Konrad Feldpetzer

November 2nd, 1943

Streets of Paris, France

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Despite the situation, everything felt floaty.

I was hiding in a non-descript alley way, my torn and stained soldier tunic off and acting as a cushion against the cobbled ground and the odd shard of glass from a shattered window down the alley.

I was alone.

It had all passed by in a blur. After passing out for a few seconds, Annette had all but dragged me to my feet and forced me to run. I had been lagging behind for sure though, which would definitely be a detriment in the game of urban cat & mouse.

We’d all decided to split up. I’d been told to simply find somewhere to hide, and to head back to HQ once everything had calmed down.

Annette & Marc would carry Maxime’s body to a nearby safehouse while Erhardt made a mad dash to base; whatever info had been on that paper must’ve been goddamn important if he was taking a risk like that.

All this waiting was driving me nuts. I’d been sitting against the stone wall for what felt like hours, staring at the blue sky to calm myself down after getting jumpy whenever I heard a noise. A stack of crates hid me from view from the backstreet.

My wounds didn’t help, either. I’d ripped up one of the sleeves on my soldier coat, using the cloth as a makeshift bandage to stop the blood loss. While that did solve the most pressing matter, I still had the issue of the chunks of metal in my flesh.

With every movement, red hot splinters of pain surged through my collar and torso.

Was this rock bottom? Would I die here, following Maxime’s example? The thoughts swam in my head, rationality be damned.

I leaned my head against the wall, closing my eyes. I imagined the rolling green hills of Bavaria, the azure sky and heavenly clouds softly floating above. Home. God, I wished I was home.

My thoughts were immediately put on pause by the distant sound of a gunshot. I blinked, staying deathly silent.

Another gunshot. And I’m pretty sure it came from the direction Annette had run off in.

“What do you think those are for?” a voice spoke in German to the right of the alley

Shit. There’d been soldiers so close without me even knowing? I hadn’t even heard their jackboots against the ground. Was I really that out of it?

“Pretty sure they found the girl. At least that’s what the officer said.”

Fuck. Annette’s been found. I needed to do something.

“Well? Shouldn’t we go help?

“Don’t be stupid, Edgar. We were told to keep our post here. There’s more than one undesirable on the run.”

“I mean… yes, but still.”

I tuned out their conversation. I had to do something!

I was beginning to force myself up when I realized there was nothing to do. I’d lost my rifle on the run, and I didn’t have any backup weapons, not even a pistol.

Then I realized; the glass. Most of the shards were relatively small, but there were several that were the size of my finger, maybe even bigger.

Two German soldiers were leaning on a wall just beyond the end of the alley way. They weren’t facing my way by the looks of it, so if I took them by surprise, it’d be an easy kill.

Kill.

I’d shot Germans before and even just that got my stomach in a knot. I didn’t know if I could handle stabbing.

I glanced at the shards laden on the ground. They gleamed in the morning sun, as if begging me to use them. I cringed at the idea. But if it was for Annette, I guess I had no other choice.

I silently grabbed the two largest shards in my reach, both larger than any of my fingers. I then stared at the soldiers, trying to gather the nerve to do this. My eyes wandered about the backstreet the Germans were in, making sure there wouldn’t be any witnesses.

Thankfully, it was emptier than a field in the dead of winter.

My arm was already starting to flare up, so it was now or never. I grit my teeth to prepare for the torrent of pain sure to come. Then, I lunged.

The first kill was instantaneous. The glass shard sunk into the German’s soft neck, not even letting the poor man scream.

“Rick!” the other soldier managed to gasp, trying to unsling his rifle.

I used my momentum to shove the quickly collapsing body into the second soldier, pushing him to the ground and forcing the Kar98k from his hands.

With adrenaline flowing through my veins, I dove on top him, bringing the glass shard down into the man’s throat before he had the chance to shout again.

I closed my eyes right before it struck, not wanting to see any more. Another gunshot rang out in the distance, almost punctuating the movement. I felt the soldier go limp under me as blood gushed through my fingers, and it was enough confirmation that he was dead. Panting, I screwed my eyes shut to try to ignore the white hot pain surging through my arm.

And then I heard a gasp.

My head snapped towards the source of the noise.

