Cowards die many times before their deaths;

The valiant never taste of death but once.

-Shakespeare, Julius Ceaser

I clearly remembered the only time in my life I had gone fox hunting.

It was long before the war began. A few years after receiving my commission, I had been on holiday in London. One evening, I met an extremely attractive woman named Alice at the theatre. Wanting to get to know her better, I had invited her to dinner.

The sport came up in conversation. Alice held an obvious interest and dedication to it and she spoke passionately about it for quite some time. I had heard of fox hunting, but I had never participated in a hunt myself and I knew little of its details. Fox hunting was a pastime which had held little interest for my family, even before Hitler had banned it in Germany.

Over the course of the evening, I asked Alice a few questions regarding fox hunting to better understand her fascination with it. She responded with enthusiasm about its traditions and practices. Alice eagerly wanted to show me the hunt firsthand. As luck would have it, there was a hunt scheduled, one to be mastered by her father. She invited me to her family's estate for the upcoming weekend.

I was intrigued by the prospect. I accepted Alice's invitation, wanting to experience this aspect of English upper class culture. My friends were jealous of my good fortune to spend the weekend with such an attractive woman. I left them with a grin, promising to meet them in a few days.

I still can see the disastrous weekend as clearly as if it was yesterday.

To me, the weekend was nothing more than a casual meeting between two people who barely knew each other. Alice's intentions to the contrary soon became obvious. She would not leave my side, completely ignoring the other guests her family had invited. She hung onto my arm and her frequent cloying "Hans, Darling" was annoying from the first time she uttered it.

It did not take me long to comprehend Alice, one of the most beautiful women imaginable, had been graced with the ugliest of personalities.

I soon began avoiding her when possible, wanting nothing more than to escape her presence. I looked forward to the weekend ending and me being able to return to my friends.

I had only myself to blame. I had wanted to get to know her better. Unfortunately, I had succeeded.

The hunt began early the next morning. The procedures and guidelines were explained to me, and after the hounds and riders were gathered we departed. It was a beautiful day in late autumn and it was a pleasure to ride in the cool, crisp air.

It did not take long for the hounds to catch the scent. Soon we were hunting the fox across the bucolic countryside. I was an experienced rider and had frequently ridden cross country. I was at ease with the rapid and, at times, frantic pace with which we rode across the fields and fences.

The longer the hunt lasted, the more I found myself disengaging. I was beginning to tire along with my steed. I could only imagine what the poor fox was experiencing as we ran it to ground. Alice and the other riders around me seemed unaffected, as enthusiastic as they had been at the hunt's beginning. They began to comment about the tenacity and the cunning strength of the fox.

Eventually, the fox became exhausted and was overtaken by the hounds. Torn apart by the beasts, it screamed out in its death agony. As the poor animal breathed its last, the lovely and refined Alice laughed and clapped her delicate hands in delight.

The hounds were called off. Alice's father retrieved the mangled carcass. It was impossible to believe that only a few minutes before, this beautiful creature had been alive. Her father approached me. Motioning for me to lean down from my mount, he proceeded to dip his fingers in the fox's blood. He smeared it on my cheek bones before casually throwing the animal's remains to the hounds.

I was taken aback by his gesture, not understanding its significance.

"You've been bloodied, Hans Darling," Alice explained. "The marks symbolize this was your first hunt." She moved her horse closer, her leg pressing against mine. "You look very masculine with the markings. I find it very . . . sensual," she said, her voice low and husky. She moved her horse even closer and began rubbing her knee against mine.

"And the fox? How do you find it?" I asked her, my revulsion rising like bile in my throat. I found her casual dismissal of the animal's hunt and death disgusting. I seriously regretted ever wanting to know anything about hunting.

"The fox was nothing more than a pest. It needed to be eliminated. Besides, you're in the military. You should be used to death." Alice's eyes were wide. "After all, what is the military all about if not to hunt down and kill as many of the enemy as possible? Isn't it the reason you joined?"

"Not in the least. You know nothing of me, or the reasons I serve." I moved my horse away, dismissing her.

Wanting to remove myself from the sordid event and from Alice's presence, I dug my heels into my horse, urging it along. Leaving Alice and the others behind, I returned to the manor in peace.

Alone in my room, I studied the marks in a mirror.

Reminiscent of the poorly applied rouge of a male transvestite, they were high and prominent across my cheek bones. The blood had dried to a muddy brown, part of it having already cracked and fallen off. I gently touched the blood. More of it flaked and fell into the sink basin.

I washed my face clean of the evidence, but I could not forget the barbarity I had witnessed. The poor creature! Its last moments must have been agonizing.

I avoided Alice for the remainder of the day, managing to sit as far away from her at dinner as the large table and the number of guests allowed.

However, even as I avoided Alice, with all of the other guests still giddy after a good day at the hunt, it was difficult for me to avoid unpleasant conversation. As soon as politeness allowed, I retired alone to bed. With the dawning of the next morning, the weekend would be over. Thank God. It could not come soon enough.

