Konrad Feldpetzer

September 18th, 1943

Parisian Back Alleys, France

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We all stood in an alleyway, holding our firearms and nervously looking around.

Actually, no, I was the only one nervously looking around. Everyone else was relatively calm. They had put Bastien, a man in his mid-40s with a pencil moustache and a STEN SMG, in charge. He was keeping guard in case any soldiers walked by the alley entrance.

I nervously clutched my Walther, my fingers fidgeting. I was nervous for several reasons; mainly the fact that I could soon find myself in a firefight.

I was well aware that this wasn’t how the Resistance usually did things; most hits were just hit and runs, usually in the seat of a car. But that was usually to kill someone. This was to get some much needed supplies, and possibly some more rifles.

Maxime, another member several years older than me, maybe in his late 20s, knocked on the door; the only thing breaking the tense silence that had formed apart from the noises of the busy city.

As we waited, my thoughts drifted back to Annette and last night. She had stopped calling me just ‘German’, so I guess that’s progress. And she seemed like a nice person when she didn’t see you as a Nazi German.

Hopefully, my efforts to distance myself from Nazism would be fruitful. No way I was leaving behind the German part, though. In a new world of uncertainties, at least that was one thing that’d stay constant.

I’d always be the boy from Bavaria serving his Fatherland, even if it meant fighting a twisted and corrupted version of it. The thought was calming, even if it shouldn’t be.

Annette stood beside me, brandishing a beat-up MP40, a small red heart painted on the side with the sentence ‘De Paris avec amour’ (From Paris with love.) neatly written on the reciever’s side. I’m pretty sure that I was at least considered an acquaintance in her eyes, and that’s better than “Nazi I’m forced to bunk with”. She was an odd lady.

Most of the women back home were soft-spoken or had a level-headed firmness; Annette was the polar opposite. That’s part of what made her so… well, strange isn’t the right word. Interesting?

Oh, and the fact that she was pretty when she didn’t appear on the verge of ripping someone’s head off. That too.

My mind was brought back to reality when I heard squeaky hinges creak open. An old lady, her graying hair tied up in a bun, stared at us, looking confused.

“Who are you, sirs?” she asked, and for a second, I was worried that this was the wrong person.

“The deliverymen, madam,” Maxime told her, flashing a grin, “We’ve brought your shipment of tea and fruits. Extra featherberries, too.”

“Ah, right,” she nodded, gesturing for us to enter, “I was told you’d come around this time.”

In single file, we all shuffled into her house. We were in a kitchen area, with utensils and pots all hung up. None were in usage, and a bowl of soup sat on the middle table. A few industrial-looking stoves were tucked away onto the side, with two refrigerators next to them. The kitchen appeared to be more a restaurant’s than a household.

She turned to us after closing the door, her tone completely different as she pointed behind us, “Go up those stairs, all the way, and you’ll find yourselves on the roof. You know the drill – you get caught, I had nothing to do with this.”

“Merci, madam,” Maxime thanked her, flashing another grin.

Bastien spoke up from behind me, “Let us hope that these invaders are chased out of France soon.”

I simply stayed silent, as did Annette. After that was out of the way, we all climbed the stairs as quietly as we could. Even then, the quiet creaking of the stairs and soft pattering of our shoes was painfully audible in the quiet house.

A Nazi warehouse was directly next to this building, and a rather poorly-chosen one at that. From the limited intel we had been given, this place had been chosen because barely any materials could be spared anywhere. The war in the east against the Russians was sucking up every last bit of resource that Germany had, so much so they had to cut some corners.

It was also relatively undefended, since it only had maybe around ten Germans, according to a forward scout. The main reason was because the guarded residence of an officer was across the street, so any soldiers needed could easily be there in a matter of moments.

So that was why we were hitting them hard and fast, while also being as quiet as possible.

We finally reached the attic, with windows that opened up onto a small overhang on the roof, where we could then climb up onto the main area.

“German, Annette, take the left. Maxime and I will take the right,” Bastien whispered, reaching for one of the windows. I glanced at the girl and was thankful to just see her nod and not making a face of disdain along with it, though I did see some annoyance in her eyes. And for the record, I still wasn’t fond of being called ‘German’.

I had a name.

