Swords Made of Letters

**Alwyn** · February 25, 2018, 02:00 AM

I like your use of metaphor (the nighttime orchestra) and similie (the little blanket), your descriptions are very good. The chosen target sounds like an important one - a line of defensive fortifications, not simply a railway line - so I wonder why Elbe saw the order as demeaning. Maybe I misunderstood what the orders are?

**Basileos Leandros I** · April 09, 2018, 06:33 PM

Originally Posted by Alwyn

I like your use of metaphor (the nighttime orchestra) and similie (the little blanket), your descriptions are very good. The chosen target sounds like an important one - a line of defensive fortifications, not simply a railway line - so I wonder why Elbe saw the order as demeaning. Maybe I misunderstood what the orders are?

Correct. Elbe saw it as demeaning, and he's not going to take it easily.

New stuff coming!

**Basileos Leandros I** · May 14, 2018, 12:46 PM

Chapter XIV - A Den of Spies

Another chapter, this time focused on Reythier.

And also - one year since the first chapter!

----

12th of December, 1938
3rd Arondissement
Strasourg
France
7:50 PM

By the sound of the cracked voice that buzzed through the police phone, Klaus seemed concerned. Often times he was concerned, scurrying from every police and intelligence headquarter with information, but his voice seemed unusually off to Reythier. They had captured a man linked to the Colmar attack they had endured but as expected, the man refused to talk. What really worried Klaus, Alexandre guessed, were the items found on the man. And a name.

Six and a half hours from that phone call he arrived back in the local police headquarters in Strasbourg, driven by a military police officer through the rough country roads. Full of potholes, soiled by water that turned into a muddied abyss and occassional traffic jams by local cow herds, the road was mightily unpleasant. But Reythier had no choice. By now the Office of Counterintelligence had become suspicious so Reythier had to subject himself to the orders of scurrying away from the city centres and into the more desolate side roads. The military police officer drove him to the back of the intelligence headquarters, right into a small courtyard that housed four blackened cars with muffled headlamps. The courtyard was befitting the small conspiratorial house, a grey bricked house with two stories that was rather unassuming just on the edges of the city centre.

Two officers saluted Reythier as he entered, invited immediately into the commander's room.

Just beside a small corner table, smoking from an almost empty pack of cigarettes stood Klaus, hand over crossed legs, staring blankly towards the wall. His fedora cap stood on the table, drizzled with cigarette ash and obscured by a plume of smoke. He only rose his eyes towards Reythier as he entered.

"I feel more like a fireman than a policeman, Klaus," Reythier quipped.

Klaus raised one of his thin eyebrows, his grey eyes slightly narrowed. "Why?"

"I'm responding to issues rather than actively working to solve them. We're two steps behind, all we have is someone we captured by accident and we know some of our policemen were bribed." Reythier stood beside the table. "That's all."

"Who turned against their country, you mean."

"That too."

Klaus held up from the table two sheets of scribbled, yellowy paper. "Recruitment papers from our fellow man. Reinhard Muller is his name, he's downstairs in his cell, he won't talk."

"Why are we so worried about him?"

"He's part of a group called the Aachen cell."

"Why is that so important?"

"All right, let me show you."

Klaus rose from his chair, extinguishing his cigarette in a rather slow movement. He walked towards a large map of the border in the corner of the room, dragging himself along to the edge of the map where the city of Strasbourg stood. Just north, approximately 150 kilometres away, stood the old city of Aix-La-Chapelle. Or as it was called today, Aachen.

"The Aachen group has been in the counter-intelligence objectives for a couple of months now after we have discovered intense activity just over the border near the city. I know it's not far off from the Saarland where they took over recently, but the activity, the sabotage, the intelligence gathering and the men they sent to spy on the Maginot line have got us quite concerned. Simply put, they are the headquarters of all of the sabotage and subterfuge activity in this area and there has to be a way to counter them." Klaus pointed to the papers. "I hope Herr Reinhard will help."

