A loud bang woke me from my sleep. I looked around frantically, unable to see anything. I couldn't move my hands; they were tied together. Something was stuck inside my mouth so I couldn't speak.
How was this able to happen without me waking up? I asked myself.
"In here, our prisoner."
A bright light started to shine through the cloth that covered my eyes. A pair of arms pulled me up.
"She's fighting for vat side now?"
"Zee Americans, I zink. Possibly zee French."
"Is she Jewish?"
"I don't know. Vee should ask — ow! Damn it, zat 'urt!"
"Vee can't just ask, you idiot. You interrogate."
I recognized their accents as German, and I began to pray. I don't want to die, I thought. God, please...
Suddenly I could see and I was face-to-face with two fat Germans, both wearing Nazi uniforms. Well, one was fat and the other was muscular. I stared at them, scared for my life.
"'oo's side are you on?" the fat one asked, ripping the gag from my mouth.
"Who wants to know?" I retorted quickly.
The muscular one raised his hand, hitting my cheek. I fell to the side, hitting the ground. I winced. When I was put back on my feet, I noticed another figure behind them. I could tell by the build that it was a man; but his face was hidden behind a red scarf and a Nazi's cap on his head.
He raised a finger up to where his mouth would be, and I swallowed hard. His coat was one of the enemy's as well.
"Vere are you from?" the fat man demanded.
"I am from America," I answered honestly. I was watching the mystery man, but I remained careful not to give away his presence.
"Now ve're getting somevare," the muscular man muttered.
"Are you Jewish?" the fat man continued, disregarding his companion's remark.
"Now," I replied, "why the hell would I tell you that? I'm going to die anyways, whether I tell you or not."
The muscular man pulled a knife out of his pocket and threatened to hurt me with it. I lost sight of the mystery man, but I hoped he was on my side.
"Vat do you mean by saying zat you are about to die?" the fat man asked, holding his hand up.
"Well, I'm not Hitler's definition of perfect, am I?" I responded rudely. "Brown hair, brown eyes. Why, if my hair were shorter and if I had a little mustache - if I was a bit uglier as well - I'd look a lot like the fucker himself, wouldn't I?"
That statement provoked the muscular man, who jumped at me instantly. I felt the knife dig into my stomach, and I cried out in pain.
There was a loud bang and the muscular man fell to the ground. I noticed a bullet hole less than an inch away from his temple. I could feel myself getting weaker from blood loss; I fell to my knees.
"Vat vas zat?" the fat man asked loudly.
A second bang and he tumbled on top of his partner. There was a bullet hole where his heart was. The sight was disgusting, but I was thankful. I leaned on the crate next to me.
The mystery man appeared from behind a crate a few feet away, and he bent down to check their pulses. He turned to me, lifting my shirt up to check my injury. He looked down at the bleeding stab wound.
"Thank you," I croaked.
He glanced up at me, then turned back to what he was doing. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and pressed it against my newest wound. He removed some gauze from another pocket and began to dress the injury.
"I'm Jewish, by the way," I whispered. "I didn't want to answer them. But you saved me, you deserve to know. You can bring me in and execute me."
He glanced at me, and I noticed his eyes. They were green; they told me to shut up.
He put more pressure around the gash, and I gasped. Seeing my pain, he tore a piece of wood from the crate beside me and stuck it between my teeth. It was then I realized the knife was still in me.
With an apologetic look, he yanked it out. I tried to scream, but the wood stopped me. Tears escaped from my eyes. I spit the wood out.
He used the knife to cut my wrists free of the ropes. He put more gauze on my wound and looked down at his work. He stood up.
He put his hands under my arms and lifted me to my feet; he placed me on top of the crate. I felt myself getting weaker and weaker. Seeing the state I was in, he picked me up and held me like a baby: one arm was under my shoulders while the other was under my knees. He carried me outside and through a hole in a barbed-wire fence. I clung to him, hiding myself in his arms. Despite the fact I knew he was going to kill me, I trusted him. I trusted him enough to sleep in his arms as he carried me off to where he would murder me.
