On the Road Long Lost [Open]

[Heidi]

Country: Unknown - somewhere between Germany and France. Belgium, possibly.
Area/Setting: A snowy patch of forest, weaving its way around patches of field. It's a mix of deciduous and coniferous trees, though mostly the latter, and thus, full of excellent cover.

Current Time: Sometime between 10:00 and 15:00.
Weather Conditions: Cold and cloudy, but without precipitation. There is a slight breeze at some point.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++


A pale, bony hand emerged from behind the rock - the hand of a human rising from the grave. Or, what might be a grave, for the terrain was deserted save the few animals about, and no one to help one if they injured themselves or got sick. A harsh, ugly panting signalled some sort of illness of the lungs, and weakly, the young girl heaved herself up from the forest floor, using the rock as balance as she tried to move forward. Her legs were like ice blocks, and her teeth were chattering wildly, exhaustion evident by the deep, hollow circles under her eyes, pronounced by the starvation she had undergone.

It had been countless days and nights since her flight from Herr Otto's home. The autumn's weather had quickly slid into the patterns of winter, and for a great deal of the journey, the cold had always been chasing her. Adelheid, Heidi, Addy - whatever people had called her, the memories of those names seemingly so far away - was hopelessly lost, only wandering in a general westward direction. Through the tiredness, the chill, the hunger and the ever-growing agony in her side, she held on to the vague memory of a dream: a land, lush and hilly and green, somewhere where the sun set. It was the promise of a home, of a place she could finally go to, and not be scared; from what her dreams had showed her, it was where her Rhys-angel had lived. And if it was where he lived, then she felt she would be welcome there.

Getting there, however, was another thing. She had stolen food from passing soldiers and civilians alike, and eaten a few wild things, the latter usually ending badly; she couldn't tell what was bad for her and what wasn't. But then everything had frozen over, and she had been persevering on by sheer dint of will, and eating snow whenever her stomach felt empty. Then, she had gotten sick some time back, which made her barely-healing ribs worse, and now, it was like they weren't healing at all. She had to lie on her back whenever she stopped to rest, or she wouldn't be able to stand because of how badly it smarted.

In the back of her mind, as she continued to slowly stagger forward, stumbling almost every third step, she felt like she was about to reach the metaphorical end. She was so listless, so numb-feeling, it was a surprise she was still standing at all. Her eyes were glassy, with a zombie-like stare, and Adelheid couldn't remember the last time she had spoken anything. Her body was painfully thin, gnawing on its own muscle mass in order to survive, and her cheekbones were sunken and hollow. Frostbite scars marred her face and fingers, and she couldn't feel her toes and heels anymore.

A cold wind blew, whistling and lonely, the only sound in the otherwise dead landscape save some birdsong. It was fitting for a grave, should Adelheid collapse; it was remote and frozen, with only the birds to sing that final requiem, the girl dying chasing a dream, meeting a premature end as did the father she never knew.

[Nicholas Ealing]

Nicholas marched down the lonely road, revolver cocked, body alert. At his side were Sergeants Gilbert and Watson, two men who seemed to be of the exact same mould. Battle-hardened, gruff and built like gorillas. Strength of an ox, endurance of an ox, brains of an ox. But then they weren't paid to think, only to fight.

It had been a less than productive day. Nicholas' young friend, one Second Lieutenant Dalton had been set on showing off the new plane he had requisitioned ever since it had arrived in the hangar. Dragging Nicholas, Lieutenant Lawrence Peale and a host of enlisted men behind him, Dalton had unveiled the great beast with a barely-concealed excitement.

It came as no surprise to Nicholas that the plane looked about as aerodynamic as a hedgehog. This battered, rusty aircraft looked as if it was falling, plumetting to destruction, even when it was on the ground. Dalton viewed it as his pride and joy and had optimistically named it Ulysses, after the famous Civil War general.

Dalton had suggested they take it for a test ride and, careful to avoid hurting the young man's feelings, Nicholas and six other men had clambered aboard the contraption. It had been high time for them to perform a quick sweep of the area around base and going by plane was more, well, exciting than going by truck. It was also infinitely more dangerous. Nevermind the Luftwaffe, the Ulysses looked like it was more than capable of killing them all. Nicholas had never felt less goodwill towards the laws of gravity in his life.

Unsurprisingly, they had only been in the air for seven minutes (Nicholas had been counting, highly aware that they could be the last seven minutes of his life) when the signal had come from the cockpit that the craft had somehow malfunctioned. The pilot had been forced to make an emergency landing, leaving the eight men in the middle of nowhere.

Leaving Dalton and the others to guard the plane and to radio for help, Nicholas and the Sergeants had set off around the bleak woodlands to assert whether or not they were in friendly territory. So far, they had come across nothing to suggest anything. It didn't look like there was human life for miles around. Aside from the Sergeants, Nicholas' only company was the repetetive crunch of his boots on the snowy forest floor and the strangely hypnotic swaying of the trees' branches.

And then they heard it. Footsteps.

They were light, incredibly, impossibly light. Nicholas tightened the grip on his revolver, a puzzled expression plain on his face. German troops didn't tend to march around barefoot, did they? More likely a civilian. But, then, civilians could be understandably hostile to strangers. Particularly strangers with big guns.

Nicholas gestured for the sergeants to turn left in search of the source of the footsteps, while he continued along the path. The further down he got, another sound became clear. The sound of breathing. Horribly strangled, disjointed breathing.

The Lieutenant began to move at an alarmed jog, forgetting his own safety as a blurry figure appeared on the horizon. A little girl. She lay there, still in the snow, her skeletal body wrapped in winter's cold embrace. Nicholas kneeled down at her side, hoping, begging, that she was alive. He cradled her frail body in his arms and tilted her head to face him. "Hello? Please...can you hear me?"

[Heidi]

The last few moments were nothing special. Quick and non-descript, it had been over, just like that; she had been walking, then it got harder to breathe, and her legs suddenly felt like they were gone. She had fallen forward, seeing a brief flash of snow's whiteness, before her face rushed to meet its cold softness. Her ribs had sent a sharp stab of pain up her side, which seemed to drag on for some time, her body feeling pinpricks before she could feel nothing. She fell asleep....

"Aa-aah!"

Adelheid stiffened, her voice scratchy and quieted from disuse, as something pressed against her injured side. Taking a pained gulp of air, she was startled back into partial awareness, seemingly-black eyes having trouble staying open. Lifeless, frayed hair blocked part of her vision, and all she could make out was a vague shadow, who was speaking in...Not-Nazi. And it sounded like a man too, which caused Adelheid's heart to weakly flutter out of instinct.

A soldier. He had to be a soldier. And Not-Nazi soldiers weren't nice, not at all - they were just as mean as the Nazis. Raising her unhurt side's arm weakly, her hand flapped in the same manner, the girl attempting to press it against the soldier and push him away. Despite being an almost dead block of ice, Adelheid wanted to fight back, to make the bad Not-Nazi go away so she could be left in peace. Ever since the Nazis had gone and got rid of Heiliges Peter's-Hafen, and the Not-Nazis had tried to take her away, and Doctor Strumfelder had kept her at his house, she wanted nothing more to do with the war, or anyone fighting in it.