"You're hoping too much."

"He's a good source. Maybe he will talk."

"Why exactly is Aachen group so important? Every other group is just as important."

"They coordinate, as I've told you. They coordinate the whole border with us and I will not be surprised if Colmar, Maginot line and all of their activities are linked."

"It might be the same group, you mean."

Klaus nodded slowly. "That's right."

"I'm going downstairs."

From the warmth of the commander's room, the darkened stairs brought together not only a lack of light but also a cold gust that swept over the stairs and underneath his clothes. The makeshift prison cells downstairs were illuminated by a very dim light, almost casting no shadows against the walls. One of the officers at the entrance opened the prison cell, revealing a slightly more brighter light inside a cramped cell with only a small window to the world. Reythier entered the cell, a damp air that invaded his nostrils and serrated his sensitive airways. A midsized man stood on the floor

"Good evening, Reinhard."

Silence.

"I will be direct and blunt. The Aachen group, do you know of it?"

Silence.

"Nothing?"

Reinhard waved Reythier off. "I know nothing."

"Really? We have your papers."

"They are fake."

"Signed by you?"

"Fake."

"Very well then. Who are you with then? What group?"

"No group."

"Then what were you doing here?"

Reinhard looked at him, his gaunt appearance slightly jarring Reythier. "Farming."

Reythier laughed. "Funny. I will keep that in mind." Reythier rose his finger. "I am going to Aachen. Should I know something?"

Reinhard laughed. "Keep your head down."

Reythier bowed and left the cell, hearing the heavy lock click in the distance as he raced up the stairs. He returned to the warmth of the commander room only to see Klaus propped against the main table, looking in the distance at the map. Reythier tapped his friend on the back.

"I'm off to Aachen."

Klaus frowned. "What? Why?"

"No more reacting. We have to act on our knowledge, thin as it is."

"You're going alone?"

Reythier nodded. "Alone."

---

**Alwyn** · May 19, 2018, 08:48 AM

It sounds like the prisoner is not going to talk and that Reythier is travelling into danger. I'm enjoying this!

**Basileos Leandros I** · May 25, 2018, 10:58 AM

Indeed.

Reythier will be much more active from now on.

**The Wandering Storyteller** · June 04, 2018, 04:23 PM

I've just read the prologue for now - Great start! Lot's of intrigue here!

**Basileos Leandros I** · June 11, 2018, 05:24 AM

Chapter XIV - A Den of Spies

Another chapter, this time focused on Reythier.

And also - one year since the first chapter!

And thank you Felipe!

----
4:40 PM
14th of December 1938
Lauterbourg border post
French border with Germany

Click, clack, click, clack.

The lacquered leather boots thumped on the concrete pavement flush with water, bringing the border guard closer to the Citroen limousine stationed before the barrier. A considerable amount of rain had brought copious amounts of mud onto the barely paved road, evident on the muddied tyres of the car and the drops of mud on the guard's boots. Clad in a black uniform, the guard approached the car apprehensively, unsure of the lone visitor that had bothered his writing of letters to his girlfriend. No cars ever passed through the Lauterbourg border post, unless they were official cars, and even then they were quite rare. Firm, the guard posted himself by the side of the Citroen as the driver rolled down the window.

"Good evening. Welcome to the German border. Your papers please."

There was no room for discussion, and there was no need for it either. The driver turned to his passenger in the back, giving him a slight wink. Reythier took out his fake documentation, freshly inked and stamped but properly aged, which he duly handed over to the driver who gave it to the guard.

With two fingers, the guard motioned for the driver's papers as well, but he found those rather uninteresting, focusing on the other set. The guard slid slightly sideways, poking through the rear window to catch a glimpse of Retyhier looking at him directly from underneath a sturdy grey hat.

"Herr Langstross. What is the purpose of your visit?"

"Visiting."

"Visiting? For what purposes? Are you a tourist?"

