Bertrand had never been one to waste an opportunity to get one over on the occupying German forces, but he had always had a particular hatred for the Schutzstaffel and their ilke.

The man in the SS officer's uniform was tied firmly to a tree, blood from a split lip oozing onto the black cloth by the twin lightning strikes of the SS insignia. One of the man's eyes was closed from an earlier blow, but the remaining blue eye blazed with fury and he watched what was going on around him intently.

But it was not the SS man who held Bertrand's attention as the last of our party, the ever-stealthy Phillippe, stepped into the clearing from the darkness of the forest. Bertrand shot the plainly dressed man standing in front of him in the head as Phillipe left the shadows of the trees. As he toppled over into the snow, a look of surprise etched across his features, Bertrand nodded at Phillippe, his face hard.

I lifted the rapidly cooling corpse from the cold blood spattered ground, and Bertrand addressed Phillipe as he strode away from the recently deceased. "I have a little problem I'd like you to help me with Phillippe. The recent demise of this traitor has left me bereft of a translator. He was the only one in this little group who could speak German with any degree of fluency. Now, as I understand it, you speak passable German so I need your help."

Phillipe inclined his head in acquiescence and Bertrand continued explaining the situation as I moved into the trees with the body.

A short time later, with the nine of us geared up and ready to move our prisoner deeper into German held territory, Bertrand relayed orders quietly to the men in the team. "Silvain, you and Rene will take point; Phillipe, you're with me; Anthony, Hugo, Alain, Gerome, you will flank our prisoner; Jean-Claude, you have our back, keep to the shadows. I nodded, and moved to the rear of the group, but as the others moved to flank our prisoner, Bertrand motioned to Phillipe and myself and lowered his voice. "We have a traitor or traitors in our midst gentlemen, we must proceed with caution. We will take the hidden paths set up by our friends in the Resistance, but I expect you to be watching the group at all times, particularly you, Jean-Claude, as you will be able to see all of us at all times."

I nodded my agreement once more and Bertrand nodded back, draping one arm over Phillipe's shoulders as the two men walked to the front of our ten-strong party. As we moved up into the mountains, the snow began to fall again, and we were alone.

***

It took us several days to hike up the flanks of the mountain, but poor weather forced us to find shelter, and after a week we were still huddled in a snow cave on the slopes of Mont Blanc unable to progress as the blizzard raged outside. We had made good progress for the first few days, but as the snow had continued to fall and then the winds had risen, Bertrand had given the order to burrow into the snow and wait out the storm.

We were mountain men, used to having to take shelter, or live off the land particularly since the Germans had taken over our country, but after seven days several of the party were getting restless and lack of sleep and cold were taking their toll.

"Can we not just shoot this bastard and eat his rations?" muttered Gerome, kicking the prisoner who lay next to him.

His brother Alain nodded in agreement and glared at the man in the SS uniform, who looked back at him steadily. The bruising on his face had reduced with time, and he was now able to see out of both eyes.

Hugo, a normally taciturn and silent older man shook his head and whispered something to Anthony who smiled wryly.

"You have something to say?" asked Gerome, anger lacing his words.

"I was merely comparing your intelligence to the snow in which we sit, Gerome. It would appear that ice has muddled your brain."

"Enough." Bertand spoke quietly but the single word stopped Gerome, who had started to move towards Hugo, his fists raised. "We will accomplish nothing if we start fighting amongst ourselves. Gerome, we need to keep the prisoner alive for now so that we can make sure his directions to this supposed 'treasure' are true. If what our previous translator said is correct then we will find a hoard of gold that will help finance the Resistance for some time. If not, then our SS companion here will find himself dead and buried and we will be rid another Hitlerite bastard."

Bertrand looked each of our companions in the eyes. "Make no mistake gentlemen, this war is more important than any petty rivalries, more important than family feuds, more important than me or you. We fight because the enemy is on our lands. Until this war ends we should be fighting the Germans, not each other. Understand?"

The four nodded, and the prisoner chuckled and muttered something under his breath, his eyes on Bertrand.

Phillipe glanced over. "He said 'divided you stand, divided you continue to fall.'"

