Malte Heissler

November 2nd, 1943

Non-Descript Courtyard, Paris, France

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I stared at the small courtyard with bated breath, Kar98k in my hands. Six other soldiers were positioned inside of buildings surrounded the small area, all hidden from sight and with guns aimed.

With my attentions focused on nothing but the surroundings, I was hyperaware of everything. Of the evening sunlight painting the walls of the courtyard shades of red and orange, of the fluttering and shuffling of the birds perched on the rooftops.

One silhouette stood in the courtyard, nervously glancing around, and unaware of the looming threat.

My eyes were glued to the opposite entrance of the courtyard, looking for any sign of movement. Whoever Rahmer was meeting should be arriving soon.

I was mentally counting the seconds it took, not having anything else to do but wait. I was holed up in someone’s extra storage room, with a chair behind me as well as some boxes filled with miscellaneous. I had thought of sitting down to wait but ultimately went against it. Standing made me feel more ready to react.

My eyes temporarily wandered to the other unassuming windows, knowing that lurking in the darkness were men ready to fire with rifles. The heavy gunner was lurking somewhere too, hopefully having been able to set up by now.

With sounds coming from the courtyard, my eyes snapped to the entrance. I saw one man walk through the archway. I was expecting rags or perhaps a non-regulated outfit with telltale signs of the Resistance since they didn’t seem to have any uniform manner of dressing.

Instead, the man wore full German officer attire, cap and all. Behind him trailed three other men, soldiers by the looks of it. The three soldiers all carried Kar98ks slung onto their backs, though they had customized their outfits a bit. One had a dark green scarf around his neck for the cold, puffy enough that it hid some of his face or at least the small part I could see underneath the helmet.

Another wore a few armbands on their left, with the other seeming plain as could be. I couldn’t get a good view of their faces beneath their M40 helmets’ visors, with just their mouths visible, and not even that with the scarfed one.

I held my fire, confused, but didn’t let down the gun.

They began talking, and I could just barely hear what they were saying.

“Were you followed?” the officer asked.

“No,” Rahmer shook his head, hands in his pockets.

The officer nodded, “I trust that your letter has everything I need to know in it?”

“Yes,” with that, he pulled out the paper.

As the officer reached out, the noise of a bolt being work sounded out, painfully clear. Everyone froze, with the scarfed soldier slowly looking up.

And that’s when I saw his face. Konrad.

The man I’d been hunting for the past few months. And he saw me.

“Ambush!” he shouted out, and within a second, the entire courtyard was lit up. I blindly fired, aiming where I had last seen Konrad before the flurry of lights and cacophony of bullets began. I worked the bolt rapidly, slamming it forward to fire another shot.

Before I could fire another round, the windowsill next to me was peppered with shots, causing the wood to crack and splinter, flying off every which way.

Caught by surprise, I stumbled back, raising my hands to protect myself from the impromptu shrapnel. My rifle clattered to the ground, firing into the roof and showering me in chalky drywall and forcing me to close my eyes.

With my vision gone and my mind still in emergency mode, my next few movements were frantic, trying to catch myself as I began falling backwards. It was too late, as I already felt myself loosing control to gravity.

The back of my skull slammed int the seat of the chair, immediately making everything go black.

Konrad Feldpetzer

November 2nd, 1943

Unnamed Courtyard, Paris, France

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It felt weird, wearing the Wehrmacht uniform again. It felt the same. Exact same weight on my shoulders keeping the tunic up, the same tightness around my waist for the supports, and exact same ruffling of the cuffs.

It didn’t help that I had the familiar Kar98k slung over my shoulder instead of my requisitioned FG-42 hybrid as I walked down the street.

I was a bit ashamed to admit that the familiarity of the outfit soothed my nerves a bit, even if it frazzled my mind. It felt a bit like I was walking through a bizzarro world as I marched in unison with the others in disguise; an alternate world where instead of joining the French Resistance, I had stayed a soldier, and even gotten a few others to join.

I tightened my scarf as a particularly strong breeze blew through the enclosed road, the winter chill not far behind. It’d been the first time I’d been above ground in a while now, a month or two actually.

Our relative calm walk got my mind to recall back when I actually had been a soldier. When I had been able to walk the streets relatively devoid of fear. It felt like a lifetime ago. Several, really.

Our little group seemed pretty unbothered on the surface, with Maxime and Hugo specifically walking with surprisingly relaxed ease.