Reythier, disguised as Wilhelm Langstross, shook his head. "My extended family is from Aachen, I would like to visit them, hence why I'm making this trip."

The guard looked askance at him. "Family in Aachen. And yet you are French."

"I am a German living in France."

"I hope you are." The guard eyed Reythier. "Stay here, I will return."

Reythier watched through the rain drops lazily zig zagging on the window as the guard retreated in a small wooden border post. His face was obscured underneath the officer cap but he could see the edges of a telephone receptor pressed against the side of the face. Reythier breathed slowly, monitoring his breath without wishing so, his eyes fixed on the receptor and whatever gestures he could discern from the guard. He shifted on his seat, his breath in check, attentive to the surroundings. It lasted no more than 40 seconds until the guard returned with the yellowy identification papers which he handed back through the window. For a moment he wanted to say something, still slightly unsure, but Reythier extended his hand and the guard duly shook him.

"I hope you will return to the Fatherland soon, Herr Langstross."

Reythier smiled. "What do you think I am doing now?"

The guard smiled. He drew back from the car and raised the border barrier, allowing the rumbling Citroen to slowly pace away from France and into the heartland of the German forests. Reythier turned on the bench of the car and watched as the guard lowered the barried and slowly entered back his border post.

"I hope he doesn't call on his friends too soon," said the driver. A stocky Belgian, Johann could pass by as a Frenchman, as a German or as a Dutch, it did not matter. What did matter to the Deuxieme Bureau was his allegiance to France and his willingness to help.

"Don't bet on it. He's probably phoning them as we race down to Aachen. Just keep it steady and away from the main roads."

"You've got a plan?"

"No, not really. We'll see when we get there."

From the border post in Lautebourg, the journey with the sturdy Citroen on the side roads transformed their lacquered car into a muddied mess, a mixture of earth and wet mud caking around the edges of the bodywork. The black paint slowly turned into a dark brown which to their advantage blocked out the French number plates attached to the back of the car. They stopped at various inns and guest houses, mingling in with the local crowds to gouge the war fervour of the country and their support for their politicians. Much to their disappointment, their curiosity was not satisfied so they soldiered on until they reached Aachen by the end of the day.

Aachen was sheltered by the dark rain of earlier, a slight mist lowering itself on the towers of the Aachen Cathedral. It was just as cold as they had expected, a not-so-bitter outlook that enabled them to stand outside for a quick cigarette by edge of a sheltered guest house in one of the suburbs. They stopped for a quick dinner, which finished even quicker than expected as the innkeep had no desire for guests than night. Reythier and Johann stood outside by the car, huddled in their overcoats, their speech mist covered by the cigarette smoke.

"I have no plan Johann. I only want to get a feel of this place, and find my way to their operations."

Johann smirked. "Finding your way to problems, Monsieur."

"What would you do, Johann?"

"You're by the border, Monsieur Reythier."

"Herr Langstross."

Johann nodded. "Apologies, Herr Langstross. Our Belgian and Dutch friends should be of help if we request their help."

"You know them, Johann."

"I do, yes. There is a cafe in downtown Aachen called the Prussian Saloon. In fact, it's not far from the Hotel Quellenhof where our friends have set up their informal espionage base. Let us meet tomorrow at exactly 2:20 PM at the saloon, I will try and come with some friends."

Reythier adjusted his cap.

"See you tomorrow."

Lost in the light rain, the car waved off, back into the mist, leaving Reythier.

------

Don't forget to vote in the MCWC XVIII! - http://www.twcenter.net/forums/showt...II-Vote-Thread

**Alwyn** · June 17, 2018, 02:45 AM

That was a tense moment at the border post! Your descriptions are nicely done, for example when you show us what happened to the car on the journey from Lautebourg. I wonder what will happen at the the Prussian Saloon.