With a something between a sob and a shaky exhale, she murmured something intelligible, but still sounding vaguely German. It would probably make the Not-Nazi angry, but Adelheid felt she could do nothing. The small burst of adrenaline had given her a moment to flail an arm, and then, she was limp - but still breathing - in the Not-Nazis arms. Once more, the dizzying tiredness she had experienced before collapsing began to fog her mind, pulling her back into that strange sleep she had been in. Her eyes began to close.

Far off in the distance, a raven crowed, the sound drawing out over the bleak landscape. Black wings flashed against the greyness of the sky, but only for an instant, and then it was gone to whoever had seen it. At the familiar sound, Adelheid opened her eyes just a sliver.

[Nicholas Ealing]

Suddenly, the girl flailed at Nicholas in an act not dissimilar from a fly trying to ward off a lion. Her haggard face brought a lump to Nicholas' throat, her sunken eyes a wrenching pain in his stomach. What on earth could have happened to her to put her in such a state? Or...who on earth?

She sobbed something, a pathetic cry that hurt the Lieutenant like a bullet wound. It was German, it had to be. Nicholas gritted his teeth, wishing he was as fluent in the language as his men. He could speak perfect French and Spanish, passable Russian and even some catch-all phrases in Welsh, but he had never mastered the Germanic tongue. Why couldn't we be fighting the French? he thought bitterly, his subconscious as inappropriate as always "Deutche?" he said frantically. "Sprechen...Deutche, ja?"

He removed his large great-coat, ignoring the biting cold, and wrapped it around the girl's frail form, hoping to God that he wasn't too late. He fished out an unopened bar of chocolate, a ration he always carried with him in case he got lost in hostile territory, and unwrapped the silver foil. He snapped of a square and handed it over to the girl. He was breathing heavily, a privilege the girl was inches away from losing forever. "Chocolate. Umm. Schokolade! Shocolade...gutt."

He was fighting a losing battle. Most of his German amounted to yelling at the enemy to surrender or to drop their weapons or to stop firing. Unless the little girl had a machinegun on her person, none of these phrases would be particularly useful. With that thought in mind, he remembered his revolver. He threw it into the snow in a bid to keep her at ease.

He smiled as encouragingly as he could and pointed to himself with a single numb finger. "Nicholas. Ich habe Nicholas. Ich...freund." He wrapped the great coat tigher around her. All worries about being in hostile territory, all anger towards Lieutenant Dalton, all concerns about the mission evaporated. Worry for the girl took over his system, forcing all other emotions to leave his body in disgrace, muttering angrily about "redundancy packages" and "bad management".

The girl was what mattered. If there was one thing Nicholas was adamant about, it was this. He couldn't watch a little girl die.

[Heidi]

"Deutche? Sprechen.... Deutche, ja?"

It was almost comforting to hear her own language spoken again, even if the way it was said sounded terrible. The warmth that sounded wrapped itself tightly around Adelheid, like some sort of large blanket, was most definitely a source of comfort. As soon as it sunk in, slowly easing its way through the cracks in the invisible layer of cold around her, her face sunk a centimetre. She was weakly snuggling in, a perfectly normal reaction to the sudden source of heat, and she lay very still, just enjoying the feeling. It had been a long time since Adelheid had found herself surrounded by something so warm and fuzzy.

The quiet sound of something hard snapping got her attention. Her eyes had closed again, but then they opened, and she saw - albeit with blurred sight - something square in the soldier's hands. She was unsure of what it was, until the man frantically said that it was chocolate, and it was good. Her eyes widened a little more, and slightly more enthusiastically than what one would expect of a near-unconscious child.

Chocolate. Sweet, delicious chocolate. Her favourite treat of all time, more than strudel, or those good sandwiches she had a while ago...nothing compared to how badly Adelheid had a taste for chocolate. She tried to wriggle one arm out, grunting, wincing with a small yelp as the effort brought forth more ache from her injured ribs. With a cough that gave her a mouthful of phlegm, she slowly lifted her head, opening her mouth slightly, eyes weakly fixed on the piece of chocolate. The thrown revolver was not seen by the girl, thankfully; she was too busy focusing on the sweet treat before her, while her stomach gave a long, loud growl.

As all this was happening, the raven reappeared, circling the scene with its beady eyes on the pair below. It glided on the winter winds, giving a quick flap here and there to help orient itself, before curving into a dive towards the forest below. With little effort, it would open its wings as a buffer, tiny grey feet stretching out for the oncoming pine branch. Perching with almost little to no motion of the branch, save for a bit of disturbed snow, the black bird would hop forward a few steps, before finally settling near the end of the branch, where a cluster of needle-covered twigs sprouted out.

"Craw!" the raven would go, leaning forward slightly, as if to examine the pair of humans further. At the sight of it, one would probably assume it was waiting for the girl to pass, so it and others could tear into her flesh and bone, making a meal out of what was just another creature for them to clean up after.

"Nicholas. Ich habe Nicholas. Ich...freund," said the soldier. Adelheid gave a weak nod, simply to just let the man know she had heard him. Her mind was too foggy to focus in on the details, and with how long she had gone without food, she really, really, really wanted that piece of chocolate.

[Nicholas Ealing]

The girl reached out for the chocolate hungrily, presumably the only food she had had for days. She let out a gasp of pain as she did so, every tiny movement she made obviously causing her a great deal of agony. Nicholas ran a hand through his tangled hair, unsure of what to do. The girl was obviously hurt. Every muscle must ache. Exhaustion, cold and what seemed to be physical scars and lacerations would be tearing away her resistance until the Lieuetnant would be left cradling nothing but the empty shell of a young girl.

The cold had intensified and seemed to be attacking the huddling pair from all sides. The harsh wind lashed at Nicholas' bare skin, biting into his flesh, even making his eyes water. He wasn't sure how much more the little girl could take. She seemed to be looking, blurry-eyed, at something only she could see.

Nicholas had never felt such pity in his life and he had known plenty of people to feel sorry for. He snapped the square of chocolate into a tiny rectangle, aware that anything more strenuous than biting down could cause her an almighty dose of pain, and placed in gingerly in her pathetically tiny hand. He smiled encouragingly. He was faintly aware that he had to save this tiny little thing, but the how part seemed to be something of an obstacle. If it grew any colder, he wasn't even sure he'd be able to save himself...

It was a make or break moment. If they stayed here, she would almost certainly succumb to the elements. If they left, if he carried her back to where the plane had landed, he could get her to safety, to warmth. But how much pain would he be putting her in if he hauled her over his back?

He gritted his teeth. He wasn't going to let her die.

Nicholas lifted the girl, greatcoat and all into his arms, shocked and somewhat disgusted at how light she was. He stumbled forwards, boots crushing down on the snowy undergrowth, the breeze howling a desolate harmony as it weaved through the forboding trees. "You're going to be OK," he murmured, knowing full well that she couldn't understand him. It was as much for his benefit as it was for hers.