I ignored it for the time being, silently walking over to one of the windows and flipping the lock open as quietly as I could. Thankfully, the city itself was rather noisy and any noise the lock and window opening might’ve made was drowned out by the sounds of Paris.

And then I made the mistake of looking over the small amount of roof that separated me from the street.

Prior to now, I had never known I had a fear of heights. The highest I had ever been was on top of a large hill back home, and that was relatively mild, since it didn’t have the steep height of Parisian home I was in now.

My mind seemed to do a backflip as a wave of nausea washed over me, the world spinning. Disoriented, I stumbled back, only managing to correct myself just before I fell onto the floor. I stood still for a moment, letting the world go back to being right-side-up.

I could feel the weird looks the rest of the team was giving me, but I ignored them, walking up to the window again.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Don’t look down.

I repeated this to myself, not wanting to make the same mistake twice. Gingerly, I stepped out onto the overhang, making sure to feel my boot grip the rough tiles before even thinking about fully putting my weight on it.

My heart was beating so fast I felt like it’d burst right out of my chest.

I slowly pulled myself up, bracing myself against the sides of the window, back to the roof. It was relatively windier up there, and the breeze felt rather nice on my face. Next to me, Annette pulled herself up, closing the window behind us.

I glanced to my left, seeing the window we were supposed to enter. I slowly slid myself, parallel to the roof, across, with Annette behind me. The Walther and knife hidden in my shirt all of a sudden felt heavy, and my mind began having second thoughts.

Couldn’t I simply run away? Maybe to a neutral country, like Ireland. Maybe that wasn’t enough, and the Nazis kidnapped me in my sleep. Maybe I could use the neutral country as a hopping point and move to a completely new country, like Argentina. That had to be remote enough that they’d never find me.

“Don’t tell me,” I heard Annette’s voice behind me. It was at a normal volume, but the sounds of the city combined with the wind (which was surprisingly loud for how relatively gentle it was) made it so it sounded softer to my ears.

I glanced back at her, eyebrow quirked and eyes trained on her face. No way in hell I was looking down.

“You’re having second thoughts,” her face was tight, with a small twitch on her top lip.

“Well, for someone who has never killed before, this can get pretty scary,” I grumbled, feeling a bit terse due to my growing anxiety over the height.

She looked confused, “You’ve never killed anyone? Weren’t you a soldier?”

“No,” I replied, shaking my head, “Unofficial Medic for the most part. Barely saw any action anyways.”

I faced the other way, signifying the end of the conversation. I had never been too fond of speaking of me being in the military. Even back when soldiers were seen as the national hero and a great, patriotic duty. But even more so now, knowing what horrible atrocities had been going on behind the scenes.

I inched the remainder of the way, until I was finally at the edge of the window. My heart began to pound even harder than before as I slowly turned my body around, now with my torso facing the roof. I slowly peeked into the attic of the building, anxious of what I’d see.

I don’t really know what I expected.

Shelves covered the walls with boxes that had labels slapped on, with descriptions such as food or oil. Critical resources for any group waging a war, whether it be an organized standing army or a guerrilla resistance group. I could hear the soldier talking to himself through the window.

“Ah, Thorwald,” he muttered to himself in German, looking through the labels, “Wasting your time here in the army while you could be dating Tabea back home. Plus, this shit won’t even be here for more than a day. Don’t know why I’m guarding it.”

He turned away for a moment, and I quickly crossed the window, making sure that I wasn’t visible when I covered myself on the other side using the window frame.

“Be careful,” I whisper-yelled, glancing at Annette, “You make any noises and we’re done for.”

She simply gave a nod, producing a crowbar from her coat and putting the curved end underneath the windowsill. I held my breath as she did so, but it seemed she was accustomed to doing this and made little to no mistakes or fumbles.

Of course she wouldn’t, she’d been in the Resistance for most of the war. I’d barely been there for a month.

She slowly but steadily applied pressure, leveraging the window open. I winced as the window gave small creaks and groans as the wood resisted the crowbar, but it seemed more physical than audible. I could feel the movements through my fingertips from the tiled roof, travelling up my arms.

I glanced down at my hands, realizing I was trembling. I didn’t know if it was from dread or anxiousness. After what seemed like an eternity, the window gave way.

With a pop. A loud pop.