**Basileos Leandros I** · June 27, 2018, 07:45 AM

Swords Made of Letters has won the MCWC XVIII - http://www.twcenter.net/forums/showt...rs!&p=15619087

Thank you to everyone who voted and everyone who has read the story!

Some exciting stuff coming soon!

**Basileos Leandros I** · July 31, 2018, 10:12 AM

Chapter XVI - Shadow of Aachen

Reythier chapter.

-----

7:50 PM
14th of December 1938
Cafe Saarland
Aachen
Germany

Reythier knew there was no need for the driver to return to Belgium.

He knew that. It was a pointless duty, away from the Lauterbourg border post or even Aachen, that would have yielded little help for him. But he wanted to take this on alone and the driver would have been an unnecessary hindrance and unwanted attention. By the time the driver was back, he would have finished the encounter that he bet on. With his driver now gone over the border in Belgium, Reythier took his time in a local cafe, wasting a couple of hours until he decided to step out back into the city.

Light rain peppered the empty Aachen streets as nightfall swept over the city, forming a blanket of silence, half darkness interrupted by occasional street lamps and a stray car or two that trudged past without as much as a second glance to the unwelcome foreigner. It was cold, Reythier shriveling slightly after he exited Cafe Saarland. In the darkness of the street he zipped up his overcoat, turned over the lapels and collar to cover his neck and face and started walking through the rain. There was a house he knew, a house of an informant of his, slightly north of the city. He calculated it was about 3 kilometres north, close to the villages of Ofden and Alsdorf, but far away enough from Aachen to not attract any suspicion. The house was a farm, a farm that housed more than livestock. It was a safe house in the middle of the border zone.

And yet, there was a growing unease inside him.

Despite it being a border city, and generally more lively than others, the local authorities imposed an unofficial curfew and anyone found on the streets after 8 PM was bound to be searched should they attract enough attention. Reythier whipped his watch out of his overcoat beneath a lamppost, the thin, elegant hands of the Breguet wristwatch indicating 8:10 PM. Without as much as a flinch he slid his hand back in his pocket and kept on walking, darting past rows of houses keeping the people away from the rain and the bitter cold of December. Reythier stepped up the pace slightly after spotting a policecar but to his relief the car turned away into a side street and melted into the night. He shifted his focus away from the houses and back onto the street, step after step, boot clack after boot clack, his soles splashing into the puddles formed by an ever increasing volume of water. Slowly he left the houses behind and moved into open field, hidden in the nightfall darkness, with only the dim light of the sky guiding him through the road. Above him were clouds but they were relegated only to Aaachen. Moonlight shone lightly in the distance, close to the horizon, casting enough light for him to walk unimpeded.

For more than an hour he walked on an empty road until his eyes adjusted enough to notice the cluster of walls that formed the village of Ofden. The village was quite known because of it's mining importance but even more important were the farms that were built around the entrance. Reythier spotted the square-like courtyard of the little farm at the entrance of the village, a two-storied building surrounded by wooden walls that doubled as stables. He exited the road and trudged through the soft mud peppered by the rain, caking at his boots until the very act of walking became a challenge. A large Opel van stood at the entrance, idling in the rain and watching for any newcomers that might visit. He whittled past the van and the main gate into the courtyard, eyeing the sleeping cows and goats with the corners of his eye. Apart from the tapping rain the farm was completely silent.

Reythier narrowed his eyes. Farms were never silent.

Slowly, with measured steps and one hand on the Colt M1911 pistol he approached the main door. Reythier pushed the door slightly aside, sliding inside the illuminated hall of the farm until he felt a heavy long object smash into his back. The rather weak force of the hit tumbled Reythier to the ground but not hard enough for him to lose control, grappling the Colt even tighter. With one measured view he took two clean shots to the legs of the assailant, sending him tumbling down beside the farm door. Reythier only injured his right leg, he noticed, with a thin line of blood trickling down his boots.