As he moved forwards through the hazy woodlands, he was suddenly aware of two large figures coming into view. It was the Sergeants, alarm etched into their weather-beaten faces. "Sir-?" began Gilbert.

"Get back to the camp," said Nicholas, his body shivering slightly. While his mind knew that giving the girl the coat had been the right thing to do, his body was flinching against the cold and was selfishly regretting the noble act. "Tell them to get any supplies from the plane and any...any blankets or anything. I'll be right behind you."

The sergeants hadn't got where they were now by asking questions and so jogged off across the plain towards the base, about a third of a click from where Nicholas had found the girl. The Lieutenant could make that distance five or six minutes easy. But how much time did the girl even have left?

He held her tight, clenched his jaw and continued down the path.

[Heidi]

As best as Adelheid could, she wrapped her fingers around the tiny piece of chocolate, taking in the feel of it as it rested in her palm. She gave a tiny, almost invisible smile, before she managed to shakily raise her hand, and just slide the treat behind her lower front teeth. That was all she could do, as her hand fell limply to her side again, her shoulder and elbow and fingers hurting, feeling like the joints were grinding against each other.

The taste was wondrous. A heavenly feeling rolled onto her tongue and to the sides of her mouth, the girl letting the chocolate melt on her tongue. It had perched itself directly on her sweet taste buds, allowing her the full taste of the chocolate's sweetness. Sure, it was a little cold, and with a bit of a bland aftertaste, which meant it had been wrapped for a while...but it was good. Oh, so good. That invisible smile grew into a soft, weak grin, and she couldn't help but murmur quietly, "Mhmmmmmmm...."

She felt herself being lifted, and suddenly, her injured side was hurting again. She gave a scratchy yelp, low in its volume - probably to the thankfulness of Herr...Nicholas, was it? Her teeth weakly gritted together as she felt the injury throb. In an attempt to get her mind off of the pain, she quickly reverted to focusing on the chocolate, which was taking its time in disappearing. Only the strongest sensations of need could make her move her body now, and if she was so desperate to have food after such a long time, it probably wasn't a surprise she could respond to its presence. Unfulfilled need could give any human the greatest of strengths, whether it be through emotional urges, physical strength, or a boost of mental prowess to finally fulfil that need.

Adelheid wasn't particularly paying attention as the soldier talked - she couldn't understand Not-Nazi, only what sounded vaguely German. And neither of them seemed to pay attention to the raven, who was flapping from branch to branch as Nicholas walked. It was following the pair like a dog, almost soundless as it went along, save for the faint whish of powder falling from where it had perched. Why the bird was so diligently following the man and child, one could not say; perhaps it was starving, albeit in better shape than Adelheid was, and was determined to get a free meal. If spotted, the raven would probably be less than a source of comfort, seeing as how it was portrayed as a bird of death, and all.

[Nicholas Ealing]

The girl seemed to be stirring slightly. Nicholas guessed the tiny sliver of chocolate had managed to strengthen her resolve. Her system seemed pathetically grateful for such poor nourishment. He stumbled forwards in the snow, gritting his teeth defiantly against the cold, forcing himself to pick up the pace. It was an odd sight. A grown man; battle-hardened, scarred, carrying this impossibly tiny creauture in his arms.

At last, they came across the makeshift camp. The others surged out to Nicholas, a cacophony of bleating questions filling the sky. Nicholas ignored them and kept moving, realising with a sudden surprise that he had left his pistol in the snow. He moved to where the plane had so ignobly landed and carried her inside the craft, laying her down gently on one of the seats.

The plane was hardly a safe haven. It was still cold inside the aircraft and the smell Nicholas would always associate with vomit lingered faintly in the air, but it was better than the bleak hell-hole outside. The men had gathered outside the plane, looking as confused as ever.

"Found her in the woods," said Nicholas, never looking up from the small girl. "Half-dead, poor thing. We're going to look after her."

The men exchanged bewildered glances. They were the pride of the U.S Army, the demons of the 3ID, the rock of the Marne - they just didn't do babysitting duty. Nicholas nodded at Lieutenant Dalton who stood meekly by the large radio. "When is help arriving?"

Dalton cleared his throat, glad that, for the first time since their trip had taken something of a detour, nobody was yelling at him. This was in itself a breath of fresh air. "They've sent a plane already, sir. They should be here in ten minutes, give or take."

"Right." Nicholas snapped off some more chocolate and handed a small chunk to the girl, closing her tiny fingers tight around the treat. "Dalton, get in here."

The junior officer's face turned white.

"Well, you can speak German, can't you?" said Nicholas with a barely-concealed exhasperation. "Now get in here and help me translate. The rest of you, keep the radio under surveillance. Have some rations, whatever. Just stay out of trouble." He glared at the hesitant Second Lieutenant. "Come on, man!" Dalton stumbled aboard the craft and smiled awkwardly at the pair.

Nicholas rose to his feet. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine thanks, sir."

"Bloody translate."

"Oh. Sorry, sir."

Dalton murmured a few carefully-chosen words in German, looking vaguely proud that he could do something his commander could not. "We are friends here," continued Nicholas. "We want to look after you." Nicholas paused as Dalton translated once more, sounding infinitely more capable a human being when he spoke in German. "What is your name?"

[Heidi]

Translations:[/u]

"Wie fühlen du sich?" = How are you feeling?
"Wir sind Freunde hier. Wir wollen uns um du kümmern." = We are friends here. We want to look after you.
"Wie fühlen du sich?" = What is your name?[/size]

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


They continued to be trailed by the raven, who was ever-watching, a most curious shine to its dark little eyes. The feathers above its eyes seemed to furrow, as if they were brows, and it looked concerned as it kept the pair in its gaze. But then again, all of this could be tricks of the weak light, and the scavenger was still just hungry, waiting for something to expire, so that it could fill the undeniable pang of hunger in its belly. It croaked as the others came to Nicholas, asking question after question, and as Adelheid was placed in the plane, it flew to another tree. From said tree, it hopped out to the end of the branch, croaking twice, before spreading its wings and flying towards the snow. It landed six metres from the downed aircraft.

Adelheid, meanwhile, struggled to swallow the melted chocolate in her mouth, coughing as the warm liquid went down her throat. She vaguely heard the Not-Nazis speak their Not-Nazi language, before a faint voice asked her, in a passable German accent, "Wie fühlen du sich?"

She was silent. Tired, silent, and wanting to fall asleep again, or at least have another piece of chocolate. She couldn't find it within herself to lift her hand again, despite the (presumably) square treat inside of it. Her little fingers unfurled, and she let the chocolate fall limp onto the seat, just as the faint voice said, "Wir sind Freunde hier. Wir wollen uns um du kümmern," after being told something in Not-Nazi.