That caught me completely off-guard, and I near instinctively drew further away from the window. Annette did the same, but also seemed to have a similar reaction. She had panicked, fear flashing over her features as she pulled the crowbar loose.

Apparently, she had pulled it too hard, and it slipped from her grasp, clattering down to the street three stories below. I could feel myself cringe at the loud noise and turned to Annette, who had also withdrawn from the window.

“Hey, Marcus!” I heard the soldier shout, “Come up here!”

My face went pale. Had he heard us? Would we be discovered and shot? Was that how I’d die? If not from a shot to the head, a three-story tall drop onto pavement?

I didn’t make any noise whatsoever. I was too frozen with fear to say anything. Probably too fearful to move too. I didn’t try.

I heard a slightly more annoyed voice, “What is it?”

“I heard something outside the window.”

“Probably just some squirrels.”

“It sounded like something was at the window. Plus, there’s no tree.”

“Fine, if you insist, we’ll check.”

From my peripheral view, I saw the two soldiers looking out. The one on the right looked irritated, the other apprehensive, “See? Nothing there.”

The apprehensive one looked down, quirking an eyebrow, “It’s unlocked.”

“What?”

“The window’s unlocked.”

“Jonas probably forgot to close them last night.”

“No, I checked. They were locked and closed.”

“You sure? You don’t exactly have the be- ALARM!”

The abrupt change in tone caught me completely off-guard, nearly making me jump right off the roof. I turned my head to check on Annette, and she seemed to be just as scared as I as. Even if she didn’t understand the language, which I assumed she didn’t, the abrupt shift in tone was enough to tip her off that something was wrong.

She glanced at me, her eyes asking an unspoken question. Have we been discovered?

Judging by how they hadn’t cracked the window open and shot us yet, I doubted it, so I simply replied with a shake of my head. No.

The entire exchange occurred in less than a second.

I risked another peek, but was halted when I heard the crackle of a rifle firing and glass shattering. The noise seemed to echo through Paris, silencing everything else. I knew the sound all too well. A Kar98k. This was quickly followed by two pistol shots.

I knew that was bad news. I peeked in, apprehensive. Only to see Bastien and Maxime in front of a shattered window, frowning, and holding their pistols. There were two dead bodies on the floor, blood pooling around them, with the apprehensive one’s face looked in terror. I didn’t know the irritated one’s expression; his helmet having fallen over his face. Two Kar98ks lay strewn about on the floor.

I knocked on the window, trying to get their attention. They looked up, looking as if they’d just been reminded of our existence. Maxime quickly walked over, unlocking the window and pushing it open.

Before we could even enter, he started, “Plan’s changed. Start shooting us a way down. Bastien and I will carry all the supplies we can carry.”

I nodded, and I got the sense that Annette did too. I switched into mission mode, ignoring the dead bodies on the floor as I slipped in. I pulled my Walther out from my shirt, and Annette had had her M40 slung over her torso.

I quickly looked around. The boxes on the shelves were often little more than half-full, with some boxes being comprised of simply raw materials not the actual product.

“Stairs over here,” I announced, finding a small staircase behind a few storage shelves in the middle of the room. It seemed that the soldiers had been prepared for an assault at the bottom, so they had cover designed for protecting themselves as they went up to the attic. At the bottom of the stairs was a concrete block designed to fit in with the handrails.

I smiled at myself, despite the situation. Finally, some good luck. I laid down at the edge, trying to peek down. I saw a German soldier, waiting for someone to come running. So, I sprinted down the stairs in a reckless manner. A spray of bullets erupted from somewhere in the room, plugging the wall behind me and making puffs of smoke.

I roughly rolled behind the concrete slab, my shoulder protesting in the form of being sore afterwards. I ignored it. If this went south, a sore shoulder would be the least of my problems.

Speaking of my problems, there was a major one; the fact that I had only a pistol, while the soldiers probably had MP40s and Kar98ks, both much more lethal than a 9mm or blade.

I cursed myself for being so woefully under prepared. Sure, we were never meant to have been in a firefight, but I should’ve been fully prepared for if things went bad. I should have chosen a MP40, like Annette.

I risked a peek outside of cover, and I was relieved to see that for now it was only one soldier. I could see only one helmet peeking out from behind the concrete guardrail on the opposite room. Of course, he had been waiting for me to peek and let loose another spray of lead.

