Anything For the Wine (Lisa, Hautt)

[Blanchefleur Paget]

Country: Occupied France, year of 1942
Area/Setting: The back woods. Lots of trees and underbrush, and plenty of old farms used and unused. You're sure to find some old, broken-down buildings, such as overgrown rubble where barns once stood.
Current Time: 15:03
Weather Conditions: Bright and sunny out, with only a scattering of cirrus clouds in the sky, and very muggy as well. A good day to get in the shade and have a nice, cold drink.
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Anything to the left? To the right? No, nothing — nothing at all. All was good and clear. No Nazis with a god complex, no local youth to ask an array of stupid questions. No partisians, either — another good thing in this case, because Blanchefleur didn't feel like sharing. She'd risked enough of her own neck for them, anyways! It was about time she didn't have to be their little messenger woman to get some wine!

Head down, she stalked through the grass like a she-panther, yellow eyes slowly moving left and right. The small Frenchwoman was as alert as a soldier — the stretch of wood upon slope might have been long abandoned, but she could never be too careful. Held with one arm in the crook of her shoulder, the heavy oak barrel was the reason for her cauton German occupiers were drying France's rivers of wine, and the good stuff, the wines most fresh and sweet, were being handed over to the country's invaders. Madness, it was! The French had brewed those drinks with heart and soul — why couldn't Hitler's cronies go back to putting schnapps in their glasses?!

Stupid fools. Stupid, greedy fools. Stupid, greedy, thieving fools. To the ends of the Earth with them, those slobs, those pigs, those —

"Fichu!" [Translation: Damn!]

— Germans.

Speaking of which, what were they doing there?!

She ducked, pinning herself to the ground, still as a stick as low voices in German could be heard. Over the thundering of her heart, Blanchefleur strained her ears, trying to figure out if she had been spotted or not. From what the woman could tell, she was off the hook at the moment — all the Germans were doing were making small talk, and. . .was that a young woman with them? Probably one of the local girls trying to flirt her way out of trouble. Hopefully, the group was only passing by, and had no inkling of the conveniently-hidden, abandoned wine cellar on the other side of the hill. How else could Blanchefleur explain the origins of the large barrel under her arm?

[lisawieserman1941]

Lisa was lucky she didn't bring her rifle with her today, but just her horse, Guardian, a part Belgian and standard mix. She had found herself in a bit of a state when she was caught trying to ride through a restrictive area. The young woman knew the sign Verbotten meant forbidden, but ignored it as her mount was engaged in a gallop, and being a part draft horse, was a lot to handle, so she let him have his head and burst through the the gate made of wood as it shattered on impact, hardly an obstacle for a 1700 pound stallion. He only jumped over prone trees knocked down by explosions or natural calling.

Finding herself facing weapons and battle hardened eyes trained on her, she immediately pulled back on the reins as the horse slowed his pace to a stop, reared up, and then landed on all fours. He was pawing the ground ready to take off again, but Lisa kept him in his place. Raising her hands in surrender she shouted,

"Nicht schiessen!" Lisa pleaded in their language so as not to shoot her.

One soldier told her to dismount in French, but Lisa did not know French, so had to rely on his hand gesture. Sliding off of the beast, she offered him a warm smile with an explanation.

"I am an American. Understand English? I have lived with my Aunt and Uncle for two years. My parents back in the states made me move here. I guess I was a handful to deal with. I want no trouble. Sorry my horse broke the gate. He was given to me by my Uncle who is doing a fine business painting German officers' portraits. Is it illegal to ride horses?" Lisa asked in a humble manner.

"I am only a civilian," she added. "I happen to love the Germans, and am half German on my father's side," she stipulated, as some of the soldiers who understood English lowered their weapons half way, mesmerized by her blond locks and blue eyes reminding them of the German women back home, waiting for their lovers to reunite.

Speaking to whom she perceived as the patrol leader donning a New York accent, she had hoped he understood her and would let her spirited horse take the blame.

[Deleted]

OOC: Sory for the short post. :\

Some of the soldiers lowered their weapons, but Scharführer Friedrich Hautt did not.