Even despite that, I could tell that the light atmosphere was undercut by anxiety. I was close enough to see every worried flicker of their eyes, every hitched breath when they saw movement across the alleyway.

And, to be honest, I was pretty anxious too, though I liked to think I was being pretty discreet about it.

Annette and Marc should already be at the meeting spot, able to take a sewer shortcut that we couldn’t afford without some serious post-travel cleaning. German soldiers walking around with mysterious stains on their outfits was about the opposite of inconspicuous.

When we rounded a corner, we were greeted by Annette and Marc with their somewhat inconspicuous outfits juxtaposed by the firearms they sported. Marc wore simple suspenders and slacks over a shirt, the man draping a Sten gun over his shoulder right shoulder. Annette wore a loose blue dress that went down to her knees while holding her Mp40. The stains of sewage water and dirt hindered their ability to blend in, though, had they been able to find some way to hide their weapons.

Despite that, Annette still looked incredibly pretty.

My mind catching up to my thoughts, I kept my eyes on the ground and tipped my helmet down to try to hide my increasingly red face. I even raised the scarf a little as an extra measure.

“I thought you lot got lost,” I heard Marc’s deadpan.

Erhardt gave a hum of acknowledgement, “Well, we didn’t have the luxury to crawl through the sewers. What an exhilarating journey that must’ve been. My, you’ve even gotten to take a bath on the way!”

Annette snorted at that.

“There’s one dressed in German military attire. Brown hair, pale, and skinny,” Marc listed off with such monotony I could almost imagine him going through a clipboard as he ignored Erhardt’s comment.

“Sounds like our guy.”

With my face not feeling so incredibly hot anymore, I risked it and stood straight again but kept my helmet tipped down, somewhat obscuring my features. I may be a risk-taker, but I’m not a madman.

When I found my eyes glued to Annette’s rather beautiful face within a second of straightening up I decided that I was better off hunched over and looking mildly nauseous. Couldn’t see that well but that was a small price to pay.

So I wasn’t a madman or a risk-taker. Duly noted.

“Alright, everyone, keep your eyes peeled. There shouldn’t be any trouble but that’s not even close to guarantee,” Erhardt turned to us, “So, best soldier impression you can muster and keep quiet unless you spot any trouble.”

His gaze lingered on me before turning around.

All I really did was clutch the strap of my rifle as we began to walk, slowly straightening up to avoid another situation with Annette. By god, it was getting annoying.

We marched into the courtyard, with us soldiers in unison and Erhardt leading the pack. Something about the enclosure made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I knew I wasn’t the only one. Maxime was trying to discreetly look around beside me, though we could only see the first story with any real detail and not the other one or two stories the buildings surrounding us had without looking even more conspicuous.

The man dressed in a German military outfit walked out from an opposite entrance, hands in his pockets.

“Were you followed?” Erhardt asked.

“No,” the man shook his head.

Erhardt hummed in front of us, “I trust that your letter has everything I need to know in it?”

“Yes,” the man nodded pulling out an envelope, offering to him.

Just then, the noise of a bolt being worked rung out. It was so quiet that we might’ve missed it if we hadn’t already been on a hair trigger to begin with. Something was wrong, and I wasn’t the only one to think so. We all froze.

Slowly, I turned my gaze up at the second and third stories of the surrounding houses. For a tense moment, my eyes darted about, trying to spot any hint of trouble. And then I saw it.

The glint of a barrel and fiery eyes.

“Ambush!” I shouted out before I could even think. In less than a second, the courtyard exploded with bullets. The man in front of Erhardt only had half a second for his face to morph into a panicked expression before a round nailed him in the skull, making him crumple to the ground with a few crimson spurts.

I unslung my rifle, muscle memory used to the Kar98k, and instinctively aimed at the window.

In the short second before I pulled the trigger, I saw a familiar face looking at me with so much hatred I thought I was staring into a viper’s eyes.

Malte.

When my finger finally squeezed the trigger, my surprise made the shot go long, slamming into the wall next to him. Before he could get off another shot, a spattering of gunfire slammed into the shutters of his window, splintering the wood, causing him to step back from his position.

I took this chance to try to make a mad dash for safety, hoping to reach Marc and Annette and the security their position held.

Of course, I might’ve if Maxime hadn’t gotten shot.