Even if it was inaccurate due to the circumstances, it could still kill me, so I went back into cover. Looking back up the stars, I saw Annette with her SMG ready, inching down to the stairs to where she could fire but not be seen.

I slowly waited for her to reach the position, starting to feel like the room was becoming hotter and hotter by the moment. I was running on adrenaline, all right.

After a few seconds, she gave me a thumbs up. I assumed that she was in place to fire. Now all that she needed was for the soldier to be dragged out. He couldn’t be shot at from where he was hiding.

To that end, I basically just told myself “Fuck it” and leaped over the concrete slab, praying to god that Annette could shoot straight.

The spray that came with every other exposure never came as I heard a small burst and a scream of pain. With little hesitance, I leaped over the handrail and fired at least six shots into the soldier, mainly in the chest area.

Blood ballooned, staining the floor and wall, but I ignored it for now, putting the Walther in my shirt and picked up the half-full MP40 from the soldier along with a few extra magazines.

As far as I could tell, he was dead. From my position, I could see Annette hurrying down the stairs, swearing, with Maxime and Bastien closely following behind her, backpacks filled with loot.

“Don’t do that again,” she growled at me quickly, “I’ll take point from here.”

I was too dazed, my mind in combat mode, to fully respond so I simply nodded, letting her lead. She quickly made her way down the stairs. Since I didn’t hear any gunfire, I assumed it was clear. I checked, crouching and trying to make myself as small as possible while peaking onto the first floor.

Clear. Annette was hiding behind a small shelf area, waiting for more enemies.

I could clearly see German troops that seemed to be rapidly equipped heading across the street from the windows, though they were too focused on the door notice me. I swiftly picked one off, watching with grim determination as blood spurted from his shoulder and chest.

“They’re in the first floor! Kick the door in!” I heard them scream in German.

“They’re going to break through the front door!” I translated to Annette in French. She glanced at me, nodding, and positioning herself so she could shoot more easily.

I kept my MP40 aimed at the door, gritting my teeth in anxiousness. Sure enough, after a few minutes, the kicked the door in.

Thing was that it wasn’t the front door.

Another door, out of my sight, had been broken through, and a hail of gunfire nearly immediately plugged the area around Annette. My mind froze for a moment, too busy trying to figure out how to react. I heard a groan from the French girl, snapping me back to reality.

Blood covering her left sleeve, and it was hanging at her side. She was grabbing her gun only using her right hand, and she was on the verge of screaming from pain. I took this as my cue and returned fire, even if blindly. It worked, stopping the shots for a moment where I could reload the now empty magazine.

Annette, in that moment, propped herself up using a box, and immediately started shooting. I hadn’t peeked over, and didn’t know if a soldier had exposed himself. Judging from the cry of pain, she hit one.

“Hugo!” I heard one of the soldiers shout.

I took that moment to all but sprint down the stairs, twirling around and keeping my MP40 on the door. In the doorway was the dead body of a German soldier, half supported by the doorframe. Several bullet holes surrounded the body.

I waited for a moment, trying to keep Annette’s muffled grunts of pain out of my mind. The second the German exposed himself, I squeezed the trigger.

It seemed that I had hit him, as several blood spurts came from his upper torso before he fell dead. I turned around to see Maxime helping Annette up.

He winced at the sight of her arm, “That’s going to leave a scar. Good thing I grabbed some medical supplies.”

“I’ll just walk it off,” Annette dismissed his worries, her voice wobbly and sounding like she was on the edge of crying.

“We’re not safe until we get out of here,” Bastien grunted.

“Into the sewers?” I asked.

Our original plan had been to go back the way we came and leave through the sewers.

“No, too exposed. We’re going to have to take a car,” was his reply.

I blinked, dumbfounded. Before I could formulate a response, a series of gunshots shattered the window and hit the ceiling, causing clouds of dust to fall over us.

We all fell behind cover, with me simply falling to the ground like a sack of hammers, gun aimed at the door.

“Konrad,” Bastien said, catching my attention and somehow staying calm, “There’s a truck next to their building. See if you can hijack it.”

A surge of adrenaline ran through my veins just thinking about it. I almost asked if someone else could go before I realized that I was the only one unencumbered. Maxime and Bastien were both carrying nearly 70 pounds of equipment on their backs alone and Annette was wounded.