Holding his Kar98k firmly, the sturdy iron sights cold, and unfeeling, pointed at the chest of the American woman. She had a strange accent, and he had trouble understanding her. After a few moments, Hautt let the barrel of his rifle drop slowly, though he kept his finger on the trigger, and the safety off. The woman spoke humbly, but he wasn't going to take any chances. The fairly small (compared to him) woman could be hiding any number of horrible devices on her person, anything at all, from a small pistol, to daggers, or even several grenades.

"Vhot are you doing hier?" he struggled, scatching his forehead and straightening his crushed cap. Of the many languages he knew, America was most likely his worst. He had a rougher time getting that right than Croatian, or Polish. "Did not you Lesen Sie das Zeichen?" he asked, giving up on English halfway through the sentence, and pointing towards the smashed gate.

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Translations:

"...Lesen Sie das Zeichen?"
"...read the sign?"

[Blanchefleur Paget]

An American? In France? What was an American doing in France? There were no Americans in France those days, only the native French — and, of course, the accursed Germans. Germans who, by the sounds of it, were interrogating the young lady with them, after her attempts to be sweet with them failed. Lover of those pigs, half-German herself. . .blah. An insult to her country, who had fought so hard in the Great War to drive the Germans and their allies back.

The German now speaking had terrible English — the idiot probably couldn't get his own jackboots on without Mother's help. At least he was focusing on the young lady, and not any short, wine-carrying old women in the surrounding bushes. Being of two in a bad situation had its advantages — Blanchefleur could probably sneak away with her goods if she was quiet enough. Could she just leave the American to sneak away on her own, though? No. . .the idiot girl, in all her youthful stupidity, would probably trip on her own words and say something worth being shot for. Of course, what if the American was a turncoat? Wouldn't that mean she could just turn on Blanchefleur and hand the small, old bat over, precious wine and all?

Why was Blanchefleur debating with herself so much? Why couldn't she just end the debate and flee? Yes, fleeing was a good idea. She had her wine, her liquid gold, her precious nectar. The American could take care of herself — she had a horse to ride upon, although one could doubt her ownership of it much longer. Blanchefleur knew the Germans took many things, from food and good wine (sadly enough) to horses and vehicles (annoyingly enough). The sweet-talking fool deserved all she got, for consorting with the Nazi swines who saw themselves as superior. Lies.

So that the foliage would not rustle, Blanchefleur slowly moved her arm off the wine barrel, re-orienting herself so that her forehead touched the wine barrel. When the Germans and their singing little birdy decided to move farther away, Blanchefleur would begin to crawl, in a slow manner. She would push the barrel before her forward, making sure not to move it too much. One little slip, and her treasure would go bouncing down the hillside, breaking open upon the rocks and bringing unnecessary attention.

[lisawieserman1941]

A shiver of nerves passed through Lisa's body as she stopped herself from staring at the soldier, then dropped her eyes slightly so as to not to expose her spirited nature.

"I saw the sign but my horse did not," she answered in a somewhat joking manner, showing him she did understand some German.

"My horse and I are out for a ride. I had no idea this area was off limits till the sign split. Please excuse my horse. He is a tiger tank on four hooves," she again jested to ease the tension in the air.

The horse pulled right as Lisa grabbed for his reins and tugged sharply. By then she had obviously lowered her passive stance as both hands were utilized to halt the animal.

If they try and take Guardian they will be in for a big surprise. He listens only to me. But they could shoot him. They will see I will die for him, and take the murderer with me, she pondered to herself.

Lisa felt the dagger sheathed by her hip, cleverly camouflaged so it slid inside the right side of her pants without a hint of bulging out. If she had to she would use it if he would abduct her mount. The vision was clear. Lisa would put the dagger to his throat and order his men to stand down, carefully skirting around his rifle. She was adept at defensive measures. She did not think they would shoot her, as her Uncle was working for the Germans in art, something most treasured.

[Deleted]

Hautt nodded in understanding at the humor, but did not smile. It was hard for him to smile much anymore. The woman made an attempt to explain why she had come, literally, gate-crashing, and made a remark about her horse beng a natural tiger tank. This time, the corners of Hautt's mouth curved upwards slightly, and he let his finger off the trigger. The others who had misgivings did the same, some slinging their rifles, others reaching for their canteens. Hautt just crouched and lay his rifle across his knees.