The man he shot was a boy rather, no younger than 17 or eighteen years old, dressed in a brown shirt. He looked at Reythier with cold eyes, furiously grappling still the wooden plank he hit him with. Reythier approached him, Colt held in his hand.

"Who are you?"

The boy hissed. "None of your concern."

Reythier rose his pistol. "Are you sure?"

The boy withered. "What do you want?"

"What happened here? Why did you attack me? I am a visitor of Mr. Alofs."

"Mr. Alofs is no longer here. We took over the farm."

"Who is we?"

The boy pointed to the badge. "SA."

"Ah." Reythier paused. "You took everyone from the farm?"

The boy nodded. "The animals too. Some were left but only for us."

"Where is Mr. Alofs?"

"They took him to Aachen. He's being imprisoned, his boys were taken by us."

"You made them members?"

"They had no choice."

"So I see." Reythier pointed to the gunshot wounds. "Take care of them."

"I need your help."

Reythier narrowed his eyes, a plan forming inside his head. "Where are the medical supplies?"

"Upstairs, in Mr. Alofs' room."

With one eye on the boy and one eye on the stairs, Reythier scurried to the room on the second floor. The whole place had been ransacked, turned upside down and Mr. Alofs personal bedroom had been almost destroyed, the walls hacked into pieces with hammers in a probable search for information. Alofs had been a vital informant and the counterintelligence services had found out. Luckily for Reythier, Alofs never kept any information with him. Everything he had he handed over. Seeing there was no chance of any useful information, Reythier searched for the medical supplies and returned with a couple of tablets and packing gauze only to find out the boy had disappeared. A dark red trail of blood indicated the boy had scurried into the kitchen, most probably dragging himself there. Reythier had to act fast.

With one quick flick he threw the small bottle of tablets into the other corner of the hall, yelling towards the boy in the opposite direction. With small, silent steps he headed over towards the kitchen, managing to hear a couple of whispered words transmitted over a telephone.

"Hurry! One of them is here, he shot me in the leg. Yes, he's wearing a long overcoat and he has a foreign looking pistol. He's probably an American or something. Hurry!"

In three hurried steps Reythier was out of the farm and back into the now heavy rain pouring inside the courtyard of the farm. From what he knew from reports, old man Alofs kept a couple of items necessary for the farm in a small box near the stables. He found the box rather easily, spotting a pair of small silver metal pins. The keys of the Opel van. Reythier ran to the van and much to his relief, the reliable vehicle started on the first key, despite the heavy handed noise it made. The van's engine roared as he ignition sparked the remaining fumes of petrol hidden in the greasy tank. Slowly it hunched on to the road and glided over the empty pavement, inching Reythier closer and closer back to Aachen. And just as he was about to floor the pedal, the unmistakable sounds of a policecar horn roared in the distance. Moment by moment the lights of the car got closer and closer to the van, forcing Reythier to slow down and clutch his pistol as tight as he could.

But to his relief, the police car sped past him, rushing towards the now abandoned farm.

Less than half an hour later he abandoned the truck at a junction near the Cafe Saarland, jumping back into the car of his driver who had waited for him. But instead of a warm welcome, Reythier slouched back into the leather couch of the limousine and pointed the pistol to the driver's eyes.

"Somebody betrayed Mr. Alofs. It came to me that a couple of days ago he was taken by the SA, and someone told them about it. Who could be that someone? It has to be someone who knew, someone who exchanged the secrets that Mr. Alofs supplied to us and in turn who supplied him back with information and most importantly, money. And yet, Mr. Alofs is now gone, arrested by the SA, about to be executed. The farm is gone and the information is gone. Who could have betrayed him and us?"

A silver bullet blew out of the hot barrel of the Colt.

----

**Alwyn** · August 03, 2018, 06:09 AM

Great update, I enjoyed the encounter at the farm and Reythier's discovery of what had happened there. This betrayal sounds worrying and it sounds like the phone call could put Reythier in danger.