I then abruptly remembered I had no idea how to drive whatsoever.

Cheeks flushing I bit, I stated as much, “I can’t drive. I was infantry. Not a driver.”

“Seriously!?” I heard Maxime shout, his voice dominated by annoyance. It caught me off-guard, but I ignored it.

“Looks like our best bet is to clear a way to the truck, then,” Bastien grimaced, then pointed at me, “You take out the Jerries on the street. I’ll cover you from here.”

I cringed at the amount of danger I was putting myself in, but as I had noted before, there weren’t many options. Whatever protest I may have been able to make was cut short by the front door being kicked down by a German soldier shouting something I couldn’t hear over the blood pounding in my ears.

I was on autopilot as I pivoted towards the door, squeezing the trigger and watching as his torso was covered in red. Wasting no time, I hopped to my feet and slammed against the door frame and using it as cover. There were a few other German soldiers on the street, all armed with standard issue Kar98Ks.

I also knew purely from my time in the army that reinforcements would arrive in a few short minutes, so I got to work. A single spray of lead from my MP40 cut down nearly all of the soldiers, an extra burst from Bastien needed to finish them off.

Blood spurted everywhere, covering the street. Their screams as they were slaughtered like cattle seemed to echo in my head, but I simply used the same tactic I had been using for the past ten minutes; focus on the present.

A temporary quiet fell, and I hesitantly peeked my head out to check if it was clear. After having peeked for nearly two seconds and no shots fired, I decided it was.

“Clear! Let’s go!” I told them, running for the main building. As Bastien had said, there was a truck next to said building in a make-shift garage facing the main road. I felt my boots pound against the cobblestone street, and several other pairs of footsteps running behind me. Or rather, three full footsteps and one half-dragged, as Maxime was carrying Annette in an odd position that still let her stand on her own a bit.

I ignored the blood-covered bodies of the soldiers I had just killed, narrowing my sight on the truck. As I got closer, I recognized it as a Tatra model. No idea of the specifications, but that’s what I remembered the other soldiers calling it.

“Bastien, you drive, there should be a crank to start the engine,” I stated, climbing onto the truck bed, “Maxime, put Annette here; I have some medical training.”

I left out that said medical training was the very basics.

The two looked rather bewildered that they were being ordered around by such a new member, especially one that had been an enemy a little over the month ago. This only lasted for half a second before they conceded, with Maxime carefully placing Annette onto the bed, along with taking out some of his medical supplies and handing it to me.

Maxime then sat in the passenger seat, leaving me to attempt to help Annette as Bastien started up the truck. It’d be a bumpy ride, both literally and metaphorically.

I laid Annette down on the floor of the truck bed as the vehicle lurched forwards. She was spookily silent and nearly as pale as now, and I had interacted with enough wounded soldiers to know that she was going into shock.

I did the few things I knew on how to treat people going into shock. I quickly took the medical supplies pack; it was a rough canvas material, so it was stiff enough to put under her boots. Once that was done, I quickly set to work on trying to bandage her wound.

On a truck now barreling down the streets of Paris.

Trying to ignore the bumps and turns, I slowly unbuttoned her shirt. I knew that I’d have to examine the wound with no clothes around it, so I was hoping she wore underwear. Either way, I tried to make it so that only the shoulder area was exposed, though it wasn’t easy when gravity wanted to throw you every which way.

I managed to stabilize myself by grabbing the edge of the truckbed, keeping myself relatively still.

“Annette,” I said, calmly and slowly. I knew that acting panicked would only further worsen her condition.

She looked half-asleep, half-awake. I gritted my teeth as I realized she was slipping into unconsciousness. This’d be much harder if she was unconscious because, if I remembered correctly, she’d be at risk on choking on her own fluids.

“Annette,” I stated, firmer and louder than before. This seemed to slightly work, as her brow slightly raised in a daze-like confusion.

A spattering of gunfire flew over my head, plugging the cab. Thankfully, it seemed that it was pistol fire; not enough to puncture the metal.

I hesitantly peeked over the edge, seeing a German VW with around three troops chasing us. They had speed and maneuverability on their side. Shooting at the engine wasn’t an option, either, as it was in the back.