Hautt looked the sleek animal up and down, admiring it. Looking up at the woman, he stood up and slung his rifle. "Sie werden in der Zukunft vorsichtig sind, wollen. Diese Männer erschossen Sie fast," he said, looking back at the rowdy-looking soldiers, a few smoking, others just looking for things to shoot. For a long time, Hautt was silent.

"Sie haben ein feines Tier," he started. "Ich weiß, was Sie denken, und nein, wir werden es nicht nehmen. Wir sind einfache Infanterie, und persönlich tue ich keinen Gefallen oder stiehlt, für irgendeine jener Idioten in der Kavallerie," he finished, slowly stepping foreward and the cautiously running his hand on the forehead of the great creature. Looking once more at the woman, he tilted his head curiously.

He wanted to say something, but his brain went numb. It was a weird moment. He wanted to speak, any word at all, but it couldn't come. Turning around, he walked back a few steps and picked up an old, creaky chair that had been left on its side, and took a seat, saying nothing, his brain whirring.



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Translations:

"Sie werden in der Zukunft vorsichtig sind, wollen. Diese Männer erschossen Sie fast,"
"You'll want to be careful in the future. These men almost shot you,"

"Sie haben ein feines Tier,"
"You have a fine animal,"

"Ich weiß, was Sie denken, und nein, wir werden es nicht nehmen. Wir sind einfache Infanterie, und persönlich tue ich keinen Gefallen oder stiehlt, für irgendeine jener Idioten in der Kavallerie,"
"I know what you are thinking, and no, we will not take it. We are simple infantry, and personally, I don't do favors, or steal, for any of those idiots in the cavalry."

[Blanchefleur Paget]

Chitter-chatter? Yes, chitter-chatter, small talk — the whole lot that was as good to Blanchefleur as records were to rats. Rats that the Nazis were very much like, but unlike rats, this group of them had not yet heard the sound of Blanchefleur's breathing. The old bat was quiet, having learned to be stealthy in all she did — something learned during her days as an intelligence agent during the Great War. It had not been the first time the Miss Paget was in peril, surrounded by the foe on all sides, everything to lose should she be caught.

Feet thudding and cloth shifting hid the noise she made, inching forward slightly, pushing the barrel along as planned. Also planned, Blanchefleur froze the moment everyone else stopped moving. The ensuing, pregnant silence had the elderly woman on her highest guard — in times of complete silence, the slightest crack, the faintest whisper was magnified, everything that could go wrong just a rustle away. To the thankfulness of the wine-loving Frenchwoman, such dangerous quiet only lasted for so long, and the threat of everything going wrong lessened. Blanchefleur moved forward, again pushing the barrel — a few more inches of ground were gained.

What was happening now? It sounded as if none were doing anything — but that just meant they might be doing something important. Considering what to do? Ogling the stupid American woman, if she was of any beauty? Why didn't they just go away already — the little ditz had kissed their feet, now they could go home. Home where the schnapps were, where the women were, where Blanchefleur wasn't and where the wine wasn't. Schnapps that could satisfy them, and they could ignore the French wine, and —

Something was tickling her nose.

Oh, enfer! [Translation: Oh, hell!]

Blanchefleur's entire body went rigid. Mercilessly, the itch quickly crawled up into the depths of her nasal passages, spreading like wildfire, the urge to sneeze causing her heart to pound. Such a deadly sensation — all that she had worked for could be lost if she could not seize control of her own nose. Like a fish, she silently gulped air, and held her breath. . . .

N'éternuez pas. . .pensent à du vin n'éternuent pas. . .n'éternuent pas. . . . [Translation: Don't sneeze. . .think of the wine. . .don't sneeze. . .don't sneeze. . . .]

[lisawieserman1941]

As the soldier took a seat, Lisa sensed he was scrutinizing all he had taken in. She wondered if he would buy the story. While Guardian obeyed his Master busting the gate, she had not planned on being met by a platoon of Germans, even worse, heavily armed Waffen SS troops. Lisa had never met one, and heard stories of their trigger happy natures. It was the calm before the storm, expecting a tsunami to pull her down if he found out she worked for the Resistance. Now was the time to speak German, hopefully to get on his good side as she pulled it out of her subconscious.