**Owlparrot3** · August 04, 2018, 07:52 AM

Caught up with you yesterday on my Samsung on the bus via screenshots of your latest chapters. Now commenting on PC.

Its bad news for the driver i guess, bad news for Mr.Alofs, i wonder if we will get to see exactly how the betrayal went via a flashback maybe?

**Basileos Leandros I** · August 10, 2018, 09:40 AM

Gentlemen, thank you for your kind words.

Expect some very interesting updates soon! (including Mr. Alofs & Reythier)

**Basileos Leandros I** · August 22, 2018, 07:49 AM

Chapter XVII - Heavy Scents

------

7:45 PM
15th of December, 1938
Special Operations HQ
London
United Kingdom

"Sit, Horace."

It smelt of leathery perfume, a small trace of it wafting through the air as Sir Howe entered his personal office. Horace followed behind his superior, sliding past the door and towards the desk placed in the middle of the ornately furnished office. It was heavy, with opulent leather chairs and a mahogany desk right in the middle, surrounded on all four corners by bookcases. A still burning cigarette stood on the edge of a silver ashtray. Horace went to untie his neck knot when he caught Howe's gaze.

"May I?"

Howe smiled. "Of course. We're part of the Special Operations, we're not the stuffy army boys."

Horace laughed. "Good to know."

He threw his tie on the edge of the plush leather chair and crashed into the soft pillow. Horace saw Howe did the same, albeit more elegantly, on his leather chair. The S.O. chief extended an open palm to Horace.

"I believe you have something to tell me Horace."

"I do, Sir Howe."

"Well then, go ahead. Start with the beginning, since I believe this won't be exactly easy. How did you get into Beckett's pay?"

Horace straightened his posture. "My commanding officer actually suggested I do that. He knew I needed some more money so he proposed to be after four or five months in my duty that I can earn by working with Sir Beckett. I accepted right away, without knowing, but I shouldn't have."

Howe waved his hand. "Not a problem, son. Continue."

"Lord Beckett was cordial in the beginning, earning both my respect and I earned his. The pay was very good since it nearly doubled my yearly salary and the tasks were menial in the beginning. Pick up a letter from there, send it there, take care of my wife. These kinds of issues. Minor."

"And at some point, he changed."

Horace nodded. "About six months in, almost after a year since I joined the S.O., Beckett thought he trusted me enough to make sure I would now protect, follow and learn everything about his mistress."

"Why so much protection?"

Horace hesitated. "He... he fell in love with her, Sir."

Howe raised his eyebrows, suppressing a laugh. "He fell in love?"

"Yes, Sir. He would write poems, sing to her, send her flowers every day. And I had to do all of that."

"Sixty five year old Beckett fell in love for a pretty English teenager? How old is she?"

"Twenty Sir."

Howe laughed. "Twenty and married too. She's a real catch."

"She came from a lowly family but she caught Beckett's attention. And the SA's attention too."

Howe narrowed his eyes. "Good point. How did she end up with the other side?"

Horace rose up from his chair and headed to a window just an arm's length away, giving him a clear view over the Thames River. "I'm not sure, to be honest with you Sir Howe. When I started following her, Mathilda was only interested in Sir Beckett because he could improve her station. And somehow she slipped between the cracks because 4 months after I had started following her she got married. I remember Beckett that day, furious and raging constantly, smashing glasses and drinking three bottles of whisky that night."

"He's a liability, that's what you're saying."

Horace looked meekly at Howe. "Yes Sir, he is."

Howe rose up from his chair and drew up to Horace, both men quite on the same level as they reached 6 feet each. "Do you think he's on the other side?"

"He definitely slipped her some secrets because I heard her talk about some factories and energy services. Probably when drunk."

Howe looked outside the window. "How often does he visit her?"

"Three times, maybe even more a week."

Howe turned to Horace. "What's his wife doing?"

"I suspect she knows but she turns the eye towards that."

