Vos’s Mountains, Eastern France. October 23rd, 1944. 3:17 p.m. Nancy Wake walks into a clearing alone. The SS thinks she’s unarmed. They’re wrong. 30 soldiers hidden in the trees. Perfect ambush circle. They’ve been hunting her for 2 years. The Gestapo’s most wanted. 5 million France for her capture. She lights a cigarette. Doesn’t shake.

 The German commander steps out. Hopster fur cotch SS captain smiling finally after two years he has her fru lane wake you’re surrounded 23 rifles pointed at your head surrender now and I promise you a quick death Nancy laughs real laughter deep genuine she counts the soldiers emerging from trees 23 she stops you said 23 men she says you said I’m surrounded That’s what’s funny because I count 23 targets and I’m not surrounded. You are.

 She drops the cigarette. The forest explodes. 60 MW fighters. Hidden behind the SS. Nancy wasn’t bait. She was the signal. She drops. Pulls a Sten gun from under her dress. Starts shooting. 90 seconds. 23 SS soldiers dead. Nancy personally kills seven. Head shot. Close range. Cotch tries to run. She shoots him in the back. Walks over, stands above him.

You were right about one thing. This will be quick. One shot. Center of the forehead. She lights another cigarette. Steps over his body. This is how a party girl from New Zealand became the gistapo’s worst nightmare. Nancy Grace Augusta Wakeake was born August 30th, 1912 in Wellington, New Zealand. Her mother was controlling, religious, strict.

 Nancy learned early that being quiet got you ignored. Being loud got you punished, so she became clever instead. At 16, she ran away. Took her inheritance. £200, went to Paris, got a job as a journalist, society pieces, fashion columns. She was good at it, charming, beautiful. She loved parties, champagne, dancing until 400 a.m. in 1933 at Vienna.

 Nancy is on assignment, writing about some wedding. She takes a shortcut, sees SA troops beating Jews in the street. Old men, women, children. Nobody’s helping. She asks someone what’s happening. They shrug. They’re Jews. That’s why Nancy can’t sleep that night. can’t stop seeing those faces. The next day, she writes about it.

 Not the wedding, the beatings. Her editor refuses to publish it. Too political. She quits. Finds a paper that will run it. The article creates a scandal. Nancy Wake, society columnist, writing about Nazi violence. She’s seen evil. You can’t unsee that. She returns to Paris. 1939. marries Henry Fiaka, wealthy French industrialist.

 They buy a villa in Marciel. Life is perfect. Then Germany invades Poland. Then France. Within 6 weeks, France surrenders. Nancy makes a decision. She’s fighting. Nancy and Henry start hiding refugees, British soldiers, resistance fighters. Their villa becomes a safe house. She throws dinner parties, invites vichy officials, German officers, plays the harmless socialite.

 While they drink, she listens, learns convoy roots, raid schedules, passes information to the resistance. The Gestapo knows there’s a leak. They just can’t find it. Because Nancy is perfect cover, a woman, a socialite. Why would she be resistance? She escalates, starts running an escape network. Getting Allied soldiers out of France, hundreds of them, false papers, money roots through the Pyrenees.

 The Gestapo calls this person the white mouse can’t catch them. Every time they get close, the mouse disappears. They don’t know it’s a woman. They assume military training. The party girl never crosses their minds. The net tightens. People in her network arrested, tortured, some talk. Henry begs her to leave.

 She refuses until she has no choice. She says goodbye to Henry, kisses him, promises she’ll come back. She crosses the Pyrenees in winter. Reaches England. The SOE wants her. Special operations executive, Britain sabotage organization. She trains parachute jumps, weapons, explosives, hand-to-hand combat. She excels at everything.

 The hand-to-hand instructor is a former boxer, 6’2, 220 lb. He demonstrates a neck breaking technique. Nancy volunteers. She’s 5’6, 140 lb. He goes easy. She doesn’t. Moves fast. Gets the grip perfect. His eyes go wide. She could snap his neck. He taps out. By the end of training, she’s top of her class. The evaluation reads, “The most feminine woman we’ve trained and the toughest fighter we’ve seen.

 The mission, parachute into France, organize 7,000 resistance fighters. Prepare them for D-Day.” April 29th, 1944. Nancy jumps, lands in a tree, get stuck. The Machis fighters on the ground are laughing. The British sent us a woman. She cuts herself free, drops down, walks up to the leader. I hope your next reception is more organized.