"Ja gebe ich acht," she answered in his tongue in a heavy American accent for not practicing the language, then switched to English.

"Guardian is part Belgian by her mother, and a standard racer by his sire. I see you know your horses. In these trying times both power and speed are a necessary commodity," Lisa spoke of her mount as if he was a mechanized transport.

"Mag ich gehen gefalle nach Hause jetzt?" She asked the platoon leader in German again, resting her crystal blue eyes upon him in a yearning turn.

I have a feeling this guy is a clever one and is playing along with me, Lisa mulled over, as her nerves were plaguing her once again.

The scenario looked bleak. If Lisa took off on her horse, both she and probably her stallion would be taken out by a hail of hot lead, a sure sign of a partisan trying to elude the enemy. Her mind was in a loop as she searched for ways to get out of the SS snare. Escape was on her agenda as it felt like he was burrowing into her mind for the truth.


:Translations:

"Ja, ich gebe ich acht."
"Yes, I will be careful."

"Mag ich gehen gefalle nach Hause jetzt?"
"May I go home now please?"

[Deleted]

Scharführer Hautt looked her over, up and down, almost staring, but blinking and looking away just before it became uncomfortable.He nodded at what she said, his face blank. She would need to be careful, if she wished to survive the hard long war Hautt knew was ahead of them.

"Geschwindigkeit und Macht sind gut, aber ein Begleiter ist mehr weit wert als beide jener Sachen," he said, referring to it as he would a close friend rather than a transport, looking once more at the woman.

"Mag ich gehen gefalle nach Hause jetzt?" the woman asked him, and Hautt stood up, stretching. He looked at the woman's face for a while, trying to gauge the depths of those eyes. After a moment or two, Hautt stepped closer. "Sie gehen vielleicht," he said, looking around to make sure none of the others were looking. Putting his hand on her shoulder, he whispered in her ear.
"Lassen Sie uns hoffen, dass wir wieder einander nicht sehen, für unsere beiden Sake," he finished, taking a step back and releasing his hand. His bold eyes had a hint of unusual sadness.

Looking back at the men, he singled out one, a lanky kid, and motioned him to come forward. "Ich will, Sie, auf den Wein. Wenn ein einzelnes Pint vermisst ist, wird es Hölle geben zu bezahlen. Jenes verdammt erobern Offiziere zurück in Berlin die Welt für das Land nicht!" he ordered, and the kid ran off to check on the stock. Pointing to a group of four men, two of them short and slant-eyed, possibly brothers, the other two sporting matching crooked noses, he spoke again.

"Ich will Sie vier, die Umgrenzung zu umkreisen, und gibt einen Ruf, wenn Sie alles merkwürdige sehen. Sehen Sie jetzt lebhaft aus!" he said, looking back at the woman. "Zeit für Sie, zu gehen."


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Translations:

"Geschwindigkeit und Macht sind gut, aber ein Begleiter ist mehr weit wert als beide jener Sachen,"
"Speed and power are good, but a companion is worth far more than both of those things,"

"Sie gehen vielleicht."
"You may leave."

"Lassen Sie uns hoffen, dass wir wieder einander nicht sehen, für unsere beiden Sake,"
"Let us hope we do not see each other again, for both our sakes,"

"Ich will, Sie, auf den Wein. Wenn ein einzelnes Pint vermisst ist, wird es Hölle geben zu bezahlen. Jenes verdammt erobern Offiziere zurück in Berlin die Welt für das Land nicht!"
"I want you to go check on the wine. If a single pint is missing, there'll be hell to pay. Those damned officers back in Berlin aren't conquering the world for the land!"

"Ich will Sie vier, die Umgrenzung zu umkreisen, und gibt einen Ruf, wenn Sie alles merkwürdige sehen. Sehen Sie jetzt lebhaft aus!"
"I want you four to circle the perimeter, and give a shout if you see anything odd. Look lively now!"

"Zeit für Sie, zu gehen."
"Time for you to leave."