The raven gave a loud croak, as if to get someone's attention. Beyond the plane, it bounced through the snow, stopping after six of its little hops. The next crowing that came was long and drawn out, almost like it was calling something. Adelheid lifted her head slightly at the sound, something within her stirring.

Adelheid... came a whisper on the wind, riding upon the calls the raven was making. Adelheid....

"Wie ist Ihr Name?" asked the voice again. Adelheid could still hear her name, being repeated over and over again, although she wasn't sure if the Not-Nazis could hear anything. Giving a little croak of her own, out of surprise at hearing her name, she lifted her head a little more. She turned it slightly, towards where she was hearing the voice coming from.

Adelheid.... Adelheid.... Adelheid....

"...Adel...heid..." she whispered, repeating what the voice said. From outside, there was a loud caw, and the raven jumped up from the snow, hopping forward half a metre.

[Nicholas Ealing]

Nicholas smiled encouragingly as the girl croaked a single word. The Lieutenant guessed it was her name, unless "adelheid" simply meant piss off in German. "Adelheid," he said, Dalton translating capably at his side. "That's a pretty name." He fished out what was left of the chocolate from the crinkly wrapper and handed it over cautiously to the sickly child.

Suddenly, a head appeared at the door. It was Private Thornton, the light-fingered soldier from Texas. He looked breathless, worried and not particularly happy. This, Nicholas noted, were never good signs. "Just got a message from Lime 1," he panted, referring to the plane that would be picking them up. "They've seen something from up there. Enemy scouts, about half a click away. At least twenty men, the co-pilot said."

"Bugger," Nicholas murmured, hoping to God that a confused Dalton didn't try to translate the expletive for the girl. "Radio back. Tell them to land immediately. We can't get caught in a firefight, not now."

"Won't be much of a fight," said Thornton grimly. "All we've got is Lieutenant Dalton's pistol. Up against twenty rifles, that'll be around as useful as a pig in a barbershop."

Nicholas ignored the Texan's questionable similie, hoping no one would find out that Dalton's pistol was currently lying in a snowdrift half a mile away. Instead, he waved Thornton away and turned back to Adelheid. "I know you want to sleep, Adelheid, but I just have one more question to ask you. Do you think you could answer one more question?"

Dalton translated tenderly. His face was white at the thought of the up and coming German attack. He had never sampled a battle before, not really and the idea that the enemy were marching ever closer with every passing second sent a shiver down his spine. Nicholas was less worried. He was used to fighting and had been on the brink of death so many times that he had rather gotten used to it. In fact, he had watched his life flash before his eyes so often, he generally tended to get bored half-way through.

Despite this, Nicholas was still fairly concerned. If the enemy arrived before the Americans could leave the godforsaken place then the soldiers would have no option other than to surrender. Nicholas had never been subjected to the horror of incarceration and rather hoped it would stay that way.

Still, Lime 1 would be piloted by Nathan Whyte or one of his crew. They were good airmen. They would arrive in time. They had to. Better late than never really didn't didn't apply in this case.

“Adelheid,” said Nicholas. “Where is your family?”

[Heidi]

The raven was not deaf, obviously. It heard the fear in Private Thorton's voice, sensing the rising panic amongst the small party with its instincts. It croaked, hopping forward in the snow more, approaching the plane with intent in its eyes. It was there on a mission, and by God, it would finish that mission. Someone ending up dead would do nothing for Lieutenant Ealing, or the young girl he was caring for, but all things considered, it just might turn out that way....

Adelheid, meanwhile, was beginning to faze back into sleep. The hunger in her belly seemed more distant than it should have, and the soreness in her side had faded slightly, allowing her to relax. She was mostly naïve to the danger at hand - she vaguely heard the concerned voices of the Not-Nazi soldiers, and wondered for a moment what was wrong. Her dark eyes gently shut, and she breathed out slowly, feeling her body loosen up as she began to drift away into a comforting darkness.

"Adelheid," came the voice from before - the one that had spoken German in a terrible accent. There were a bunch of Not-Nazi words, and then, someone spoke in German again, asking something about where Adelheid's family was. The voices were enough to catch her attention, despite wanting to fall asleep, and she slowly opened her eyes again. Not a word was spoken by the girl for a moment, for she was trying to think, recall anything she could that would answer the man's question.

"Caw! Caw craw!" crowed the raven, spreading its wings. With a powerful flap for such a little bird, it flew into the air, white powder flying up from where it had stood. As if her thoughts were mirroring the raven's quick, jerky movements, the sudden burst of energy from the bird seemed to go hand-in-hand with the burst of thought from her tired brain.

"Rhys..." she mumbled quietly, before her head tilted slightly towards Lieutenants Ealing and Dalton. As she did, there was a small thud, and if someone looked at the front of the plane, they might just see a raven perched upon the top of the nose. If they didn't, they would certainly hear it; as soon as it landed, it crowed, made a couple of hops towards the front window....

...And bent over, beginning to peck madly at the nose of the plane, as if trying to get at something inside. Naturally, this would cause a rapping noise, which might be picked by the ears of one of the soldiers.

[Nicholas Ealing]

“Rhys…”

With that one strangled murmur, the girl fell forwards towards the two officers. Dalton, with a quick thinking he had never in his life been associated with, managed to catch her frail form as she tilted forwards. He supported her gently back towards the seat, the expression on his face somewhere between fear and gormlessness.

“What was it?” asked Nicholas, after checking to see if the girl was all right. “What did she say?"

“Rhys.”

“Yes, but what does it mean?”

“I don’t know, sir. Sure as heck wasn’t German. Sounded more like a name or...or a place to me.”

Nicholas leaned back in his seat, furrowing his eyebrows in puzzlement. How many Germans were called Rhys? It would be like an Irishman labouring under the name “Yelnitzch” or something. It didn’t seem to fit. Dalton cleared his throat. “We should get her back to her family, sir. They’ll be worried.”

“And how exactly do you suggest we do that?” said Nicholas, rising hotly to his feet. His tolerance of the young officer had nearly reached breaking point. “We are stuck in the middle of nowhere with a broken down plane, an advancing German platoon and an air force who can’t even be punctual in saving our lives!”

He was breathing heavily, well aware that a full-blown temper tantrum would hardly help in making the little girl comfortable in her surroundings. But he was angry. The enemy would be getting any closer and there was no sign of a rescue party. Not like this, he thought to himself, pleading to thin air that any second now, a U.S plane would appear behind the veil of snow. Please. Not like this.

He turned back to Dalton, who was staring glumly at his boots. The junior officer knew it was all his fault. He had been the one who had requisitioned the plane. He had been the one who had suggested the trip in the first place.. He was the one who may just have doomed every man in that detatchement.

And he knew it.

Nicholas sighed and smiled faintly at his young friend. “I’m sorry for shouting, Richard. I-“

Rap rap rap rap.

“What was that?” said Dalton fearfully.

“Well, the enemy don’t tend to knock,” grinned Nicholas.

Rap rap rap rap.