Or the Germans will kill you before I have to. The laughter stops. Welcome to France, the leader says. Let’s kill some Nazis. May 1944. Nancy is deep in the Auburn forest now. Central France mountains remote. Perfect for guerilla warfare. She’s coordinating seven MW groups. They don’t trust each other. Won’t cooperate.

 Each leader thinks he should be in charge. Nancy spends her days in the forest, moving between camps, hidden in the trees, living like an animal. No beds, no showers, no safety, just constant movement, constant vigilance. The forest becomes her home. She learns every trail, every hiding spot, every place. The Germans patrol. She becomes part of it.

 Another shadow among the trees. She goes on every mission, every raid, leads from the front. The M. We see her planting explosives, shooting Germans, never hesitating. They respect that. One night, they’re planning a bridge demolition. The target is 40 km away through German territory. The Machis leader suggests sending a small team. Quick, quiet.

 Nancy shakes her head. I’m going. You don’t have to, he says. We can handle it. I know you can, but I’m going anyway. They hike through the forest at night. No lights, no talking, just the sound of boots on leaves, of breathing, of tension. Every snap of a twig sounds like a gunshot. They reached the bridge. German guards.

Two of them smoking, relaxed, not expecting trouble. Nancy signals. Two McWise fighters move. Silent, quick. The guards die without making a sound. Knives close quarters. Efficient. Nancy plants the explosives herself. She’s good at it. Trained by the best Soie demolitions experts. She knows exactly where to place the charges, how much to use, how to maximize damage. The timer is set.

 15 minutes. They withdraw into the forest. Find cover. Wait. The explosion lights up the night. The bridge collapses into the river. Another wrote cut. Another delay for German reinforcements. The Machis are celebrating. Nancy is already planning the next target. There’s always a next target. June 1944 D day.

 The Allies invade Normandy. NY’s network goes into overdrive. Blowing bridges, derailing trains, cutting phone lines. The sabotage is working. The Germans can’t coordinate. Can’t respond. But there’s a problem. NY’s radio operator is killed. German mortar direct hit. The radio is destroyed.

 They’re cut off from London. No communication. No supply drops, no intelligence. The nearest Soe radio is 200 km away through German territory. Getting there is nearly impossible. Nancy volunteers. I’ll go. I’ll get a radio. The McQue think she’s crazy. That’s two weeks on foot through checkpoints. Patrols everywhere. I’m not walking. Nancy says I’m cycling.

 She finds a bicycle. Old, rusty, barely functional. She leaves at dawn. Peasant dress, headscarf, no weapons. If she’s caught armed, she’s dead. She rides through forests, over mountains, the massive central steep climbs. Her legs scream, but she keeps pedaling. She passes German convoys, checkpoints. She smiles, nods.

 Just a peasant woman going to market. Nothing suspicious. One checkpoint. The guard stops her. Where are you going? to see my sister,” Nancy says in perfect French. “She’s having a baby.” The guard looks at her. “Young, maybe 19. Probably misses his own family.” He waves her through. Nancy keeps riding, doesn’t look back, doesn’t stop. She reaches the other network.

 72 hours. 200 km. They’re shocked. You cycled here alone? Yes. Now give me a radio so I can cycle back. They give her the radio. 30 lb. She straps it to the bicycle. Starts the return journey. The ride back is worse. The radio is heavy, unbalanced. The bicycle keeps tipping. Her legs are destroyed.

 Muscles tearing, but she keeps going. She makes it 71 hours after leaving. 400 km total through German occupied France. on a broken bicycle. She arrives at camp, gets off. Her legs give out, collapses, can’t stand. The Machis carry her inside. She’s lost 15 lbs in 3 days, but she has the radio. Mission accomplished. Later, someone asks about the ride.

 How did you do it? NY’s response. The last time I had a good ride like that was with a German general in a staff car. This was more fun. August 1944. NY’s network has grown. 7,000 fighters. The forest is theirs now. The Germans are afraid to enter. Too many ambushes. Too many casualties. Nancy spends her days moving through the trees, planning operations, coordinating attacks.

 She knows these forests better than the Germans, better than most of the French. She’s created a fortress without walls. The trees are the walls. The mountains are the moat. The Machis are the garrison. And she’s the commander. The Germans try to probe. Send patrols. They don’t come back. NY’s fighters hit them from the trees.

 Quick, brutal, then disappear. The forest swallows them. One patrol. 15 Germans. They’re moving through a valley. Nancy and 20 Mwis are watching from the ridge above, hidden in the undergrowth. Wait, Nancy whispers. Let them get deeper. The Germans enter the kill zone. Nancy gives the signal. The Machis open fire.