[Blanchefleur Paget]

They were circling the perimeter! She'd be full of holes, all because they didn't want to share the wine! Blanchefleur could not let that happen — she hadn't even tried the liquid nectar yet, to see if it tasted good or not!

As everyone moved, she inched forward little more. Slowly, slowly, slowly did she move. Blanchefleur could hear the footsteps all around her, and worse, her sneeze was coming back. It was torture, holding in such a bad sneeze — but it was for France. For the wine. For her sake. She had to keep that in mind, she had to keep focused, she had to —

How had they gotten so close?! Blanchefleur had been more than a good distance away! Sneaky, filthy Nazi scum, tip-toeing up on her while she was in the middle of a motivating train of thought. Well, all was well that ended well, and Blanchefleur intended for things to end well. She had to focus!

When it sounded as if whoever was circling was furthest away, she snuck forward again. When Blanchefleur could hear them coming closer, she froze. If the little old wine-lover could just get to the ledge's edge, she could roll down, along with her trusty little barrel of goodness. It would be painful, the cuts and bruises no doubt numerous, but once more, it would be for France. For the wine. For her sake.

Just a little closer. . .just a little closer. . .Blanchefleur could see it now — the delicious elixir sliding down her throat, the alcohol sending her into a sweet state of bliss. . . . The aromatic scent of the wine sending her senses on wondrous
journey. . . .

FFFFFFFLLLT!

Speaking of scents, a rather loud, eggy-smelling breaking of the wind, on the other hand, was not going to be sending anyone on a wondrous journey. It would send her on a journey that began with a shout of surprised German, a hail of angry bullets, and the old woman being dragged away by her ankles from her precious, precious wine.

[lisawieserman1941]

Lisa gave the Sergeant a mock salute preparing to leave by his orders. Stepping into the left stirrup with her left foot, she swung herself into the saddle. Squeezing the flanks of her tall mount she pressed him into a forward gallop, then with a defiant smirk, tugged on the right rein pulling him about facing the patrol leader as if she was playing cat and mouse with him. Swearing in English, finding disdain with anyone in authority, she gave the Belgian a hard kick as he reared up in the air offering a grand show of the battle horse in action. She caught the view of the old woman carrying wine as Guardian gave her a glimpse of an impending ambush. Obeying the patrol leader's command with reluctance, she then retreated into the trees that muffled the stallions pounding stride.

That old woman is in for a surprise if I don't do something. I treasure wine as well and the Germans have no right to steal from French people. The French are my allies now. Dammit what should I do? Lisa said to herself while planning to trespass back into the restrictive zone.

"Guardian stay here. I will need you," she spoke to her stallion, tying the reins around a sturdy branch.

Lisa then walked into the woods till she discovered a fence with barbed wire at its crest.

"Blasted Krauts think of everything," Lisa spoke under her breath while removing her flannel jacket.

Climbing the fence was easy, something she had successfully done in the past with her fellow resistance fighters. It was the curling barbed wire that sent out an escaped sigh. Lisa flung her jacket on the wire as she lifted her right leg over it, the wire ripping the fabric as she hung on the ten foot obstruction. She then carried her other leg over and descended down the fence, trying not to rip the jacket she pulled it loose, yet a gaping hole was left in the front, but fortunately she had another shirt to protect her skin from exposure.

"I hate barbed wire. Damn those things!" Followed muffled cusses, taking in the enemy's perimeter.

Lisa spotted a pass where there were no Germans and crept behind anything that would protect her from their sights. A barrel, she guessed was full of wine ceased her from going on when a soldier brandishing a sub-machine gun marched passed. As he left her locale, Lisa hustled over to where the old woman was last seen. Two soldiers were scoping the area as she slipped pass them. Standing against buildings, the French Resistance fighter was safely shrouded in the shadows.

Sighting on a small house, she then sprinted to the cottage where she spotted the woman. Lisa slowly walked up to her. "I don't speak French. But I am on your side. I hope you understand me. I am a partisan. I heard the Kraut leader ordering his men to find the wine. Let me help you before we are both shot!" Lisa asked the French native donning her usual New York accent, bearing a sincere trusting smile as she opened her arms, a defined gesture to relieve the French woman of her burden of bottles.