So I simply let loose a hail of gunfire and hoped for the best. I nearly nailed the driver, a crack in the glass appearing a little to the right of his head.

“Fuck off!” I yelled as loud as I could in German, ducking as another wave of pistol fire soared overhead. As I ducked, I caught sight of a pale Annette, reminding me of my medical duties. Slightly fed up, I gave her a light slap to the cheek to try to wake her up. It seemed to work, her abruptly coming back int consciousness for a second.

She didn’t speak, but the way her eyes moved around and her face morphed into confusion was enough to let me know. I tried speaking in a calm voice, “I’m trying to bandage your wound. Ignore everything else that’s happening. We’re escaping.”

She nodded only a fraction of an inch, so little that I wondered if she had even nodded at all. Either way, it had to be done. I looked through the contents of the medical bag I had dumped out onto the truck bed, searching for any sort of antibiotic to keep the wound from infecting.

Extracting the bullet would be much too risky in the back of a moving vehicle with no sterile tools, so all I could do was grab some chemicals, bandage it, and hope for the best until we could get reach a safer place.

The shaking of the truck made it much harder than it needed to be. I went through several little bottles and vials, trying to read the labels through the jerky movements of the vehicle.

It was a nightmare, for sure.

I finally found a small bottle of antibiotic ointment, and I nearly laughed in joy. I have no idea why, as I was still in a life-threatening situation, but the mere sight of it made me feel hopeful. I opened it and put a bit on my fingertip.

I then turned to Annette, who looked to be on the verge of becoming unconscious again, and dabbed the ointment around the wound. It got mixed with blood in the process, but it’d work. Not bothering to clean my hands, I grabbed for the nearest roll of bandages.

I made a rough dressing of her wound, and had to pull down the left side of her shirt to her midriff to have enough effective room to actually do the dressing. The shaking of the vehicle was no help whatsoever.

Oh and I found out whether she wore underneath. Short answer was no, and I kept my eyes averted at all times, face flushed red despite the situation. After a rough two minutes of me struggling with the bandages, I decided that it’d have to do until we could get somewhere safe.

Making sure that Annette was patched up, I peeked my head over the edge again, apprehensive of any German fire. But, surprisingly, we had lost them. Of course, a military truck zooming through the tight and oftentimes cramped backstreets of Paris was bound to be the focus of attention, we were good for now.

Maxime’s head appeared out of the right window, glancing at me and then Annette, swearing at the fact that she was incapacitated for the time being.

“We’re going to stop in a second; you and Annette get off,” he grunted.

“Why not all of us?” I asked, confused.

“It’s better if we split up so they’ll have a harder time tracking us. Bastien will continue with the truck until a further checkpoint. We don’t want to lead them to our base.”

“Then why don’t you come with us?”

“Too much stuff for one person,” he replied quickly and sitting back in his seat, before we rounded an alley and the truck came to a grinding halt. It skidded for a few meters, with me having to secure myself against the truck bedsides and having to keep a semi-alert Annette from slamming into one of them.

“Your stop,” Bastien said, poking his head out the left window like Maxime, then leaning in and speaking in a hushed tone, “Annette will know where to go. Winter paths bloom in the right light.”

Whatever protests I could form were gone when I saw Bastien’s face. It felt like I would’ve been arguing with a brick wall, so despite me not liking the change in plans, I did my best to carry Annette bridal style and hopped onto the small sidewalk in the alley, stowing some medical supplies in my pockets.

As soon as I hit the ground, the truck sped off again.

I groaned to myself in annoyance, having to change positions to accommodate for Annette’s weight on my arms. She seemed to be on the verge of falling asleep.

The quiet alley seemed false when coupled with the chaotic events of a few minutes prior. Like a dream. The soft humming of cars on the streets, the faded honking in the distance, it just all seemed so surreal.

“Annette,” I mumbled, still emerging from my stupor. I felt her stir in my arms. I glanced at her, and she seemed tired to the point of falling asleep then and there.

“Mmm?” I more felt her inquisitive hum than heard it.

“Bastien said you’d know where to go,” I replied, watching her carefully.

“Oh yeah,” her voice slurred a bit, with a sleepy edge to it. Come to think of it, I was exhausted too. And that was only from running around and being shot at. I could only imagine what it’d be like if one of those shots actually hit.

