Hi all! I just wanted to say welcome to my story and thank for clicking on it. I gave this sory a lot of thought so I hope you like it.
This story does contain strong language!
I would also like to take a moment to thank my AMAZING beta: WhenUniversesCollide. She/he has been a huge help. Don't forget to review at the end. Don't be shy, tell me what you think. Okay. On with the show. Enjoy.
Boisterous laughter filled the bar. He joined his fellow comrades in song and dance, his inebriated voice bellowing out the age old tunes. The beer was flowing heavily as they celebrated their victory in the local French bar, it wasn't good beer but hell it sure did the job. He was grabbed around the shoulders by a drunken Mitch who shouted joyously, "We shall bring England to its knees next!" The men raised their glasses in agreement, drunken cries of laughter ringing euphorically at the statement.
Brick called out to the bar man. "Another round for my men here!"
The cheers echoed around the room. He gripped the cedar of the bar tightly and the handle of his glass even tighter. They had officially taken France, and they were now advancing into the rest of Europe. Soon they would have the whole continent, spreading their ideology across the world. He turned his back on the bar to see a poster of the opposite wall illuminated by the lights beside it. He walked towards it transfixed, looking upon his proud dark-haired president, Adolf Hitler. His chest swelled with pride.
"We did it." he whispered, as if talking to the hero himself.
"You look like you're just about to kiss it." Brick looked to the left to see Boomer the chief medic leaning against the wall with a smirk plastered on his face. He and I had been friends since childhood. He had always wanted to be a doctor, and when Die Vater took power he had rushed to complete his studies to avoid recruitment. Coward. It was all for naught though as he was sent into war as a medic instead.
Boomer was not one for the gore of war. Despite the Aryan blonde hair and blue eyes he did not fully support Hitler but wasn't stupid enough to show it. He succeeded in hiding it away from all but me. All our years spent together allowed me to see right through his admittedly well-constructed façade. It was good to have someone always on your side here instead of climbing onto your rank.
"Die Vader deserves nothing but the utmost respect, Boomer." he chastised. "It would do you well to hold your tongue in public."
Boomers smiled "Oh, just having a bit of fun, Brick. By the way all these men are drinking they won't remember a single transgression." He sniffed in disgust at the drunken state of the comrades.
Brick grabbed him by the collar and push him against the poster. "You can never be too sure my friend," he shoved him to the side. "Stay in line." Boomer glared at him before dusting himself off. It was the alcohol. It was the only thing that would provoke such violence directed at Boomer. Nevertheless, Brick's dedication to Hitler was fierce and I could only tolerate so much of Boomers complete disregard of it.
"How is your wife, does she still write to you?" Boomer asked, trying to shake off the previous anger directed towards him. Brick felt a level of discomfort at the mention of her. Yes. Gaby had continued to write to me. She and he married two years before he was drafted, going from Gaby Fatale to Gaby Jojo in one signature. He was a star struck youth at the time just out of university doing engineering and marrying the one women every man in Germany wanted. When the war began he began to train hard. Days went by in a blur of sweat and pain up until it was time to say goodbye to his beautiful wife and with her bed laying cold and empty she let it be warmed by another. Oh so says the letters from a neighbour. He was no longer in love with her by then, their distance rendering the marriage void. He couldn't blame her though, the women that he had come across here were all beautiful and all too willing to lift their skirts for a slab of chocolate. How could he have resisted. Still, her betrayal had done a number on my pride.
"That stung!" Brick laughed sarcastically, seeking redemption for his violence, alcohol-induced or not, through his restraint of another wave of anger.
"So does my arm right now." he winced shaking the appendage for good measure.
"Why so gloomy, Boomer? Join the festivities!" He grinned.
"I do not celebrate deaths Brick no matter what their race is" his eyes narrowed. "So I'll have to leave you to it." He walked out on me just like that. He almost called out for him, but decided against it.