"We must work fast. There are only four of them searching. I have a dagger should we be caught. I am an expert at knife throwing. That Sergeant has it in for me should we meet again. The Waffen SS are known for shooting first and disregarding any questions," Lisa pressed on, noting understanding on the woman's face.

"Please...Let me help you. I am on your side. You heard me speak German no doubt, but I have always known it. My father is German and lives in America, neutral in this war. I have a grandmother in Essen. She does not like the Nazis or Hitler. Not all the Germans are bad. I have met one, a Wehrmacht Corporal whom I befriended a few years back. He could had turned me in for stealing his motorcyle, but did not. He is Wehrmacht, not SS. He does not care for the Nazis as well."

Lisa was hoping to reach the woman and gain her trust.

[Deleted]

OOC: I can't seem to get my posting length right.

As Hautt watched the mocking young woman ride away, making a show to rear her horse on the way, the lanky kid he sent to check on the wine returned, panting and breathless. "Ein Faß..." the man panted, pausing, pointing urgently at the barn. "Ein Faß... das Danebengehen," the kid managed. "Was?!" Hautt exclaimed, standing up quickly. The man took a moment to gather air and his wits. "Uns fehlt ein Faß, Herr Scharführer." The words were like a metal hammer slamming into his stomach. He almost threw up right there. He didn't want to believe it, but he knew the price to be paid if he ignored it.

Unslinging his rifle, Friedrich gave a startled shout, and six men came running from inside the barn, four armed with Kar98k's, and two with MP40's. He left the men searching the perimeter to keep an eye out in case they saw something, taking just the six, and the lanky kid with him. "Wir haben uns einige Diebe, Jungen!" he said quickly, and looked at the trail the horsewoman had taken."Komme mit mir!" he shouted, and ran off down the trail. After about forty feet he skewered off the path, and into the thick brush beyond. In only a few minutes of walking, they discovered the woman's horse. Hautt contemplated shooting it, but held back. Instead, he rubbed his hand on the horse's nose reassuringly, and went on with the chase.

It was now that he smelled it. It was like... rotting eggs. Or a dead animal. Indeed, Hautt expected to see a rotting carcass somewhere nearby, but he did not. Quickly following the subtle disturbed foliage and broken twigs, he and the men climbed over a barbed wire fence, which resulted in quite a few punctures, and even more scratches, but they made it over without incident. They weren't far from the barn, only about sixty or seventy paces. It was then that Hautt saw the women. The horsewoman was there, and another woman, older, more bent. And there, right with them, was his wine! Leaning against a tree, and taking caution not to make any noise, Hautt motioned around him at the trees, the six men spreading out, with the un-armed kid staying beside Hautt. The men ready, Hautt shouldered his rifle and looked down the cold, uncaring sights at the two. The younger woman seemed to be talking.

Steadying his breathing, Hautt flicked the rifle sights from one to the other, making up his mind who to shoot. Having an idea, he grinned and pulled the trigger. A loud crack sounded, and what felt like a mule kick slammed into his shoulder, and the bullet flew gracefully towards the two. It hit the barrel, making one large hole on one side, so it began slopping out. There was no exit hole, so the bullet was still inside. Even if the women managed to get away, and plug the hole, they would still have to explain why the wine had a faint hint of gunpowder and lead.

That was, if they got away. Just after Hautt fired, so did the men, sending a small hail of bullets at the two.


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Translations:

"Ein Faß..."
"A barrel..."

"Ein Faß... das Danebengehen,"
"A barrel... missing."

"Was?!"
"What?!"

"Uns fehlt ein Faß, Herr Scharführer."
"We are missing a barrel, Herr Scharführer."

"Wir haben uns einige Diebe, Jungen!"
"We have us some thieves, boys!"

"Komme mit mir!"
"Come with me!"

[Blanchefleur Paget]

Despite letting off a real stinker of a poot, Blanchefleur seemed to have passed by the guards unnoticed. It probably helped that the guards had followed her actions en suite, and thus, blamed the odour on each other. Once she was at a safe distance from those filthy, wine-stealing Germans, Blanchefleur stood up and ran — it was stupid sticking around for long. The area was to be swept, no doubt — the Nazis might have been unintelligent, but they were pretty thorough in their methods.