He hit the ground hard, and for a second, I didn’t know if he was dead or not. A strangled groan let me know he was still kicking, so I ignored the blaring alarm in my head telling me to run and quickly scrambled over to him, a gunshot missing my head by a few inches.

I discarded my rifle with clatter and hooked my arms under his, beginning dragging him. I didn’t dare look around at the rest of the courtyard, only able to hope for the best.

“You fat bastard,” I mumbled under my breath through clenched teeth as I dragged him, “why do you have to be so heavy?”

A bullet pegged the ground a few inches away from my foot, but I didn’t dare loosen my grip.

“Konrad, come on! I have the information we need!” I heard Erhardt shout from behind me.

I turned to glance back as I hauled Maxime across the courtyard, never slowing down, seeing Hugo sprint by me. The man was little more than a dash of grey in his mad dash for the exit.

I focused on dragging the partisan out of the zone of fire, my mind slipping for a moment and nearly letting me shout out to Erhardt that Maxime was downed.

I had no idea if the enemy could hear me over all the gunshots but I wasn’t going to take any chances.

“Cover me!” I shouted instead, hoping it was audible.

Maxime’s eyes drowsily opened along with a slurred, “Hmmm?”

“We’re getting out of here,” I tried to keep a level head and tone, knowing that panic and shouting was the last thing Maxime needed at the moment despite our surroundings.

And then I heard it. The firing of an MG42.

I instinctively glanced up at the upper levels of the surrounding buildings as I moved, seeing the cacophony of smoke and debris along with all the sounds of gunfire. But the chainsaw-like noise was loud enough to be heard over everything.

The sound of bullets slamming into the ground near me got me to focus, tensing my jaw. I was nearly there; just two or three meters. It was so close.

And then I felt Maxime jerk in my arms.

I glanced down at him, fearing a convulsion. It was so much worse.

Several red stains were lining his outfit, starting from his left thigh and up to his chest. He’d been hit.

I barely even had a second to fully process it before I felt a red hot dagger of pain strike through my right arm like a thunderbolt. I ignored the pain, biting my tongue to avoid screaming. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

I soldiered on.

Another hit, this time my collar. I feared the worse, that it had been the MG42 and that I was about to get my face shredded in two by 1200 rounds per minute.

Thankfully, it seemed that the MG42 was randomly firing, as the rest of the shots went long. They either zoomed past overhead or plugged the wall behind me that separate the courtyard from the street.

I was faintly aware of screaming as I managed to drag Maxime through the gate, roughly placing him against the wall before plastering myself next to him.

It felt like I was underwater, my own heartbeat and the sound of a surrounding ocean drowning out any other noises apart from the muted gunfire.

Erhardt was yelling something. I was vaguely aware of something touching my shoulder. I saw Marc when I glanced to my side. He made a gesture down the road and began running. Erhardt followed, with Maxime slung over his shoulders.

I got the idea well enough when Annette just grabbed me by the wrist and started running, forcing me to keep pace with her.

The white noise was getting thicker, and a few dots were beginning to appear at the edges of my vision as I ran. I wasn’t really aware of where we were going, just blindly following Annette’s leadership.

At some point, I placed my hand over where a dull ache was resurfacing from where I’d been hurt, feeling something warm.

When I drew my hand back, it was covered in blood. I’d been shot. Only now did it sink in, if only partially.

I’d been shot.

I’d been shot.

I stumbled while running, the idea only now getting a reaction from my brain, even if muted.

I didn’t feel much though.

After running for some time, I went from a sensationless, half-delirious state to wide awake in half a second. Immediately, I felt my torso and arm cramping up and screaming in agony, my legs feeling hollow and weak.

Paired with my already week state, I could’ve barely walked, let alone kept pace with the group’s running for long.

I began stumbling a few times, nearly taking Annette down with me. But she managed to keep my upright with her hand on my wrist. Wait a minute. She was touching my wrist! Skin to skin contact!

Getting over my little moment of bliss followed by either shame or disgust–couldn’t tell–I tried to focus on running.

Eventually, the fumes which I’d been using in place of fuel just ran out. I tripped over my own feet. Annette tried to keep me upright like before but I just didn’t have the energy to even help myself.

With the next step, I felt my legs give out. I fell to the ground, the abrupt movement wrenching my wrist out of Annette’s grasp.

I didn’t feel the impact, though, since I passed out mid-fall.