The house was quiet. I had not been asleep long when I awoke, aware of someone stopping outside my door. Assuming it only to be a fellow guest lost in the massive house, I waited for the sound of footsteps moving away. Instead, I was surprised at the turn of the handle and, then, at the push of the door.

The lock clicked softly behind my intruder. I was instantly and fully awake.

I could see by the waning firelight my visitor was Alice.

She slipped off her silk robe, revealing nothing underneath it. She slid into my bed, leaving no doubt what she desired. She soon began kissing and caressing me, intertwining her legs with mine, every move signifying an attempt at seduction.

"I always take a man the night they've been bloodied. It's almost like taking their virginity a second time." Alice began to lightly bite my neck. Soon, she was on top of me, straddling me, her scarlet nails digging into my chest.

"I see. And here it was I believed you were attracted to me for my social position, my money and my good looks." My voice was derisive in the darkness.

Even though I hadn't been joking, Alice laughed. She began to rub her hips against mine, her naked lust electrifying my nude body.

Responding to her, I reached up and intertwined my hand in her dark tresses. Matching her aggressiveness, I pulled her down to me. Demonstrating my power over her, I held her there for a moment, not allowing her to move. Centimeters from mine, her eyes were bright with smoldering want.

I could not have loathed Alice more, but my growing arousal trumped all else. Never one to pass on the offer of gratuitous consensual sex, I was not above using her for my satisfaction. I moved on top of her, inserting myself between her thighs, forcing her underneath me. If we were to do this, I would be the one in control. Not Alice.

I took her, not caring in the least if I satisfied her hunger as long as my own was assuaged. As uncharacteristic of me as it was to so blatantly use a woman's body, I had no concerns for the obviously self-centered and shallow Alice.

When I had satisfied my needs, I moved off her and lit a cigarette.

"Leave now." I motioned towards the door. I blew a plume of smoke to the ceiling. "We both have what we wanted."

Instead of vacating my bed, she curled closer to me. Her hand traveled down my body. Stroking, teasing, Alice was obviously seeking to arouse me again. She was ready and willing to continue, apparently the coarse and uncontrolled sex had appealed to her.

I, however, was finished with her.

"I said 'leave.'" This time I shoved her with my foot. "I got what I wanted. Your services are no longer required."

Alice's anger was immediate and evident, even in the darkness.

"I should tell my father about this," she threatened. "He won't be happy about you making love to his daughter in the room next to his."

The proximity of her father was the only thing which prevented me from laughing out loud. "I would hardly call what we just did 'making love', but feel free to tell him what you want," I responded, amused. "Your father's first thought will be knowing why you came to be in my room when I retired long ago. His second thought will be that his daughter is a whore. An opinion, no doubt, he already possesses."

"You fascist pig! I hope you're killed in the upcoming war!" Alice snatched her robe from the floor and left in an obvious piqued state of mind.

She slammed the door, not caring if her parents heard the commotion.

The next day, Alice claiming to be ill, did not appear for breakfast. She was also absent for my departure shortly afterwards. Her parents appeared bewildered at the situation, not understanding why their daughter's obvious affection towards me had so quickly soured.

I formally thanked my hosts for the weekend before leaving. Etiquette forced me to send them a thank-you note afterwards. But frankly, I cared little what they thought. I had no desire to see any of them again, especially not Alice. I never did.

And as for fox hunting, I would never participate in such an ugly and barbaric sport again.

At least not in the role of the hunter. How times and had changed and oh, how the tables had turned.

I had become a hunted animal.

Inevitably, it would result in my death.

Now nothing more than a ragged beast, I had discovered what is was like to be pursued and tracked. The hunter growing closer and closer to me, I ran with an instinctual need for self-preservation. Desperately, locked in a hopeless competition, I clung to a remote hope of survival.

I was fighting for my life, doing everything within my abilities to stay alive. I brought forward all the combat skills I had absorbed on different battlefields and the theoretical strategies learned in Academy classrooms. It was all for naught. Nothing could compete against the indisputable advantages possessed by my hunters.

The Allies would never cease their quest until an unconditional surrender was given by Nazi Germany, a concession Hitler would never make while alive. His selfishness and his pride continued to condemn all of those around me, soldiers and civilians, German and Allied, to death.

Now, I knew what the fox had felt when the hounds were closing in, the men following immediate behind on their strong steeds.

Just like the fox, I was exhausted from the constant strain of retreat. The enemy had been constantly pushing from the rear, forcing engagement with us whenever possible, never allowing us the possibility of regrouping. Counter attacking was an impossibility; we were just trying to survive let alone have the military strength to push the enemy back from German soil. My beloved Germany had now been invaded and would soon be strangled silent by the enemy approaching from both sides.

The war should have ended months ago, but still, the killing endured.

I knew the war could not be won. We were down to the final days. It would be impossible to survive much longer. We had little munitions remaining, even less food. Yet, for the sake of our honor, it was critical to keep our oaths. I continued fighting along with my men, I encouraging them to continue fighting for a worthless cause.

Would the enemy be gracious in winning? Those from the West, perhaps. From the East, never. They wanted nothing less than our blood. Much like the hounds who had caught the scent of the poor fox so many years ago, the Soviets would not stop until we were all dead.