Speaking of unintelligent, why was the American ditz sneaking up on the old bat? No, not sneaking — blatantly jogging up to her. Pathetic girl. The Germans were suckers for the stupid — give them a pretty girl with hair of gold and eyes of blue, and they were on their knees. If the young lady was trying to startle Blanchefleur, it would not work, for the Frenchwoman pivoted on her heel upon hearing the girl. A dirty look was given to the American, one of Blanchefleur's hands upon one hip, the other holding the wine under Blanchefleur's arm.

"I don't speak French. But I am on your side. I hope you understand me. I am a partisan. I heard the Kraut leader ordering his men to find the wine. Let me help you before we are both shot!" cried the blonde, thinking she could just waltz up to the elder woman and take Blanchefleur's wine. Her precious wine would not end up in the arms of any collaborateur — that was a fact most certain! "We must work fast. There are only four of them searching. I have a dagger should we be caught. I am an expert at knife throwing. That Sergeant has it in for me should we meet again. The Waffen SS are known for shooting first and disregarding any questions."

"Euh, non. An', tu think, geerl?" said Blanchefleur. Not only had the woman picked up some German in her lifetime, but she had a limited knowledge of English from working as a trader's secretary — just enough to understand basic instruction and conversation. English that, in this case, was most needed for such an air-head as the girl was. "An' I am not ze one that zhould be worried . . . ya be terrible at ze 'ole 'partisan' mattierre. Go 'ide underre a rock, 'fore tu keel self."

"Please . . . . Let me help you. I am on your side. You heard me speak German no doubt, but I have always known it. My father is German and lives in America, neutral in this war. I have a grandmother in Essen. She does not like the Nazis or Hitler. Not all the Germans are bad. I have met one, a Wehrmacht Corporal whom I befriended a few years back. He could had turned me in for stealing his motorcycle, but did not. He is Wehrmacht, not SS. He does not care for the Nazis as well."

No bad German? A German friend for this girl? That did it — there was no force in this life that would make Blanchefleur help the woman. If she liked the Nazis so much, she could go and hand herself in, get herself carted over to Germany where she could flaunt her love for them. It was better for the sake of France's average intelligence, for the Resistance was letting girls like her in, who could say that —

BANG!

Pew!

"Fils d'une chienne!" cried Blanchefleur, tossing the leaking barrel at the American. Her wine! Her precious, precious wine — soiled by a German's bullet, and no doubt the American's fault! If she had not distracted Blanchefleur, the old bat could have made off with her beloved, godly nectar, the Lord's best gift to man! [Translation: "Son of a bitch!"]

Now, however was not the time to mourn — it was time to pull a deer's move and run like the wind. Ducking and weaving amongst the tall grasses, bullets landing, whizzing by her like flies, the Frenchwoman was not about to stick around and suffer the wrath of four firing rifles. The blonde she could care less about.

[lisawieserman1941]

Sensing hatred and bias emanating off the old woman, trying to understand a strong French accent milking out words that it was her fault they were spotted and she was a lousy partisan, Lisa abandoned the bitter aged wench as she took cover when a bullet seized the sweet nectar housed in the barrel. Lisa let the barrel collapse on the ground as the pricey liquid was lapped up by the thirsty sod.

Damn French! Those elders sure don't take a liking to American resistance fighters, especially those who remind them of Germans. She probably thinks all Germans are a rotting lot. So what if I know German and have a friend in the Wehrmacht. Mercy is shown on the battlefield by any enemy at times, regardless of the situation. Time you know the truth about this damn war. Not all Germans conform to your warped mentality. You are probably an accomplished alcoholic who lives for wine and ingests it instead of food, leaving a swollen brain limited to what cells are immune to its addictive contents. The hell with you and your holier than thou attitude! Get shot for all I care. I, however, will not be linked to the Wine Mistress! Lisa muttered under her breath, visualizing strangling her into submission for the trouble she got her into.