He shook his head and instead turned to the men and hollered "Eat, drink and be merry my friends, for soon we shall spill the blood of an English man!". They screamed and shouted in approval.
He needed a cigarette so he walked outside the pub and distanced himself from the cheering group accompanied by loud music. He took a long walk outside the city and into the neighbouring forest, making his way further and further away from base. He needed some space to clear his head, with the rush of the war he rarely had any time of his own. He had shared bunkers and floors with his partners this whole time, but that would soon be a thing of the past. He had been made a lieutenant for his efforts in the war and would be moving into a seized house on French land, well, German land now. He grinned at the thought. For now he sought refuge in the forest. He pulled out the long white roll and lit it. He took a long drag at the cigarette and exhaled slowly savouring the taste.
It was a full moon, which helped explained his erratic emotions to an extent. It was said that the gravitational pull of the moon pulled at the strings of ones sanity, and the full moon was when those strings were at its most strained. His mind was warped with thoughts of the new responsibilities he had undertaken when becoming lieutenant. He wouldn't be fighting anymore that's for sure and He would be using this war as his own personal chessboard letting his strategic mind out to play. It had been a while since he had used that side of his brain. Something beyond the point, shoot and duck reflex he had built up over the past few months. People didn't get elected lieutenant so quickly so it was a shock to all when he was elected. He smiled at the memory. He was giddy. The alcohol was taking its toll on him, his steps becoming clumsy and he no longer knew where he was or where he was going.
His thoughts were silenced when he heard footsteps and rustling of bushes. It was too dark and he was too drunk to see what was going on, but by the time He did it was too late.
She moved from the buses with stealth. He managed to make out her pert heat shaped face which was bruised. A cut had sliced her left cheek the blood had dried and was beginning to scab.
He had had my gun on my person but his reflexes were slow and his mind rendered impotent. He stared at her still form and assessed her.
The blood was seeping out of the wound on her leg, its color staining the makeshift gauze around her thigh wine red and scenting the air with a metallic taste. She heaved a few breaths before shuddering, her forehead perspiring, her matted hair sticking to the sides of her face. She was weak. Her skin paler than the summer sun would have allowed and her hold on her gun was shaky. He noticed it for the first time before she jutted the cold steel into his throat.
He stared her down, meeting her eyes to see not fear, but a fierce determination which forced me to withhold his pity. He barely registered the words spoken through her chapped lips. "Antibiotics, now."
He sighed while reaching into his pocket to retrieve a bottle of it with a small syringe. He had always carried it on his person at Boomers request, should he get into any trouble on the field. He hadn't imagined that he would run into this kind of trouble. She grabbed it from his hands at first sight.
"Hands up. Move to the tree. Now!" She barked. He did as instructed, too drunk to think otherwise. She limped towards him and began to tie him to the tree. It was tight, he couldn't move. Impressive. She sat in front of him and began to administer the medicine to herself shakily. She tapped her forearm seeking a vein and aligned the syringe. She winced at the intruding needle but held it in place until the liquid was spent. Quickly discarding the syringe she began to attend to her injured leg, while he watched her attempt to save her life.
"Alcohol" She demanded. He stared at her silently. She picked up her gun and aimed it at me. He obliged her with a sneer before nodding his head towards his left pocket. She reached for it and dug into it, fishing out a metal flask. She unwrapped the bandage to reveal a small bullet hole. She gripped the flask with purpose before pouring the clear liquid over the wound, groaning and hissing in pain.
"Scheisse!" She gasped taking gulps of air. It was starting to bleed again, so she pulled out the belt slung around my pants and fastened it above the wound. She then pulled out a needle and thread from a brown bag he hadn't realised she carried. She slowly and skillfully pierced her skin and sewed the wound shut, her fingers darting back and forth rhythmically. Her face held in a grimace as she silently gasped at the pain. She bandaged her leg up again and laid down no more than two meters away. She was panting with the effort of it all, and it was in this stillness that he was overcome with hysterical laughter. How had he gotten myself into this position? He laughed at the hilarity of it all. He. At the mercy of some cunt.
