Mila awoke with a start, sitting straight up in bed. Wiping the beads of sweat from her forehead, she glanced at the clock on the wall... 12 AM. The sheets that had surrounded her moments before fell to the floor in a damp, sweaty heap as she stood to her feet. She made her way to the bathroom, flipping on the light, examining herself in the mirror for a moment. Dark circles hung below her blood shot eyes, and her face was pale from exhaustion. Turning on the faucet, she splashed cold water on her face. Wiping her face with the sleeve of her nightgown, she examined her appearance once again. Sighing, she flipped the light off, walking back into the bedroom. Picking up the sheets from the floor, she laid down once again.

The same dream which had awoken Mila countless times before, had visited her tonight. It had been the same summer day ... the same warm, July air that had hit her face four months ago... She had watched, unable to move, as her father and brother were dragged from their home. And had awoken to the sound of gunshots, just as she had each and every time before.

She would never forget that day. The day her father and brother had been murdered at the hands of the Gestapo. She and her sister had watched as their father Amos, and their brother Abel, had been dragged into the street and shot. Almost every night since that day, Mila had awoken to the sound of that very same gunshot, and after her sister had left, the nightmares had only gotten worse.

It had almost been a month since Gwen had left for England. And although her departure had been Mila's decision, not Gwen's, she longed for the company she had lost the moment her sister had stepped on the train. Especially nights like this one when she was left alone with the very thoughts and memories that tormented her.

Mila rolled over in bed, fixing her eyes on the starry night sky that shone dimly through the window. It had been four months. The green leaves that had adorned the trees four months ago had transformed into vibrant yellows and oranges, and had fallen to the ground, leaving bare branches in their absence. The warm air that had engulfed her that July night had been replaced with the bitter cold of November. Time had passed so effortlessly. It had moved on as if her world hadn't been shattered. As if she hadn't lost almost everything she held dear.

She had known something like this could happen. They all had. Almost two years before, her father had offered his services to the British Secret Intelligence Service. When he had, he had agreed to the danger that entailed.

Mila had been only 19 when word of the German invasion in Poland had reached them. Her father had known it wouldn't be long before Holland was invaded as well. He had struck a deal with the British SIS. In return for his espionage, Mila and Gwen would be awarded new identities, and would be given safe passage to London. She and her sister had taken their mother's maiden name: Vanderwall ... Their father and brother hadn't been as lucky. When the Dutch people were forced to register under the new German regime, her father and brother had registered under the name Goldstein, earning them the yellow star that all Jewish men, women, and children would soon be forced to wear.

Mila thought back to that day ....

"Gwen ... Gwen! We have to move. W-We have to go!" She grabbed a hold of her sister, tugging her away from the window they had watched the events unfold. Gwen was frozen in place, the effects of shock taking over her body. Mila pulled her sister down the stairs, trying her best to keep her composure. She couldn't breakdown. Not until she knew her sister was safe. Only then would she allow herself to collapse under the weight of all that had happened. "Gwen! GWEN! Listen to me," She clutched her sister's shoulders firmly. "We have to go! We can't stay here. Do you hear me?? We have to get to the safe house!"

Mila shook the memory away. Their father had instructed them, if anything were to happen to him, that they were to go to a safe house and await extraction. They had followed his instruction and had been picked up by SIS agents only hours later. They had been taken to the nearby city of Leiden where they had stayed for almost three months before they were given what was promised: Two tickets on a steam ship headed for London. But she hadn't been able to leave. All her father's and brother's work ... their deaths ... she couldn't let it be for nothing. So, she had agreed to stay behind and work as a spy herself. They had looked at her like she was crazy when she had made the suggestion, but had agreed nonetheless.

She had remained in Leiden until the day of her sister's departure. After she and Gwen had said their goodbyes, she had been escorted back to Den Haag by Harvey and Catherine Lingard, the SIS agents she would be working with. They had moved her into a small cottage on the outskirts of town.

She had been thankful she hadn't had to go back home. The thought of seeing the place her father and brother had been murdered made her sick to her stomach. Once settled in, the Lingards had set to work finding a job for her. Her placement had come only three days ago ... she would be working as a secretary for General Arthur Eichmann, head of the German War Office in Holland. She was scheduled to start in one week.