Nicholas glanced towards the window, expecting to find Private Thornton meekly trying to gain his attention and instead found himself face to face with an altogether less sapien creature. A tarmacadam raven perched on the plane’s rusted body, ruffling its feathers as though bored with the whole thing. Then, its head snapped to the right and his eyes seemed to pierce through the pane of glass. The raven looked at Nicholas. Nicholas looked at the raven. The bird’s eyes seemed to bore into him…

The Lieutenant blinked once. The bird was still there, looking about as pensieve as a creature with no concept of pensievity can look. That is, surprisingly pensieve. It was perhaps the first bird Nicholas had ever seen that mde him feel uneasy. The way it looked at him felt almost human. The Lieutenant had half a mind to introduce himself and hold out a hand.

Nicholas tore his eyes away from the creature. He was aware that ravens were generally considered to be bad omens as birds go. But, then, he wasn't sure what exactly constituted a "good luck bird". Parakeets, maybe? Or budgies? Penguins, certainly, but if one of those turned up in Belgium, then Nicholas' entire grasp on reality would melt away and he's be left spending his days nihlistically staring into corners.

Suddenly, Private Thornton jogged up to the blame, blowing a jet of steam from his mouth with every frantic breath. Nicholas guessed that he had been unceremoniously elected as the squad’s messenger boy, presumably against his will. He had the air of someone who was being forced to do a fairly unpleasant job but was making the most of it, whilst also enjoying the odd sense of weird power. “Sir…”

“What is it? What news?”

“Well…which news would you like first?, sir?”

“The…good news?”

“I ain’t got no good news, Lieutenant.”

“Right. Excellent.”

“Well, sir, Lime-1 says that the enemy’s getting closer and closer and that they’ll be here in a matter of minutes.”

“Fantastic. What else?

Thornton blinked. “Nothing, sir.”

“Nothing?”

“That’s the other bit of bad news, sir. We’ve lost contact with the plane." Thornton swallowed timidly before continuing, his voice sounding slightly shaky. "Before it went to static...we heard a yell, sir.”

Nicholas closed his heavy eyes and swore under his breath, a heavy heart languishing in his ribcage. Whatever had happened to the plane, it looked horrifically like they were on their own.

“Thornton," he said, looking the private squarely in the eye. "Tell the men to surrender their weapons when the enemy comes. I don’t want any needless deaths, anyone trying to be a hero. D’you understand me?”

The Texan looked as if he wanted to say something but, instead, gave a quick salute and headed back off to where the rest of the men were tinkering worriedly with the radio equipment. When he had gone, Nicholas placed a hand on Dalton’s shoulder. “Stay here. Look after the girl. Stay quiet. If the enemy attack and if we’re lucky, maybe they’ll take us and pass the plane by. But don’t let them hurt her, OK?”

Dalton nodded miserably. Nicholas grinned, braced himself for the cold and stepped outside, ready to face the enemy. The enemy, who presumably, had rather big guns...

[Otto Wolff]

Wolves stalked the forest. Their breathing was visible in the cold winter air, their eyes sharp for their prey and their steps confident and purposeful on the snowy forest floor. This particular pack of wolves did not consist of actual animals, but of uniformed men, human predators. The small group of camouflage-wearing German soldiers had spotted fresh tracks on the snow and they had stopped to study them. The leader of the small Waffen-SS group was a young Sturmscharführer with stunningly blue eyes and sharp, hawk-like features. His gloved hand was resting casually on a MP-40 and the man tilted his head as he observed the tracks. Men in military boots had been trudging around here and it was easy to see where they had been headed to - the tracks were fresh and easily visible in the snow. Sturmscharführer Weisfeld craned his neck and glanced behind him as he heard the low sound of an engine rumbling nearby, a half-track making it's way towards them on the small forest road. He could hear men discussing with each other in low voices and the lanky man turned slowly around, making his way to the half-track and the rest of his men.

Weisfeld held his hand up and the driver killed the engine of the half-track as the Sturmscharführer walked towards it, the men near the vehicle hushing up as they saw the expression on their leader's face. "Gefunden einige Spuren, kann nichts anderes außer der Gruppe sein, nach der wir gesucht haben. Adelberg, Zeiss, Thuringer und Waller, aufenthalt hier bei der Halbkettenfahrzeug, ist der Wald vorn zu dick, um in irgendwelchen Fahrzeugen zu bringen. Halten Sie das Radio bereit, wir könnten einige Gefangene haben, um ganz bald hereinzubringen. Der Rest von Ihnen kommt mit mir. Wollen wir sich schnell jetzt bewegen!" the man snapped and the soldiers acknowledged the orders quickly, soon following the Sturmscharführer back to the trail of their prey. They moved as carefully and efficiently as possible, the muscles and minds of each man in a constant state of alertness - they were not alone in the forest and for all they knew, attack could come at any moment.

In the unexplainable way human instincts sometimes work, the Sturmscharführer could feel that they were closing in on something before he was actually able to see anything. He signaled for his group of fifteen men to halt and for a moment the Germans stood silently in the forest. Even through the thick cover of trees it was easy to catch glimpses of a battered, rusty airplane lying on a forest clearing. Weisfeld could only raise his thin eyebrows as he wondered how and why the Allied forces had managed to bring the sorry excuse for an aircraft here. In a silent language of hand-signals the men were soon divided into smaller groups, the forces of Waffen-SS fanning out in to a line at the edge of the clearing.

The sharp, ice-cold eyes of the Sturmscharführer scanned the area from the safety of the trees. He could spot a few men, Allied soldiers, around something that most likely was a radio. It all seemed almost far too easy and strange, but the opportunity was tempting. He could see the men near him crouching in quiet anticipation, their weapons fixed towards the small group of enemy soldiers. Taking a deep breath, Weisfeld raised his voice to address the Allied men. "Soldiers! This is Sturmscharführer Weisfeld! My men outnumber you and all of them are currently aiming their weapons at you! Lay down your weapons and keep your hands up! I will not repeat this!" the sudden, heavily accented words of Weisfeld echoed in the cold air and the Sturmscharführer found his finger twitching on the trigger of his MP40, anticipating a conflict.

It appeared that the Allied soldiers had been expecting them, for they slowly followed the Sturmscharführer's orders. The German NCO exhaled slowly and with one gesture, ordered the men to move out slowly to face the surrendering enemies. Several camouflaged German soldiers emerged from the forest, each weapon still cautiously fixed on their target. Sturmscharführer Weisfeld was the last one to move towards the Allied soldiers and his eyes immediately fell upon the one man who was obviously in charge of this curious lot.

"Bewegen Sie die Gefangenen zu einem Punkt neben dem Flugzeug!" Weisfeld barked sharply, his gaze still fixed on the American officer as the Germans harshly forced the Allied soldiers into a line next to the fallen aircraft. "You are now prisoners of the Waffen-SS, Leutnant. Tell your men to stand down, I will not have any... "funny business" here," Weisfeld had always considered his own skills in English more than satisfactory, but to a native speaker his heavily accented English sounded very clumsy and even somewhat comical. Well... it might have been comical if it had not been for the fourteen German soldiers currently pointing their Sturmgewehrs at the Allied soldiers. "Kreusler, Weckman. Überprüfen Sie das Flugzeug. Und sorgfältig sein," the German NCO nodded at two of his men, who promptly acknowledged the order of their superior.