She weakly pointed behind me, “Resistance ally. He’ll let us stay.”

Annette then went back to the seemingly strange land of limbo between consciousness and sleep. I’d guess she was holding on until she could be sure that she could sleep. Somewhat awkwardly, I turned around, spotting the door she had pointed to.

I made my way to it and managed to knock it. I waited for a few minutes, my mind somewhat distracted. Thankfully, it seemed to stay off the soldiers whose lives I had just ended and, unsurprisingly, with the fact that I was carrying a girl my age in my arms.

Quiet moments had become surprisingly hard to come by. In HQ, I could usually steal a few hours of sleep before having to get up and help around, whether that be cleaning weapons, organizing the files of data that the Nazis would surely have destroyed had they gotten their hands on, and simply going about and helping with whatever I could.

My train of thought was cut off when the door opened, a man in his 50s appearing in the doorway and looking confused.

Before I could even say a word to even try to explain what had happened, Annette piped up with, “Hello, uncle Martin. Do you remember of the woodland path you took me to?”

Understanding seemed to flash in his eyes, inviting us inside and nodding, “Yes, most definitely. Why, come inside, I even have some greyberry tea being made right now.”

I awkwardly stepped forward, trying to keep Annette balanced while not pitching forward. I could feel my arms beginning to tire. I found myself in a living area, with cozy decorations and even a fireplace.

After closing peeking outside and checking that no one was there, he closed the door, turning to us, “I had heard the gunshots. I chalked it up to criminals, though. Not rebels.”

“Yeah, that was us,” I admitted.

“I’m wounded,” Annette pointed out, gesturing to the bloody bandages on her shoulder, “Do you have anywhere we could rest?”

He looked thoughtful, “Well, we have a guest room.”

“We?” I cocked my head, mildly concerned.

“We; I have a wife and two sons,” he nodded, explaining, “But they’re visiting her mother for the week, so you’re fine.”

“Oh,” I said dumbly, “So about the guest room?”

“We have one,” he affirmed, “Up the stairs, second door on the left.”

I nodded thankfully, internally cringing at the thought of stairs. I used the idea of rest as a carrot on a stick, though. Climb up the steps and I shall be blessed with the opportunity to sit down and have a look over Annette’s injury.

The journey was a small hassle, my arms nearly on the edge of giving out. It seemed like I’d have to resort to dragging Annette on the floor before finally reaching the room. Having to do gymnastics just to open the door, my mind did the equivalent of a leap for joy at the sight of a bed.

Granted, there was only one bed and it seemed to have been made for one person.

But I’d gotten to the point where even sitting on the floor was acceptable. Carefully, I set Annette down on the bed and took a second to let my arms rest while I looked around. A deep green dominated the walls with a Fleur-de-Lys pattern, and a light on the ceiling kept the room illuminated.

A plush chair was in the corner, alongside a small table with an unlit candle. An open door a few feet from the entrance lead to a small bathroom, barely enough for a person to fit inside.

After a few minutes, I decided to finally see if I could fix Annette’s wound. I carefully undid the bandaging, able to give Annette some decency as I didn’t have to worry about the bandages going way off the mark as I did I the truck.

The bleeding seemed to have stopped for the most part, and now that I could get a good look at it, it didn’t seem that bad. Sure, it’d be sore for weeks after and it’d leave a bit of a scar, but it wasn’t life threatening.

As of now, at least. It could soon change if I didn’t remove the bullet.

“So how’d she get injured?” a man spoke to my left. I glanced at the door, despite already knowing who it was.

“German bullet. Didn’t hit anything critical. She’ll be fine if I get the bullet out,” I replied, staring at the Frenchman.

“So you’re a medic?” he asked, walking over from his position in the doorway.

“Something like that, yes,” I offered, dumping the contents of my medical bag onto the free part of the bed. I quickly scanned the objects. Some ointment, two finger splints, a few small pill bottles, and some extra bandages along with a medical instrument kit containing scissors, a magnifying glass, and tweezers.

It had more than an enough for a simple bullet removal.

After a moment of awkward silence as I gathered my tools, I asked, “What’s your name, sir?”

“I doubt my name will change anything, but it’s Florian,” he answered, adding on, “What’s yours? Fitz?”

I glanced at him, confused for a moment. In said moment, he drew a pistol on me.