Mila sat up in bed. It looked like she wouldn't be sleeping tonight. She stood, walking to the door of her bedroom. Opening it, she walked down the hall to the living room, which shared the same space as the kitchen and dining room. She couldn't remember the last time she had slept through the night. Honestly, it had probably been before the war.

She walked to the sink, pulling a glass from the cupboard overhead, and filled it up. She turned, leaning against the counter as she took a few gulps of the water. She thought back to her childhood... the cottage she now lived in resembled the home she and her family had lived in when Mila was just a child. Every night, her mother had carried Mila and her sister to their room. Every night she had brought them glasses of warm milk and had read them a bedtime story. Every night ... until Mila turned twelve.

She could still see the bright red rash that had covered her mother's frail body when the typhoid fever had taken her life. Shortly after, her father had taken Mila and her siblings and had moved them into the city. Mila sat her cup down on the table, grabbing the tea kettle from the stove top. If there was anything she had learned over the past few years it was that a strong cup of tea could fix anything. Turning the faucet back on, she filled the kettle up.

A loud bang sounded at the door, causing Mila to drop the kettle down on the stove. She turned, her eyes locked on the front door. Who would be knocking on her door at this hour? And more importantly what did they want? A loud bang sounded again. Whoever it was, they wanted in. Quickly, she grabbed her bag off the dining room table and pulled out the hand gun concealed within it. Slowly, she inched towards the door. Reaching out, she slowly turned the knob, the door creaking as it opened. She glanced around, her pistol pointed determinately in front of her. There was no one there. "Hello?" She called out into the darkness.

"P-please, he-help me," A voice called back. She looked down and gasped. A man lay at her feet. He was German. A captain by the look of his uniform. Mila pointed her gun in the direction of the stranger, her finger trained on the trigger.

The man was wounded, his green uniform soaked in his own blood. She looked out into the darkness for signs of anyone else. They were alone. She took a step back. He was German ... A German soldier. She pointed her gun at the man once again. She could kill him ... she should kill him. The Germans would blame it on the Dutch Resistance. They had probably been the ones to issue him the first bullet anyway. No one would ever know the difference.

She placed her finger on the trigger. After a long pause she lowered her weapon and took a step back, running a hand through her hair. 'God, just do it ... What's wrong with you?' She thought, glancing back at the man, whose breathing had grown ragged. Letting out a frustrated sigh, she placed her gun back down on the table and knelt down beside the soldier. He was still alive, but barely. She hooked her arms underneath his, quiet groans escaping the man's lips as she struggled to drag him inside.

Mila rolled him over. "Oh God..." she whispered as she took in his condition. He had been shot through the abdomen. She ran to the medicine cabinet. No antiseptic. Damn. She turned, opening up the next cabinet, grabbing a half empty bottle of Gin. Sitting the bottle down on the table, she ran to the end table next to the sofa and pulled out a sewing kit from the drawer. She grabbed the Gin from the table and knelt next to the man. She went to work unbuttoning his coat, then his shirt. She peeled back the bloody clothes and examined the wound. Blood was still gushing from it. If it wasn't closed he would bleed out. Holding pressure over it with a towel she grabbed the bottle of Gin, unscrewing the cap with her teeth.

"This is going to sting." Lifting the towel from the wound, she poured the contents of the bottle over it. The man groaned in pain but didn't move. Mila grabbed a needle and thread from the sewing kit that lay beside her. She took a deep breath. With a shaky hand, she sewed the edges of the wound together. After several minutes of working she pulled away, examining her work. She by no means had the skilled hand of a surgeon, but her suturing had gotten the job done. The bleeding had stopped for the most part. She drew in a deep breath, letting it out as a sigh. The man was unconscious, but alive.

She stood up, and went to the medicine cabinet, returning with a hand full of gauze, some tape, and a bottle of Morphine. She went to work dressing the now sutured wound, covering it with several layers of gauze before securing it with the tape. She lifted the man's head, bringing the bottle of Morphine to his lips.

"It's not much, but it'll help," she said, though why she was talking to an unconscious person she didn't know, and poured some of the morphine into the man's mouth. She rocked back, sitting down on her bottom as she leaned against the leg of the kitchen table. She let out an exasperated sigh, running her hands through her hair as she watched the man's chest rise and fall with each shallow breath he took. Had she just made a grave mistake?

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