"I'm surprised you got this far in that... thing, Leutnant," Weisfeld sneered, not really bothering to hide the snide tone of his voice. There was an air of arrogance to the way the Sturmscharführer handed out his orders - he was quite pleased to be the one capturing the group of Allied soldiers. He had lowered his own MP40 down, the intoxicating feeling of power lending him a great measure of fresh courage and confidence.

Kreusler and Weckman had now carefully moved to the plane, clearly not quite certain if they should expect an attack the moment they poked their heads inside the plane. They hesitated at the doorway for a moment, glaring at each other in a quiet game of dare. Finally the other man grunted, inhaling deeply before he raised his voice. "Hände hoch!" Not really bothering to wait for a possible answer, the soldiers moved quickly inside the plane, keeping their weapons at the ready. Both of them appeared quite surprised as they spotted one single soldier, standing next to a curious bundle of canvas on one of the seats.

"Gehen Sie Hände hoch! Zurück!" the young German corporal commanded, his voice sounding strangely metallic inside the confined space of the plane, his weapon menacingly pointed at the enemy soldier. As the other German scanned the inside of the aircraft for any unpleasant surprises, the corporal moved towards the mysterious bundle of something, or someone, hidden under the thick soldier's overcoat. Keeping his STG44 fixed on the curious figure, the German corporal moved his hand towards it slowly, as if expecting something to jump up and bite him. Very quickly and nimbly, the man flicked the edge of the overcoat to the side and his eyes widened for a moment. "Es ist ein kleines Mädchen, he exclaimed loudly enough for the German private to hear him. "Ludwig, erwähnte der Sturmscharführer etwas über ein Mädchen nicht?" the man asked, the barrel of his rifle still pointed at the weakened, raven-haired girl.

"Ja, ich erinnere mich daran auch. Ich werde ihn informieren," the other soldier answered, soon stepping outside, giving Sturmscharführer Weisfeld a quick salute as he stopped near him and the American lieutenant. "Herr Sturmscharführer, nur ein Amerikaner innerhalb des Flugzeugs, aber ... fanden wir auch ein kleines Mädchen."

"Was? Ein Mädchen? Ist sie ungefähr zehn Jahre alt, schwarzes Haar?" Weisfeld asked all too quickly and his sudden eagerness for more information made the private blink in stunned silence. "Ja. Scheint die Beschreibung anzupassen. Herr Sturmscharführer."

Weisfeld stared at the private for a moment, a sudden feeling of exhilaration running through him. "Kommen Sie zu anderen zurück, lassen Sie sie sich die zweite Gruppe am Radio in Verbindung setzen. Sagen Sie ihnen, dass wir gefunden haben, wonach die Gestapo gesucht hat. Gehen Sie schnell!" the sharp-featured German barked the last words at the confused private, who saluted hastily again, shouldering his weapon and running off towards the forest road where the half-track and radio would be waiting. Weisfeld stared after the man for a moment, a small, satisfied smile playing on his thin lips. He did not have the slightest clue what the Gestapo might want with a mere child, but he wasn't one to ask too many questions, either. What the Gestapo wanted, the Gestapo would obviously get and Weisfeld was already considering the possibility of a promotion after such a successful mission. He had not only tracked down and captured a squad of American soldiers, but he had (with his quick and resourceful actions, naturally) found a person searched by the Secret State Police. The German NCO smirked at the Allied lieutenant, resting his hand again on top of his MP40. It had turned out to be a wonderful day, indeed.


Translations:

"Gefunden einige Spuren, kann nichts anderes außer der Gruppe sein, nach der wir gesucht haben..."
"Found some tracks, can't be anything else but the group we have been searching for. Adelberg, Zeiss, Thuringer and Waller stay here with the half-track, the forest is too thick up ahead to bring in any vehicles. Keep the radio ready, we might have some prisoners to bring in quite soon. Rest of you come with me. Let's move, quickly now!"

"Bewegen Sie die Gefangenen zu einem Punkt neben dem Flugzeug!"
"Get the prisoners to one spot, next to the plane!"

"Kreusler, Weckman. Überprüfen Sie das Flugzeug. Und sorgfältig sein."
"Kreusler, Weckman. Check the plane. And be careful."

"Hände hoch!"
"Hands up!"

"Gehen Sie Hände hoch! Zurück!"
"Hands up! Move back!"

"Es ist ein kleines Mädchen. Ludwig, erwähnte der Sturmscharführer etwas über ein Mädchen nicht?"
"It's a small girl. Ludwig, didn't the Sturmscharführer mention something about a girl?"

"Ja, ich erinnere mich daran auch. Ich werde ihn informieren."
"Yes, I remember it also. I will inform him."

"Herr Sturmscharführer, nur ein Amerikaner innerhalb des Flugzeugs, aber ... fanden wir auch ein kleines Mädchen."
"Herr Sturmscharführer, only one American inside the plane, but... we also found a small girl."

"Was? Ein Mädchen? Ist sie ungefähr zehn Jahre alt, schwarzes Haar?"
"What? A girl? Is she around ten years old, black hair?"

"Ja. Scheint die Beschreibung anzupassen. Herr Sturmscharführer."
"Yes. Seems to fit the description, Herr Sturmscharführer."

"Kommen Sie zu anderen zurück, lassen Sie sie sich die zweite Gruppe am Radio in Verbindung setzen. Sagen Sie ihnen, dass wir gefunden haben, wonach die Gestapo gesucht hat. Gehen Sie schnell!"
"Get back to the others, have them contact the second group on the radio. Tell them that we have found what the Gestapo has been searching for. Go, quickly!"

[Nicholas Ealing]

OOC: Some slight god-modding.

Nicholas trudged over to where the rest of his men were positioned. They crouched around a pathetic campfire, faces miserable, pale and severely disheartened. The fire was flickering and dying, harrassed from all sides by the wind, snow and sleet. It wouldn't last very long, that much was clear. And unless the Americans had some miracle, then it looked like neither would they. One of the soldiers snapped to attention upon seeing the officer but the others ignored him, glaring mutinously. They didn't look exactly happy. Private Thornton, the good-natured Texan shrugged apologetically.

Nicholas moved on to see one desolate private was shouting frantically into some bulky radio equipment, his voice rising in pitch as desperation grew.

"This is Falcon-411. Can anyone hear me? Hello? Hello?"

The radio operator was met with a bleak wall of static. The young soldier glanced up at the Lieutenant and sighed. "It's no use, sir. There's no getting through."

"Just keep trying, Michael."

"Yes, sir."

Nicholas rubbed his groggy eyes, suddenly amazed at how tired he was. He had been so desperate to secure the safety of first his squad, and then the young girl, that he had barely noticed that he had been battling through the elements, mile after mile for the past hour or so. He was tired and distracted and he hated himself for it. He had to be as strong as possible, for the sake of the men. He just didn't know whether or not he had it in him.