 The Germans don’t have cover. Can’t see where the shots are coming from. They’re slaughtered. 15 bodies in the valley. NY’s fighters strip the weapons, the ammunition, then vanish back into the forest. By the time German reinforcements arrive, there’s nothing, just bodies, just trees. The Germans stop patrolling, stop trying.

The Again becomes free territory, liberated before the Allies even arrive. Nancy has won through patience, through brutality, through knowing the forest better than anyone. October 1944. The war is nearly over. The Germans are retreating, but they want Nancy. ASS Hopstorm Fur Cotch is assigned to kill her.

 Eastern front veteran, professional hunter. Cootch studies her. She’s bold, reckless, leads from the front. That’s her weakness. He sets a trap, spreads a rumor. German convoy transporting gold. Lightly guarded. Easy target. Nancy hears it. Smells the trap immediately. Too convenient. But her fighters want to hit it. They need money, weapons, food.

She agrees. On her terms, she’ll scout it first. Alone. If it’s a trap, she’ll spring it. Her fighters can hit the Germans from behind. It’s suicidal, but it’s Nancy wake. The best defense is attacking first. She walks into the clearing. Sees the Germans, 23 of them. Cootch steps out, smiling. You’re surrounded. surrender.

 Nancy laughs because they think they’ve won. They don’t know 60 MW fighters are positioned behind them. Don’t know the trap is reversed. She drops her cigarette. The signal. The forest explodes. Gunfire from every direction. The SS soldiers are caught in crossfire. Can’t return fire effectively. Can’t organize. They’re dying before they understand what’s happening. Nancy drops.

 pulls her Sten gun, shoots the nearest soldier. Head shot. Chambers another round, shoots the next one and the next. She’s moving, firing, reloading, firing. Seven Germans fall to her gun. Seven perfect shots. Cotch realizes what’s happening, tries to run. Nancy tracks him, aims, fires, he goes down. Backshot. She walks over.

He’s still alive. Looking up at her, blood in his mouth. You were right about one thing, Nancy says. This will be quick. She fires. Center of forehead. [ __ ] stops moving. The firefight lasts 90 seconds. 23 SS soldiers dead. Zero McWise casualties. Nancy lights a cigarette. Looks around at the bodies. Another mission complete.

 The story spreads. The white mouse turned a German trap into a German massacre. Walked into an ambush. walked out smiling. The Germans stop hunting her after that. She’s too dangerous, too unpredictable. They withdraw from the region entirely. Nancy has won. The forest is free. August 1944. Paris is liberated.

 The war is over. Nancy returns. Starts searching for Henry. She finds out what happened. The Gestapo arrested him, tortured him. Where is your wife? Where is the white mouse? Henry gave them nothing. They executed him. October 1943. Shot in the head. He died while Nancy was fighting. While she was winning, he was already gone. She doesn’t cry. Can’t cry.

 The war took everything. She gets medals. George Metal. Medal of freedom. Croakkes Dare three times. She’s one of the most decorated women of WWE. She puts them in a drawer. They’re just metal. Henry is dead. She tries to go back to normal. The parties, the champagne doesn’t work. The woman who loved parties died in France.

 She moves to Australia, then England, then Australia again. Can’t settle. Can’t find peace. She lives quietly. Drinks too much. Smokes too much. The bicycle ride damaged her legs permanently. Arthritis. Chronic pain. Every step hurts. At 2001, Nancy is 89, living in a retirement home. Alone, a journalist finds her, wants her story. She tells it all of it.

 The story publishes, goes viral. Suddenly, everyone wants to meet her. She hates it, but does the interviews anyway. Maybe young people need to know, need to understand. August 7th, 2011. Nancy Wake dies. 98 years old. Peacefully. They spread her ashes in the auburn. the forests where she fought, where she was most alive.

 The obituaries call her a hero. They’re right, but they’re also wrong. Nancy Wake wasn’t a hero. She was a woman who saw evil and couldn’t look away. Who fought back because what else could she do? She killed 23 SS soldiers in 90 seconds, cycled 400 km through enemy territory, led 7,000 resistance fighters, survived.

 The Gustapo hunted her for years. Never caught her. Never came close because Nancy Wake was faster, smarter, tougher. The forest was her fortress. The trees her weapons. The Germans never understood that. The SS surrounded her in the forest. Thought they had her. She smiled, laughed, killed 23 of them. Walked out smoking a cigarette. That’s Nancy Grace August.

Awake. The woman who became death itself in the forests of France. Who won the war one ambush at a time. Who spent 50 years afterward wishing she could go back to being the girl who just loved parties. The forest remembers. The trees remember. And now finally so does the