"Poor woman." Howe was not really sorry, judging by the flat voice.

"He bought Mathilda a flat. That flat down Court Road, where I was spying Sir, it's Beckett's house."

"He bought a house for his mistress, who's married?"

Horace shrugged. "Yes, Sir."

"Does he know who her husband is?"

"He does, but not the full extent. The man is called Thomas Elbe and he's a rather average officer in the Luftwaffe. Nothing too special. I saw his dossier."

"Anything that stands out?"

"He's a link to the Gestapo and the SA. He's a counterintelligence officer too."

Howe turned to Horace, looking at him straight. "We have a counterintelligence officer running around?"

"He's followed, Sir."

"Little solace."

Howe turned away from the window and returned to his desk, shuffling around his papers until he found a yellowy dossier with a red stamp on it. He rose the dossier and handed it over to a curious Horace.

"Your bedtime reading. That's the dossier of a man called Richard Elbe, whom you might realise who it is. Adding to that, you have the file of a French counterintelligience officer named Alexandre Reythier who will be linking up with us in the very near future. Read it, and get back to me as soon as possible. We've got work Horace."

Horace saluted. "Yes, Sir."

Horace was about to exit the office when Howe signalled.

"Oh, and consider your paid doubled. No more Beckett."

**Alwyn** · August 25, 2018, 02:06 AM

It sounds like Special Operations are well-informed and that Horace might be going to link up with a certain French counterintelligence officer, if he can. (There's one small detail which you might want to think about. In the books I've read, knights are referred to as 'Sir [first name]' or 'Sir [full name]', not 'Sir [last name]'. For example, Sir John Bull would be referred to as 'Sir John' or 'Sir John Bull', not as 'Sir Bull'. Of course, it's your story. Maybe the story is happening in an alternative universe, in which knights are referred to as 'Sir [last name]', and this is one of the subtle signs that this is an alternative universe?) I'm continuing to enjoy your story and looking forward to seeing what will happen to Horace as well as Reythier.

**Basileos Leandros I** · August 27, 2018, 10:25 AM

I usually do this because it's a bit easier for the reader and also because Lord Howe said they're a bit more casual than the rest.

**Basileos Leandros I** · September 05, 2018, 09:25 AM

Estemeed reading ladies and gentlemen readers,

Since I want the little book to be more than just a novel, I want to make it slightly interactive. Despite seeing the characters from the perspective of other characters and especially through their actions, it would be a good idea to give some background on them, to understand them better and to hopefully give a better understanding of the whole novel.

The cast of characters will be continuously updated, as the novel advances.

Swords Made of Letters

Main Characters

Alexandre Reythier -

A senior officer of the Deuxieme Bureau (French Counterintelligence) and an experienced fighter, son of a decorated World War I veteran, Reythier is the key man for the Deuxieme Bureau as they investigate the increasingly frequent appearances of foreign spies from across all

Horace Benningham

A lowly member of the MI6, the British counterintelligence, whom he joined only 2 years ago when he turned 22, his desire to earn more money ended up with him being an important piece in solving a problematic issue of the MI6. He was privately employed by Sir Ian Beckett, a member of the British Parliament, who sent him to protect his mistress.

Richard Elbe

Early member of the SA, World War I veteran and close to 48 years old, Elbe is in charge of overseeing the spying efforts of Nazi Germany on the border with France and Belgium, initiating attacks.

Secondary Characters

Mathilda Adams Elbe - Beckett's mistress, she would prove to be of huge importance

Klaus Romain - Reythier's superior on paper, Klaus supervises the Deuxieme Bureau along the western border

Episodic Characters

Sir Ian Beckett - a corrupt member of the British Parliament, interested only in mistresses

Lord Andrew Howe - a high ranking member of the MI6, the British Counterintelligence, second in command to the Chief of MI6 and the one responsible for cover action

Thomas Elbe - Richard's brother, Mathilda's husband and a member of the Luftwaffe