“I know you’re a German.”

Despite myself, I stayed calm. I didn’t know if it was simply exhaustion or me simply getting used to bloodshed to blame for my blasé attitude, but I just couldn’t find enough effort to care. So I assume exhaustion.

“Look,” I deadpanned, annoyed, “I am a German, yes, but not a Nazi. Got sick of them and decided to fight back.”

He quirked an eyebrow, framing eyes that seemed to ready to kill if it need be, “So you were at one point?”

“Yes, but not willingly. If it were up to me, I’d still be home, where the most of my worries were schoolwork and not being shot in the head.”

The pistol remained up.

I sighed, becoming thoroughly exasperated, “Alright, think. Why would I bring a Resistant member here to patch up their wounds? Following, why did she easily allow me access here?”

I seemed to be getting through to him as he looked apprehensive at most. An improvement to the lethal coldness from before, to be sure.

“You’d think that, me being in a position of disadvantage having to carry her, she could easily yell out some codeword and you’d instantly know to kill me, right?”

The pistol finally fell, and he gave me an undecipherable stare, “Didn’t know they were recruiting Jerries. Especially ones that speak fluent French.”

“I’m a… special case,” I shrugged, turning back to my tools. Florian remained silent as I prepped, making sure everything I’d need was where it needed to be.

“I assume you have everything under control?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Alright. I’ll be downstairs. Call me if you need help. I was a medic in the French army, so I’d know what do.”

I turned to him again, curious, “And you’re not a prisoner?”

He shook his head, “I served during the Great War, twenty years ago. I’ve been retired for over a decade now.”

“Oh,” was all I could really say.

Without a word, Florian exited the room, closing the door behind him.

“Alright,” I muttered, “Sorry if this hurts, Annette. It’ll hurt way more later on if I don’t get it out.”

She seemed to let out a little groan of acknowledgement in her sleep, twisting around a bit. Was she even asleep or was she just so drained that she could barely even move?

I didn’t give much thought to it, focusing on the task at hand. Grasping the tweezers, I slowly put them in the bullethole, cringing at the fleshy sensation that seemed to translate from the metal tool to my fingers.

Thankfully, I didn’t have much more of a reaction. Paired with a steady hand, I fairly easily found the bullet.

Extracting it, on the other hand, was a different issue. It was slick with blood, so my first attempt simply slid off. Second one was the same story. Third one, I had grabbed it wrong and hadn’t gotten a good grip.

I gritted my teeth in frustration, my fingers starting to become tense from grabbing the small pair of tweezers so hard.

On the fourth try, I finally got a good grip and smiled a little once I felt the bullet start to be lifted along the tweezers. I went slow, not wanting to risk my grip on it.

After a solid five seconds, it was out. Finding nowhere else to put it, I quickly placed it on the bedside table, where the blood wouldn’t stain.

Fully grinning, I dropped the tweezers and applied the ointment, to keep It clean. After that was done, I carefully wrapped the bandages around her shoulder. The bleeding, again, had stopped for the most part.

For the entire time, she hadn’t moved. A blessing, to be sure. I went to the bathroom to wash things up. And, having no other real option, I washed off the bullet and placed it in my pocket. I’d have to dispose of it later.

As I was washing off the tweezers, my reflection caught my eye. Looking at my face staring back at me, I looked exhausted, with strands of long blonde hair frizzy and unkempt. My eyes had dullened, and I seemed to have gained a somber air.

It was a far cry from my own remembrance of my appearance. Close-shaved hair, kempt face, mouth pressed into a thin line.

I wasn’t the same person, that’s for sure.

I shook my head, as if to dispel the thoughts into the air. I quickly retreated back to the room.

I then quickly packed up all of the supplies, managing to recognize the pills as painkillers. I contemplated giving Annette some but I didn’t want to risk it. The last thing we needed was for her to become an addict because I gave her an unneeded dosage.

Placing the pack on the dresser, I felt an overwhelming wave of drowsiness wash over me. I glanced at the bed, considering sleeping there, but knowing Annette, I doubt she’d be fine with it, so I simply decided to rest on the plush chair. Unbuttoning my vest and placing it on the backrest, I settled down, closing my eyes.

It seemed that all of my worries and anxieties seemed to melt away, along with the real world as I faded into a slumber.