"Hey, you! Hey! I'm fuckin' talkin' to you, here!"

Nicholas span around to see corporal Luis Gomez, the squad's aggresive machine gunner marching towards him, his eyes filled with hate and anger. Nicholas's eyes widened with surprise. Hate and anger towards me.

"We're not surrendering," snarled Gomez, squaring up to the Lieutenant. Nicholas stared Gomez straight in the eye. The men, out of desperation and fear, were a hair's breadth away from a full-blown mutiny and Nicholas realised that he was in as much danger from his own men as he was from the fast-approaching enemy. But, then, he wasn't too worried. If Gomez really did try something, then Nicholas would have no qualms with using force. He only hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"We can't bloody well fight, can we? Or do you want to charge at the enemy armed with a twig and bloody snowballs?"

"I been a soldier for four years and I ain't never surrendered, not once. I ain't ever run away neither."

Or taken a class in basic grammar, Nicholas thought to himself.

"We are surrendering. That is an order, corporal. Now stand down."

"Hey, fuck you, redcoat."

"Stand down, soldier. I won't tell you again."

"If I die, I wanna die fighting!

Nicholas had had enough. He surged forwards and grabbed Gomez by the shirt collar. He lifted him into the air and drove him backwards into a bleakly lifeless tree. "Now, you listen to me, soldier. I don't want any blood to be spilt on this mission. And if anyone, anyone, gets hurt because you fancy being a hero then the krauts will be the least of your problems. I'll kill you myself. You don't need a revolver to kill a man."

The Lieutenant pulled his hands away and Gomez, looking faintly sick, fell sprawling to the floor. Nicholas glared at the young American and turned back towards the plane, deciding to check up on the girl once more before the inevitable attack began. He didn't get the chance.

"Sir! Sir! I think they're coming!"

Nicholas took a deep breath and turned back around. He felt the words before he heard them. "Soldiers! This is Sturmscharführer Weisfeld! My men outnumber you and all of them are currently aiming their weapons at you! Lay down your weapons and keep your hands up! I will not repeat this!

Fifteen men burst from the trees, each one brandishing the finely-tuned German weaponry the American soldiers had grown to hate and fear. Nicholas gave a stiff nod and the men, even the trembling Gomez, knelt down and raised their arms above their heads. Nicholas was the last to follow the German's orders, getting down onto one knee and grinning cheerfully at the attackers. He gave a cheery wave as the enemy commanders approached him."Guten morgen," he said as if his capture was the most natural thing in the world. "Cold morning, eh? Bloody freezing. But I don't need to tell you that, I'm sure. Tell me, how's the wife? Frau....Weisfeld., was it? Is she well? I do hope so. It would be simply awful if she were under the weather. Be sure to pass on my love, in any case... Do you mind...not pointing that gun at my head, please? Got a bit of a thing with guns and heads and heads and guns, if you catch my drift, which I'm sure, of course, you do, intelligent chap like you. So...enjoying life in the SS?"

When in a tight spot, Nicholas tended to babble. This was much less a defense mechanism and more of a cheerfully thought-out way to confuse anyone unlucky enough to be on the end of his achingly pleasant chatter. It was his mild way of fighting back and it tended to work like a charm.

By this point, the American soldiers had been forced to their feet at gunpoint and herded towards the plane. Nicholas rose to his feet airily and joined them, two machine guns pressing into his back. Maintaining a cheerful air would be vital for morale. If the men knew that he was scared, then their own terror would no doubt multiply a thousandfold. "Are you OK?" whispered the Lieutenant as he neared the line, glancing at Private Thornton who nodded grimly.

"So, Herr Weisfeld," said Nicholas, as they marched along. "You wouldn't mind answering a few questions, would you? Officer to officer, gentleman to gentleman. Yes? Brilliant. Right. Well. What exactly do you intend to do with us? There are rumours, you see, that you lads will have your wicked way with anything of woman born and I just wanted to put that rumour to bed, so to speak. That is, whether or not you intend to put...me to bed, you understand..."

The Lieutenant was cut off suddenly, as an MP44 span round and pressed against his forehead. "Right," said Nicholas. He was still grinning. "No further questions."

-----------------------------------------------------------

Dalton paced inside the plane, his heart thumping. He had never felt so miserable in his life. It's all my fault. It's all my fault. He desperately wanted to earn the respect of the Lieutenant, but if anything he must have gone down in the officer's estemations. He was a terrible soldier, he knew that. Maybe it was time to face that. He was only putting other people in danger. Maybe it was time to---

"Hände hoch!"

Dalton stepped back from the plane's door, his face ashen, his upper lip trembling. The girl. He had to look after the girl. He had heard enough stories about the barbarism of the krauts to know the kind of things they did to children...He moved towards the small bundle as the figures came closer, stroking the girl's forehead and murmuring desperately. "Adelheid...Adelheid..."

"Gehen Sie Hände hoch! Zurück!"

"I surrender, please, I surrender. Just don't hurt the girl, please----"

The enemy soldier before him frowned, unable to understand a word the man had said. Suddenly, Dalton made a sudden movement, an attempt to reach the ailing girl and the German acted, butting the officer square in the face. Dalton, thrown backwards, smacked against the metalwork of the plane's door. His eyes snapped shut. A puddle of blood flowed from his skull.

And as the Germans approached the oblivious girl, somewhere outside, a raven cawed...

[Otto Wolff]

The Allied lieutenant's constant babbling caused Sturmscharführer Weisfeld to sneer with disgust and irritation. He had enough skills in English, at least in his own opinion, but many of the words that were now quickly finding their way out of the lieutenant's mouth did not really register fully inside the German NCO's head. He could tell that the man was not actually an American, but that mattered little to Weisfeld - he considered most Allied soldiers undisciplined and unruly, no matter what nationality. He could see why things were this way if their officers were anything like this endlessly talking man. The lieutenant was even oddly cheerful and Weisfeld narrowed his blue eyes as he stared at the man. Why was he grinning? Was he out of his mind? And did this man always talk so profusely? Weisfeld could catch one question amidst all the other unimportant jabbering, though. The lieutenant wanted to know what would happen to them.

"You best tell your men to calm down, Leutnant. My men do not care if... an accident should happen. A misunderstanding," Weisfeld sneered at the lieutenant. "For now you best keep quiet and make sure that your men stay that way, also. There are other means of keeping you quiet if needed." The German soldiers near the prisoners were keeping their weapons constantly pointed towards the small group of American soldiers, effectively emphasizing the means which the Waffen-SS would use if the prisoners should become unruly. Weisfeld flashed a brief, cold smile at the lieutenant, turning around and walking towards the radio set being currently examined by one of the German corporals. The American lieutenant would have that arrogant smirk wiped from his face soon enough.