Bertrand shrugged. "And yet it is him who lies bound on the ground. His mutterings are irrelevant. Get some sleep, all of you."

***

Bright sunlight streaming through the open mouth of the snow hole woke us. The brothers, Hugo and Anthony, had been on sentry duty and had clearly opened up the hole once the storm had subsided.

Silvain spoke into the silence of the morning. "Something is not right, Bertrand." He gestured at two other empty spots in the cave. The places where Gerome and Alain had lain were also empty.

Bertrand swore under his breath and stomped out of the cave. There was blood in the snow, and a faint trail led to the edge of the cliff. No other sign remained of Hugo and Anthony, and Gerome and Alain's gear was missing.

"Pack up. We need to move, now." Bertrand swore again and shouldered his pack. "I will find those two murdering bastards later. We are losing time. Silvain, you and Rene will look after our prisoner. Phillipe, you are up front with me. Jean-Claude, you have the rear again.

I nodded and watched as the remaining six men moved ahead, our prisoner staggering onwards in his ropes. The others, ever watchful for signs of the Germans who occupied our mountains, trudged wearily through the deep snow.

***

Bertrand moved carefully around the boulder onto a narrow trail that terminated at the cliff edge. He lifted a rope from his shoulders and tied himself and the prisoner together.

"Jean Claude, you and Phillipe will go first. The prisoner and I will go next." He turned to Silvain and Rene. "You two will stay here and keep your weapons trained on him. If he tries anything, shoot him. Phillipe, tell our prisoner if he tries anything he will be shot. Then tell him to follow me exactly or he will die."

We watched as Phillipe passed on the message, the German nodding his understanding.

Phillipe joined me on the edge of the cliff as I explained the traverse to him. "Watch where I put my feet and hands. We've put iron pins in the rock, but you can't really see them unless you know they're there. This cuts a day off our route, and even if the Germans have found our trail it will make us virtually unfollowable. It's about twenty feet across, and at the corner of the cliff you need to reach around and grab the final pin before you find yourself back on the trail. Follow my lead."

I swung out onto the cliff, my mouth dry. Phillipe followed, equally tense, and Bertrand came next with the prisoner a few steps behind, the short length of rope dangling between them. As I reached the corner of the cliff there was a startled yell and the SS man fell, Bertrand grabbing his iron handholds firmly and bracing himself for the impact of the fall. Silvain and Rene had reacted instantly, both raising their guns but Bertrand grated out a "Hold!" through gritted teeth.

"Quickly, Phillipe. Move."

The two of us moved onwards to the trail. As Phillipe sank to the ledge on trembling legs, I started to move back out on the iron pins to help Bertrand only to see his arm appear around the corner. His face was a rictus expression of pain and endurance as he moved, the German dangling below him wheezing horribly as the rope cut into his midriff. The instant he made it to the ledge, we pulled the German prisoner up to us and sat for a while to get our breath back. Phillipe pulled a pistol and trained it on the prisoner.

"I'll check the others." I moved back out onto the iron pins and looked back over at Silvain and Rene, who were standing ashen faced on the other side. Several of the pins had sheared and there was no way over. "You'll have to go around!" I shouted to them and they nodded, grim faced, both nodding a goodbye before making their way back down the trail.

And then we were four.

***

"We're deep in German territory now."

The dark tone of Bertrand's voice matched the surroundings. We had come down from the snowlines, the tenth day of our trek finding us huddled in the trees above a small alpine town. Without a fire, we were shivering, grey with fatigue and on cold rations, but there was an excitement to things now as we neared our goal.

"Time to earn your keep, Phillipe. Our prisoner needs to give us the exact directions to the treasure. We're in the right area. All we need are the final pieces of the puzzle."

Bertrand moved over to the SS man, whose eyes locked with Bertrand's as if he knew what was about to happen. Bertrand pulled a pistol from his pocket and screwed on a silencer. I followed suit.

"Ask him where the treasure is, Phillipe."

There was a short reply, a translation, and Bertrand drove a fist into the man's stomach. "Ask him again."

Haltingly, the man spoke, Phillipe translating as he went, until he fell silent and Phillipe finished the instructions.