Leaping to the building on her left, the opposite venue the old woman had chosen as an escape route, Lisa promised herself she would never help a civilian again, wishing she was astride her giant of a horse instead of offering her help which was apparently rejected. The SS patrol would be after her as well. Lisa did not share the woman's opinion of her tactics. She had checked the guards before gaining ground by introducing herself. She forgot about the sharp senses of the Sergeant alerting his men to the area of their brief conversation, as buzzing bullets trampled over them.

"Shit! I hate this blasted country!" Lisa declared in acrimony, running for cover behind of what she had perceived as a feed shed, waiting for the enemy to show themselves.

Let's go Sergeant, just give me a reason, she breathed with adrenaline filling her veins, while unsheathing her knife, stepping into battle readiness.

Shoot the gassy wino so I can get the hell out of here, Lisa again said to herself, now totally engulfed in her a cursed temperament.

[Deleted]

OOC: It isn't much. Sorry.

As the two women ran separate directions, the older one had run into the thick French brush, apparently uninjured despite the shots thumping into the ground all around her. The younger one had disappeared, the line of sight of the riflemen decreased by the smokey haze of their rifles. Cursing, he sent two of the men after the french woman, taking the other two with himself. Running a short distance, Hautt halted and eyeballed his surroundings. There was very little to hide behind, aside from a few dying bushes, and an old feed shed.

Leaning up against a tree, he crouched, the two men with him doing the same. Putting the butt of the rifle against his shoulder, he allowed the barrel to wander, a thick silence surrounding him like a fog. He paused with the sights aimed at the feed shed, and his finger slowly tightened on the trigger... she had to be there. Where else was there to go? His finger stopped on the trigger, and slowly released.

"Verdamme ihm alles zu Hölle, sie ist nicht hier," he said, pumping his fist up in the air in frustration. "Scheiße! Verdammte pissende wertlose Ausländer! Diebisch Esel-wischt liegend, das unterläuft, Esel-küssend sich! Sie sind eine von beiden Abreibung unsere Stiefel oder spuckendes Gift bei uns wie etwas Art von benzedrine Hauchaddierglied... VERDAMME ES!" he screamed, a nice stream of spit flying from his mouth as he began shaking his fist at the sky. Raising his rifle, he fired a shot into the air, turning and kicking a scrawny bush beside him.

Looking at the two men who had followed him, he turned on the larger of the two. "Was, dick-Wagen, schaust du an? Ja, ich wettete, daß deine Mutti dich Keksen durch die Tonne machte, wenn du ist ein Kind, hä, pummelig? Das ist, wenn du je ein Kind, mein geehrter Planet, wärest. Bekam deine eigene Umlaufbahn noch, oder ist die Unterhaltung dieser nächsten Woche?" he said, snapping his finger under the guys nose. "Ach, gehe darauf, komme zurück!" he said, wide eyed and crazy-like, pushing the man in the direction of the camp. Turning around he took one last look at the feed shed, and then moved to follow the two soldiers back to camp.


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Translations:

"Verdamme ihm alles zu Hölle, sie ist nicht hier,"
"Damn it all to hell, she isn't here,"

"Scheiße! Verdammte pissende wertlose Ausländer! Diebisch Esel-wischt liegend, das unterläuft, Esel-küssend sich! Sie sind eine von beiden Abreibung unsere Stiefel oder spuckendes Gift bei uns wie etwas Art von benzedrine Hauchaddierglied... VERDAMME ES!"
"Shit! Damned pissing worthless foreigners! Ass-kissing, backstabbing, thieving, lying ass-wipes! They are either licking our boots or spitting poison at us like some kind of benzedrine puff adder... DAMN IT!"

"Was, dick-Wagen, schaust du an? Ja, ich wettete, daß deine Mutti dich Keksen durch die Tonne machte, wenn du ist ein Kind, hä, pummelig? Das ist, wenn du je ein Kind, mein geehrter Planet, wärest. Bekam deine eigene Umlaufbahn noch, oder ist die Unterhaltung dieser nächsten Woche?"
"What are you looking at, fat-car? Yeah, I bet your momma made you cookies by the ton when you were a kid, eh, tubby? That is, if you ever were a kid, my dear planet. Got your own orbit yet, or is that next week's entertainment?"

"Ach, gehe darauf, komme zurück!"
"Oh, go on, get back!"