----

The young German Schütze stumbled nervously over a snow-covered tree branch, his ears flushing red under the camoflauged hood that had been pulled over his head to protect him from the cold. Ever so often he would glance behind him to see that the Gestapo officials were still following him. The two Gestapo men were flanked by three men of Waffen-SS, both from the second squad that had been patrolling the area quite nearby. Zeiss had radioed the second group, relaying the rather curious message concerning a fresh group of prisoners and a small girl, which for one reason or another seemed to carry some importance to the Gestapo. Schütze Weckman hoped to be rid of this most unpleasant task as soon as possible - for some reason he felt like he was being followed by some morbid harbingers of death and the feeling sent shivers running down his spine.

Kriminalkommissar Otto Wolf regarded the nervous stumbling of the SS-Schütze with little interest. His mind was already furiously occupied by the possibility of finally finding the girl and even though he knew that trudging through this terrain as a Gestapo officer was highly risky, he did not find himself worrying over his own safety. The NCO of the other group had suggested that the Gestapo officials change into camouflaged clothing, but Otto had declined the offer. He was a proud man and would have considered concealing himself only a sign of fear and weakness and besides, he had a certain image to keep up. Brenner, Otto's ever so loyal assistant and friend, had muttered under his breath that Otto was a haughty fool and that his pride would get him killed one day. Otto had merely regarded the younger man with a silent raise of his eyebrow. Of course, after that Brenner could not accept the offer for camouflaged clothing either - that would mean that he had lost this battle of bravery to the older man, so here they were now, both of them, in the middle of a frozen forest in their thick, dark-grey overcoats, sticking out like a pair of sore thumbs.

Otto had fastened a black leather belt with a shoulder strap over the grey overcoat, the Luger resting in a holster on his other hip. He had pulled a pair of black leather gloves in his hands to shelter them from the cold, but had chosen to wear his peaked officer's cap instead of something more practical. Brenner would have chosen to wear something warmer, but he was certainly not going to let the older man appear more resilient to the elements than he was, so his clothing was much similar to Otto's. Their jackboots crunched in the snow and Otto furrowed his eyebrows when the Schütze once again told them to walk "this way". The tracks left by fifteen or more men were easily visible and quite simple to follow. What did the boy think? That Otto was too old or too stupid to notice these tracks himself? He had worked in the Kriminalpolizei for good many years, for crying out loud!

The tall man promised himself that the next time this Schütze would turn around and repeat those words again, he would snap at him. Otto had no time to do that, however, for by now they had already arrived at the scene. The Waffen-SS were keeping a close eye on a group of American soldiers, a few of the men crouching around something that must have been a radio set. Otto felt his muscles tensing. He hardly felt safe, even among all of these trained and well-armed German soldiers. The Allied forces certainly hated the notorious forces of the Waffen-SS, but the Gestapo... well, that was a different matter alltogether. The stories of ruthless interrogations and atrocities put to motion by the Gestapo were not entirely foreign to the Allies and they knew that almost anything was better than ending up in the hands of the German Secret State Police. As if that wasn't enough, most of the Germans themselves hated and feared the Gestapo, for obvious reasons. Otto had learned to accept these facts by now and was determined to do his duties, hated or not. Still, he did not feel comfortable here so close to the enemy lines. It was both dangerous and foolish, but of course... This was a very special case.

The Sturmscharführer sharpened up once he saw the small group approaching the fallen aircraft. He did not like the Gestapo and considered their meddling nothing but an annoyance, but this time he knew there was something in it for him. The man approached the long-coated Gestapo officials and snapped into a salute. "Herr Kriminalkommissar. Die Person, nach der Sie suchten, ist innerhalb des Flugzeugs, ich habe jemanden sie schützend," the man claimed proudly, but Otto appeared quite unimpressed. "Ist sie lebendig?" he asked and immediately the Sturmscharführer felt baffled - it had not crossed his mind to check on the girl's condition. Otto could already read the answer from the man's ashen face and he spoke before the Sturmscharführer had time to start explaining. "Macht nichts. Schützen Sie gerade ... die Gefangenen," Otto said in a condescending manner. The Sturmscharführer's fingers curled momentarily into a fist, but he said nothing and instead only saluted again, making his way to the group of fresh POW's.

The tall, broad-shouldered Kriminalkommissar surveyed the perplexing scene for a moment, but decided to approach the prisoners first. The snow crunched under his jackboots and the man's dark, deep-set eyes locked on the man who seemed to be the highest ranking of the American soldiers. There was something to him, a strange quality which Otto would have not really qualified as nervousness, but a certain... spark. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. The ominous Kriminalkommissar stopped in front of the lieutenant, the younger Gestapo officer trailing right behind him, much like a faithful dog would. "Good day, lieutenant," the older Gestapo officer spoke in a low and slightly husky tone of voice. His English carried a strange accent, quite different from the usual German way of pronouncing English words. "I take it you are in charge of these soldiers and as such, you can be of assistance to me. Would you be so kind as to accompany me inside this plane?"

Even though the man's request was polite, his hand went almost casually to his Luger to open up the button of the holster. He did not draw the pistol, but instead motioned towards the doorway of the aircraft. Otto glanced at Brenner briefly before following the American inside the dubiously rusty aircraft. The soldier in charge of guarding the girl seemed alarmed at first, but quickly snapped into attention as he realized that the lieutenant was accompanied by two Gestapo officers.

Otto's attention was first drawn to the rather lifeless man lying on the floor and his eyebrows furrowed with distaste. The German corporal seemed to notice this change in the Gestapo officer's expression and he cleared his throat. "Er war dabei seine Waffe zucken, Herr Kriminalkommissar," the man quickly explained. It was not entirely true, but... it could have been. Otto could not see anything resembling an Allied weapon either on the floor or in the hands of the German soldier and his dark eyes narrowed slowly. The tall, serious man remained ominously quiet for a moment, but then he finally spoke. "Ich verstehe. Gehen Sie. Wir können das selbstständig behandeln," Otto's voice sounded much more harsher inside the plane and the German soldier quickly made his way past the dark-clad officers. Otto urged the lieutenant to move further inside the plane with a nod of his head and that was when he saw her.

At first it seemed like there was only a mere heap of clothes casually thrown on one of the seats, but as the American lieutenant moved aside, Otto could view the scene better. He was left staring at the bundle of canvas in utter disbelief and when he spoke, his voice was only a hoarse whisper.

"Heidi."

He had finally found her.


Translations:

"Herr Kriminalkommissar. Die Person, nach der Sie suchten, ist innerhalb des Flugzeugs, ich habe jemanden sie schützend."
"Herr Kriminalkommissar. The person you were looking for is inside the plane, I have someone guarding her."

"Ist sie lebendig?"
"Is she alive?"

"Macht nichts. Schützen Sie gerade... die Gefangenen."
"Nevermind. Just... guard the prisoners."

"Er war dabei seine Waffe zucken, Herr Kriminalkommissar."
"He was going for his weapon, Herr Kriminalkommissar."

"Ich verstehe. Gehen Sie. Wir können das selbstständig behandeln."
"I see. Leave us. We can handle this on our own."