[Quenelle]: 633.Corbin Branston Chptr 5

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The sound of the propeller was deafening. Corbin could barely make out the commands the pilot was giving him.
“When you jump, you're going’a count five ticks you understand? Five ticks, then you're going’a pull d’at cord there to your right, It’ll deploy the parachute. Understand mate?”
Corbin nodded vigorously, not wanting miscommunication.
“When you're ‘bout five feet or so ‘bove the ground you're pull these two rings here” Pointing to the rings on his own suit. “make sure you pull them together at the same time like, they'll release you from the chute. Otherwise you run a-muck and tangle yourself on landing.”
Corbin his nodded in comprehension again.
“Here's your stop mate! Good luck to you!”
Corbin clapped the pilot on the shoulder, smiled and launched himself out the open hatch, free-falling to the ground below. His parachute deployed without qualm, and Corbin landed softly on the ground, thankful for the night’s cover of his decent.

Corbin found his surroundings becoming increasingly surreal, the partially rehabilitated landscapes created an illusion of serenity, with dotting of broken barricades and half-buried shrapnel that still scarred its surface doubling as birds rests for the twittering beasts. Corbin shook his head and trudged on as the town of Saint-Diè loomed in the horizon.

As he approached the town, he became aware of while he countryside jaunt had been so serene. The town was fortified to its turrets, complete with a barricade perimeter. “Why was this where Jean had stopped? Or maybe was this where he was beginning?” Wondered Corbin absently. He didn't have the luxury of further contemplation. The patrol guards had spotted him, and were undoubted suspicious of a new face in their stronghold.
“Kennzeichnung!”
Corbin's stomach began to knot as he stood facing the SS Trooper with a confused look, not understanding what had be said to him. The trooper yelled again, hopping that if he raised his voice, he'd break the language barrier between them. Corbin watched the man pointed to the paper card one of his fellow troopers had produced, looking for some sort of clue as to what the troopers wanted from him. Corbin deduced they were looking for his identification, and pulled his passport and papers from his pocket. The SS troopers studied the sheets for a few moments and talked amongst themselves, trying to decided if Corbin was if fact the man the papers said he was. The troopers stopped and stared at him for a moment. Corbin felt his hands getting sweaty, frantically trying to maintain his cool expression of normalcy. The troopers nodded quickly, convinced he was a local civilian like he papers stated. One guard hollered a few commands to the men behind them, motioning with his gun point for Corbin to move along and finish his business. He could feel the nose of the trooper's rife grazing his back, Corbin summoned all his will power to forced himself to remain calm, just to keep walking and ignore the soldiers and fortifications around him. He repeated a like a mantra that he was safe, he was in, and everything was working, at least for the time being.

Corbin's escort left him as he entered the heart of the town, and Corbin looked immediately around, searching of the cafè he had been told to visit. He wandered down the street, wondering if the shop would be open this early and then he saw him. There he was, the man with the red scarf and blue bound book. He was lounging against the cafè's door frame, greeting and chatting to the odd passerby or clientele as they came by. As Corbin approached, he felt a twinge of recognition, the man looked very familiar. Corbin couldn't put his finger on it, but he was certain he had met this man before. He walked up to the man, smile and nodded a greeting an moved to open the door of the cafè.
“You are looking for a place to sit down?”
Corbin turned to look at the man described as his contact with a curious expression
“That I was, would you care to join me?”
“No, they talk of the old days in there” he said with a smile and tipped his head in the cafè's direction “Its a gloomy place to be talking about the weather” he added.
Corbin smiled, he wasn't sure if this unorthodox meeting between them was a good omen or not, and against his better judgment, Corbin decided to trust the man.
“Do you know of someplace better?”
“Follow me”
Corbin followed his contact down the street and through a side alley. He stopped at an old wooden door, knocked three times, and took out a ring of keys. After unlocking it, the door swung open, revealing a spiral stairwell connected to the flats above.
“You coming?” the man asked, amused at Corbin's distraction. Corbin hurried behind the man and followed him through another doorway and hall. They stopped at a small room, furnished with a small desk and old stool. The man motioned for Corbin to enter and take a seat of the stool. He placed a box in front of Corbin.
“I believe this is what you were looking for” the man said in cold and clipped tones. Corbin noted the man's change in demeanor - and change in accent – but continued to investigate the box in front of him.
“It was intercepted from German intelligence.”
“Oh?” Corbin's interest was piqued “Why? What were they after?”
“I suppose you should open it and find out.”
Corbin slid the box top off and stared at the contents of the box. They were blue prints.
“Where did they get the-” Corbin stopped dead, and grabbed the corner of the top sheet, staring.
“You look surprised” The man said.
“The Americans are building these?”
“Of course”
“But these, these will, they'll destroy everything!” Corbin flew through the papers, page after page of weapon blue print. “Did the Jerries get any of them?”
“Some artillery designs, a few gun models, but not that one, or those ones there.” the man said non-nonchalantly, brushing his fingers over select papers.
Corbin sat there stunned
“But these, these are, they're...”
“That is why they're in your hands now, no?”
Corbin looked up at the man; he was leaning into the wall. The pose looking startlingly familiar. Corbin still couldn't place this man's behavior. “He is acting exactly like....no, there isn't any possible way. He's dead.” Corbin dismissed the thought immediately and looked at the blueprints once more. 
“Put those away now!” the man hissed “Someone's coming!”
“Corbin scooped up the papers piling them back inside their box. He replaced the lid just as the door burst open.
“Jean! Jean! Oh Jean there you are, we need to leave! They're here Jean, now!”
“Shannon?”
“Come on! We've got to- Elliot? What are doing here? What is going on here Jean?”
“JEAN-PIERRE!?”
The man against the man watched the antics fly between his two startled companions with a bemused expression.
“Seems that you two have already met, though, you have not been properly introduced.” Jean-Pierre smiled wolfishly.
A cold chill ran down Corbin’s spine. 
“My friend, this is Isabelle Landon. Isabelle, it is my pleasure to introduce the infamous Corbin Branston”