"We're done?" asked Bertrand.

"Yes."

"Good." He grabbed the prisoner and pulled the man off into the woods.

"You don't want to know." I said as Phillipe raised an eyebrow at me.

There was a shouted, "Nein!" and then a whisper of sound as the silencer spoke into the darkness. Bertrand came back alone.

***

A rotten tree lent us shadow as Bertrand and I watched the man dig quickly into the dark soil by the old church. He worked quietly but efficiently, and after a few minutes there was a thud as his folding shovel struck something hard.

As the man worked feverishly to uncover what he'd found, Renard joined us. He'd removed the SS uniform and was now dressed in dark clothes befitting his position in the Resistance.

"Good evening, brothers," he whispered, his eyes intent on Phillipe as he finally hefted a box from the large hole by the broken cross. "It is time to have a word with our traitor, I would suggest."

We nodded and Renard's bruised face split into a feral grin as we moved from behind our fallen tree.

Bertrand and I still carried our pistols, and so intent was Phillipe on his box of treasure that he didn't notice us until he was surrounded and the muzzle of Bertrand's gun was pressed to his temple. The man froze, only his head moving as he took in the three of us. He knelt in the cold soil and snow, his hands still, the dark hole in front of him, the box ready to be opened.

"Nothing to say?" asked Renard in German. Shadows parted from the trees nearby and the silent forms of Silvain, Rene, Anthony and Hugo joined us. Renard glanced at Anthony and Hugo. "They're dead?"

"Yes," said Hugo. "We threw the traitors into the river. Let us hope we see no more of their ilke."

"You see, Phillipe, you weren't the only traitor in the Resistance. This little operation was planned to remove all the people I couldn't trust in my group, but when a particular German officer joined us, I realised we could use him to help my brothers on this side of the mountain too. Jean-Claude mentioned you were untrustworthy, so you were included in the group at the last minute as a test of your loyalty.

"Gerome and Alain had been selling weapons meant for the Resistance on the black market. We knew they'd make a run for it at some point, and they were dealt with simply by Anthony and Hugo. You, on the other hand, are a different matter. You've probably realised by now that my German is as fluent as your own. The SS officer captured was very compliant once we got him talking, but originally he had captured me, hence this." Renard motioned to the bruises on his face. "Thankfully some of my team rescued me before they'd done too much damage. We were a little more cautious in our torture of him, making sure the marks weren't as visible: it's surprising what a man will tell you when you threaten to cut off certain parts of him. We agreed to release him if he played along and he swapped clothes with me shortly before you turned up. He was a surprisingly good actor, no?"

"He did look a little surprised when you shot him," muttered Silvain with a grin.

"Phillipe, you are complicit in passing on information on movements within the Resistance, and we thank you for digging your own grave."

It was as Bertrand lifted his gun that I finally acted. His face intent on the kneeling traitor, he looked almost as surprised as the SS man had when he'd been shot by Bertrand ten days before. My bullet passed through his hand, making him drop his gun. A second bullet shattered his kneecap and he hit the dirt, bloody hands pressed to the wound. Phillipe scrambled to his feet but my third bullet took him in the head, toppling him into the grave. My fourth took my brother in the guts and he slumped to the ground. I stepped back and Renard once more took the stage.

"You never did get along well with the German language did you little brother? If you had you'd have known our prisoner spilled the beans not only on Phillipe's involvement but your own too. Greed, I understand. But why would you betray your own family? The beating I took from the SS was down to you, not Phillipe. Who was next? Jean-Claude? The whole Resistance. Were our parents not enough?"

Renard stopped and took a breath. He was white with anger as the memory of our parent's death coursed through him. "The reason we all joined the Resistance was revenge, yet despite your pretty speech in the snow about war being more important than anything else, you appear to be the enemy on our lands rather than the Germans. Right here, right now, this war continues to be about revenge, but I never thought to revenge my parents on my own brother."

"I saved you up on the cliffs," Bertrand slurred out, blood frothing at his lips.

"You had no choice."

My final bullet took my brother in the head and he too tumbled back into the trench. Darkness took him and enveloped us all as we picked up the box. The war would end in time, the memories would only end with death.