"Well?" he asked grandly. "What are you waiting for? Kill me! Finish me God damn it!" She didn't acknowledge him, instead shuddering a bit more and brushing her hand along the bandage. He sneered in contempt of his captor.
"You don't get to ignore me you bitch!" he spat on the foliage beside me to voice his distaste of her very existence.
She raised her chin, before taking a long swig from the flask, and suddenly, he became parched at the thought of the liquid sliding down her throat instead of his. She cringed as the contents burned her throat, while he wished she would choke on it. She picked up her gun, aimed it at him and looked beyond its shaft to stare into his brown eyes. He stared at her daringly not fazed by the implications at all. His mind was fogged but one thing was for sure. She didn't have it in her to kill.
As expected she slowly put her gun down and then, finally, she spoke "I have no intention of becoming like you, German scum. Rounding up, killing the helpless." She sighed "and in any case I've seen enough blood today, wouldn't you agree?"
"I must disagree mademoiselle," I snarled. "I haven't gotten enough of yours".
She edged closer and began emptying my pockets and storing its contents in the brown bag. Money, cigarettes, a gun and a switchblade.
"You have made a terrible mistake my sweet. They'll come looking for me, you know." he said with a wide grin plastered on his face.
"It will take them a few hours to notice you're gone and a few more hours to find you. By then I will be long gone and you will not be able to find me. Try not to urinate all over yourself, it will attract insects. Count yourself lucky for today sir, I have spared you. " she stumbled as she got up, and his smile was replaced with an expression of contempt.
"We will meet again my love. I will come looking for that" I nodded at the switchblade in her grasp. "and sadly I will not be returning the favor when I find you. Jewish filth-" My head snapped to the side at the force of a blow. She had struck me with a closed fist. Pain surged through his face, his nerves dancing to life.
"I am French." She said simply, as she limped away into the darkness of the forest while she scowled shouting obscenities to her back. He sat there for hours in regret, he regretted putting himself in a drunken spell, he regretted going out for a walk that late at night for a cigarette break, but still, to be ambushed so close to base would have required an amalgam of courage and stupidity on her part. By the sight of that wound he knew she was desperate. Where had she gotten the wound? It was still fresh, he wondered where the men who gave it to her were. Were they even alive?
He lay there, robbed of his goods, helpless and seething . She took his knife. The switchblade given to him by the commander and chief. His father. It was unforgivable, and he would find her, he swore to himself, and he would bring upon her excruciating pain that would almost send her to her grave. Almost. He didn't want her dead, no, he wanted to teach her a lesson. A long and hard one.
He stayed there 'til dawn and still no sight of any of his men. He was starved, exhausted, and slightly dehydrated. They would find him. He was a lieutenant, his presence would be missed soon enough.
"Lieutenant Jojo!" It was midday when he was woken up by sounds of barking and hollering. They weren't far, he shouted for help and they came right away. Mitch, his subordinate, saw him first, immediately pulling out a dagger and cutting him loose.
"Take me to Boomer." he managed to say in a hoarse voice.
"Yes sir." he was half dragged to a car, and driven to his compound to find Boomer already waiting.
"Bring him in, bring him in." He said the before checking him over to conclude there was nothing there but the beginnings of a cold. Mitch and the rest of the team were then dismissed.
"What happened out there?" He asked tentatively.
He shook his head before replying. "I was robbed by a French harlot." he gritted my teeth. "I wonder how my men think of me now."
"They still think highly of you, I can see it. If anything they seek vengeance against the person responsible."
"No, she's mine. I'll extract revenge myself." Brick said, with the something dark churning within him.
Wow! What a whirlwind. I hope you liked it, tell me what you think or give me some suggestions and ideas on how to make this story amazing by reviewing this story. See ya soon by the way. I'd appreciate it if someone would tell me how to do that line thingy that people put at the end of a scene, much appreciated