A single man, with a cane and grey hair, was standing in front of his house, simply staring at me with his mouth open. My eyes grew wide, thinking he was about to scream for soldiers.

Instead, his face turned into a grimace as he gave a resolute nod. Relief flooding through my veins, a sigh escaping through my lips as I returned the nod.

I grabbed the Kar98k that’d fallen onto the ground, ignoring the searing agony in my arm as I took off at a sprint towards the source of the gunshots. I stuck to the back alleys, not being stupid enough to go by way of the main streets. I ran out breath quickly, but my adrenaline kept my going. My bleeding arm and exhausted legs wouldn’t stop me.

After a few minutes, I finally found the stand-off on a street opposite me. Three German soldiers and an officer were firing on an old blue house. From the top window, Annette was taking potshots with her MP40, peeking before she fired. A dead body lay in front of the door, front racked with bullet holes as well as the door itself. Marc was probably on the bottom floor with his Sten SMG.

None of them had seen me yet. The group of Germans were holed up behind some concrete pots in front of a restaurant, the house directly across the establishment.

I tried aiming the Kar98k, hoping to score a shot, but I simply couldn’t hold the rifle steady with my bad arm. But Annette was in trouble.

I frowned, deciding to do something very stupid.

I hurried across the street and plastered myself to the side of building and crouching behind another concrete pot, hoping to sneak up on the Germans from behind him. They were all too busy taking shots to notice me. I quietly moved between pots every chance I could, feeling like I was moving an inch every minute until I reached them. I sat behind the pot, waiting for the right moment to strike.

And then I saw it.

I fired my Kar98k point blank into the officer’s chest, the man falling dead with a gargled scream. The crack of my rifle alerted the other three to my presence, one of them in the midst of loading a bolt and one other reloading. The one who had a round chambered fired at me, but the shot missed, grazing my thigh.

I quickly loaded another bolt before running up and slamming the buttstock of my rifle into the jaw of the one who had just finished chambering a round, knocking him to the ground and probably breaking several bones.

I heard the click of another bolt closing, and I turned around, firing the rifle into the face of another soldier.

But I’d miscalculated my movements; my abrupt turn around left me open to a bayonet strike from one of the other soldiers. I only had enough time to look back as he lunged for me with the detached blade.

As if an angel sent by God to save me, a spray of bullets slammed into the man’s torso, killing him instantly. I’d recognize the noise anywhere; an MP40.

Annette.

I sighed in relief as his body collapsed to the ground, quickly wrenching the bayonet from the corpse’s hand and swiping the P08 pistol from the officer.

Marc stood at the door, peeking out.

“It’s me!” I shouted, quickly running over, “Don’t shoot!”

The man merely nodded, letting me pass through the door into the bullet-riddled hallway, with stairs to my left.

“What are you doing?” Annette’s voice came from the steps, her slightly shaky voice showing the cracks in her stoic façade, “You were supposed to stay behind.”

“Couldn’t stay, some soldiers found my position,” technically not a lie.

“Fine. We’re leaving either way,” Annette stated, coming down to the floor.

Marc raised an eyebrow, “And what of Maxime?”

“We leave his body behind,” she replied.

My eyes widened in surprise, “But-”

“Ideally, we’d have him buried with all the honor a partisan deserves. But this isn’t ideal. Our position’s been found by the Germans, and if we don’t move now, we’ll be killed. I’m sure Maxime wouldn’t want us all dying just for him,” Annette’s eyes bore an inferno as she spoke, her hands clutching her SMG.

I stayed silent for a moment, trying to process it. I hated the idea of leaving Maxime behind, even if I’d only tangentially interacted with him before, but Annette had a point. If we didn’t leave soon, we were sure to join him.

“Fine. Let’s go,” I frowned, trying it ignore how wrong it felt.

Marc piped up, “So where to now?”

“Base,” Annette replied, not a second of hesitation, “Where we’re safe.”

Without another word, Annette ran out the door. Marc merely shrugged, jogging after her. I internally groaned; more running? That’s the last thing I needed.

I soldiered on without complaint, though, trying to keep the pace. We didn’t run into any soldiers as we ran, oddly enough.

“Did Erhardt escape?” I panted, pulling up the rear.

