Alright," Jacques said, slapping a map onto a rough wooden table.

"Here is the plan." His no-nonsense tone rang strong and clear. "This is where we meet," he continued, looking up from the spread map. "How many soldier our we..." he paused. "'Heisting?"

After several raised eyebrows and curious glances, the Frenchman rolled his shoulders and frowned at LeBeau's obvious amusement. "For lack of a better word," he finished.

"About ten of my men, half are wounded," Devon stated.

"Sir, what about the others?" Louis jumped in, staring at the two. "We can't just leave them."

"He has a point." LeBeau supported himself on the table next to the large map and tightened his scarf. "How can we get them all out?"

"I could leave them a present inspected and approved by yours truly."

"Louis, I don't think that will be necessary."

"Wait a minute Sargent. What do you mean by a present?" Jacques asked Louis.

"You know eggs? Boom?" His Italian bloodlines showed as he emphasized each word with his hands and throwing back his head.

LeBeau tapped on Jacques shoulder. "A bomb."

"Yeah, in layman's terms. I'm like an explosive expert in training."

"Explosive expert. Huh," Bruiser mumbled. "More like a pyro."

"He speaks!" Tony jived.

"Back on track," Devon said refocusing the conversation.

"Yes that might be a good idea." LeBeau's mind clicked; the gears went into action and an unusually bright sparkle enlightened his eyes as a plan began to formulate. "A diversion..." He wandered off. "Yes!" Turning on his heel, he headed for Louis. "What do you need?"

"Um, how big? For just a little fireworks, about a pound of potassium and sugar, and some type of aerosol can. Like an insecticide."

"Done! We found some in the crashed plane of a fighter, and we can bring in the powdered substance in on pouch belts." He paused.

"It's beautiful..." A smile slowly crossed across Tony's tanned face.

"Gates," Jacques stated bluntly, breaking the sudden silence. "I can't be the one to stop the prisoner detail truck. I have been captured before and they might know me."

"I'll do it."

Devon turned around to see Fischer slowly raising his hand.

"I know a little German."

"No, we'll do it." Tony stepped forward clapping the boy on the back. "You'll need me inside to set the bomb anyway, and it might be fun to mess with these dirty Krauts' heads too." He grinned broadly.

"Louis this is no game. You need to remember that. They may very well torture you. Just to find out where you came from." Devon shook his head. "Just be careful and don't take any unnecessary risks."

"Don't worry sir. Name, rank and serial number that's all they'll get from us."

"Good, I trust your word."

"Oui." Jacques replied, turning back to the map and finalizing it. He looked at LeBeau and tipped his head.

"Alright, Fischer, Louis." LeBeau stepped in and invited them forward. "Now you will stop the truck here." He pointed to a place right after the last guarded intersection. "You'll walk out of the bushes, and stand right in front of them."

"What if they keep on going?" Fischer asked.

"That is a very good question," Louis remarked.

"They'll stop just for the good story of how they captured two prisoners. Now, you can ask them any thing that you want. It doesn't matter just keep them up at the front of the truck. We also should have someone watching our backs from the woods." He stared at Jacques.

"Frances!" A brawny man, shorter than Bruiser, but just as muscular, stepped towards them. "This is my sniper. He is quite good, I assure you."

"Bon! Keep your scope on the driver, and watch the shotgun. Frances- you, and Bruiser will stay by the road with our men. You'll wait there for us, and be prepared. When we come out of there we may need backup." He motioned for Devon to step forward. "Now while they're doing that, you, Jacques and I will be at the back. There are four guards at the entrance of the truck. You, Jacques, Gracon and Belan will take the guards and their clothing. Then you will become the Krouts. I will climb under one of the benches that line the walls." He rolled up the map. "When we get inside that is when we will solidify the escape plan. But for now we will just wait for the night shift change, Louis will set his explosive for a diversion, then we will cut though the wire. Once we are out we have to go to meet an American sub at 24:00 hours tomorrow." LeBeau seemed to look at Jacques for some type of security, which he must have found because of the large smile he wore as he gave the scroll to another Frenchman. "Let's go."