“It’s been long enough that he should’ve!” Annette replied, “If he hasn’t, he’s either dead or captured!”

I could only grimace at the idea.

As we ran, I noticed that she wasn’t running at full speed. Neither was Marc, judging by how he seemed to be jogging instead of sprinting. They were slowing down for me. The agony was beginning to become unbearable too. Tears were starting to leak from my eyes from the sheer pain snapping at my biceps and collar. It felt like the strings of the muscles were being torn from the bone itself, violently lashing as they’re severed.

Nonetheless, I did my best to keep the pace and try to ignore our abandonment of Maxime.

We all ducked between back alleys, scrambling our way across the more open streets. I nearly tripped more than once on the cobbled streets, but managed to keep myself upright.

“Nearly there! Keep up!” Annette panted from the front as we rushed into another alley.

Thank God.

We turned a corner, coming out onto one of the smaller streets, thankfully mostly empty. Judging by Annette and Marc’s slowing down, it was close. They quietly walked across cobbled road into a tattoo parlor labelled Encreruête, me following while trying to ignore the pain.

As much as I hated the running, it was something to do that kept me distracted from the pain even if it made it worse. As I walked, I could do nothing but endure.

We all silently entered the parlor, thankfully devoid of any customers. Only a sole janitor remained.

“What’s out of fashion on the list?” Annette asked, her voice breathy from running. The man only quirked an eyebrow, pausing his sweeping.

Marc gave a quiet scoff, “That’s the old phrase. We need access to your special catalogue.”

The janitor nodded, wordlessly guiding us to a section in the back. He ushered us into the back office with wooden walls, a desk, dingy lamp, and a bookshelf in the corner, quietly saying, “Behind the bookcase.”

Marc dragged the piece of furniture to the side, revealing a semi-hidden door. It blended in with the wood paneling of the walls and might’ve been easily overlooked if you weren’t looking for it.

Annette pushed the door open, uncovering a small staircase that descended underground.

Marc glanced back at me, “You’ll want to breathe through your mouth for this one.”

And with that, he stepped in. Annette quickly followed. I stayed behind for a second in the quiet office to catch my breath, before the janitor started ushering me into the stairs, “Go. The longer you’re out here, the more danger we’re in.”

I simply nodded, going onto the steps as the janitor shoved the bookcase back into place behind me. I shut the door before I began my descent.

Marc’s advice turned out to be warranted, as what little I could smell was among one of the worst odors I had suffered through, but smelled familiar. When I stepped out of the little staircase and into a subterranean tunnel, I saw why.

We were in the sewers.

“Let’s hurry, I don’t think any one of us wants to spend more time here than we have to,” Annette hissed, her voice nasal as she pinched her nose.

We all spent maybe ten or so minutes trying to make our way through the sewers, limited by the murky water itself. The faster we went, the more filth we sloshed up with our shoes. My already dour mood was only further worsened when Maxime kept managing to crawl into my thoughts.

How we left him. Abandoned him. Effectively handed him over to the Germans, robbing him of any potential for a peaceful rest. I didn’t know him that well, but he seemed like the type to turn in the grave until his job was completed.

I forced it out of my mind, instead trying to daydream about the relative luxuries I’d get to experience in the partisan HQ.

Luxuries that Maxime would never feel again.

After what felt like an eternity, we finally entered the underground proper, where the smell wasn’t so overpowering, and from there we found our way back to base.

I was in agony and soaked up to my knees in human waste; proper bandages and a shower sounded like heaven. It was almost the only thing that kept me upright and held Maxime’s bloodied face at bay in my mind as we passed through the door to the partisan HQ.

“Jesus! You lot look like you went through fire and brimstone to get back here,” a man with an Irish accent commented as we passed on our way to the rest of the base. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

Annette simply sighed, “Yes, Patrick. We did.”

Right. He was Annette’s friend; I’d seen her chatting with him before.

The Irishman’s inquisitive gaze landed on the girl, “And what about Maxime? Didn’t he go out with you three?”

“Maxime’s dead,” Marc stated, his voice blunt. It felt like I was being shot all over again as the words left his mouth.

“…Shit,” Patrick’s face turned into a grimace.

Annette could only frown, “…yeah. Listen, is Erhardt here?”

“He hasn’t returned.”

Fuck.