Part II - Arrest

In the morning, Judith gave them eggs which were shovelled down in minutes.

"Thank you so much for your hospitality," Flynn said when he finished. "How can we ever repay your kindness?"

"Just win this war and I'll be happy." She gathered the dishes and carried them to the sink.

"I'll do them." Yuri quickly rose. "You made breakfast, so let me do the washing up."

"If you insist." She dried her hands and stepped away. "We're going to take a donkey cart as far as we can, since you can't walk well. I'm heading into the village to a friend's house to borrow his."

"He's all right with letting us use his animal?" Flynn asked while Yuri limped to the sink and balanced on one leg to start cleaning dishes.

Judith nodded. "I told you, none of us like the Germans. You boys are fighting for us, so we'll support you as much as we can. Stay inside and I'll be back soon."

When she was gone, Flynn said, "I should help."

"Sure, put the dishes away in the cabinets."

Flynn hopped up to do as told. "Are you nervous about getting back?"

Before he'd enlisted, Yuri's experience with the war had been the helpless panic of being stuck on the ground while death rained from above. Being a pilot meant staying hundreds of feet above most of the bloodshed. Now that he was stuck to the ground, he couldn't help feeling like a scared civilian again. "Nah."

Flynn carried glasses to a cupboard near the door. As he closed the cupboard, he glanced out the window and then quickly stepped behind the door. "That German officer is coming."

"What? Crap." Flynn stood there in his flight suit with an injury obviously inflicted by a bullet. "Go back to the cellar. You need to hide; he doesn't know you're here."

Flynn nodded and dashed across the room. Yuri followed with more difficulty, cursing himself for screwing up his landing and busting his knee. In the cellar, Flynn crawled into the cramped space below the floor and Yuri carefully moved the barrel over the entrance to hide the crack.

"I'll try to get rid of him." Yuri hurried back to the kitchen. He considered staying hidden in the cellar as well, but he wouldn't put it past Cumore to waltz into the house looking for him if he didn't answer the door. He didn't want to give Cumore any reason to search the house, nor to have to come up with an excuse for why he was hiding.

The door banged and Yuri's fingers tightened around the cane as he opened it.

"Bonjour, Monsieur 'Piaf'." Sarcasm truly transcended language, because Cumore couldn't have made it more obvious he believed that to be a false name. "May I come in?"

"Yes," Yuri stepped aside to let him in and then said, "I wasn't expecting to see you again, Capitaine Cumore."

"I saw your lady friend on the street and thought this might be a good chance to talk to you."

"About what?" Yuri leaned on the cane and hoped the wince as he shifted weight wasn't taken as guilt.

Cumore leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms. "It's been rather boring out here, as I'm sure you can imagine. I've been stuck overseeing peasants for the past four years while my fellows are off fighting. But you know, in a few weeks I'm getting a brief trip to Paris. I just thought, as a Parisian yourself, you might share with me some places I should visit in the city."

Cumore watched him like a hawk. Yuri steadily met his eyes, but with a friendly smile. "Oh, yes! I don't know if an officer like yourself will be interested in the same places as me, but I can tell you some good bars. My favourite is a little place called La Porte Rouge, you can find it on Rue Fourier." Yuri had never been to Paris in his life, but he was willing to bet Cumore hadn't been there for more than maybe a brief stop either. La Porte Rouge very well could be a bar in Paris, and who was Cumore to tell him Fourier wasn't the name of a street? It sounded French, and unless he had a highly detailed map of the city in his pocket, he wasn't in any position to prove him wrong."If you have time, check out the history museum downtown. It has a lot of interesting stuff. And the best crepes in the city are from a little shop on Rue Perrault. They're delicious!"

"How very helpful."

That's right, Yuri thought with a satisfaction he didn't dare smirk about. Trying to catch me in not knowing shit about Paris? Well, you're right, I don't know shit about Paris – but neither do you! He deserved some commendation for all that on-the-spot French, though. It felt like his tongue had run away to join the circus as an acrobat and dragged his brain reluctantly behind. "Anything else I can help you with?"

"Nothing… nothing. I feel slightly hungry, though. Perhaps you could spare me some bread?"

Yuri tried to hide his anger at the 'request'. With the gun at his hip and the might of the occupying army behind him, it was a demand. How dare they march into an innocent town, declare it their territory, and then steal from the populace? Yuri limped back to Cumore with the bread, forcing a smile. This was a good reminder of why he'd enlisted in the first place – so bastards like this couldn't keep hurting people unchecked, and especially so they could never do it to his own home.

Cumore took the bread and said, "Thank you."

It seemed to happen in slow motion. "No problem." The alert part of his brain screamed and tried to slam on the breaks halfway through, but it was too late because the kneejerk part of his brain didn't listen to logic. It heard 'thank you' and responded in kind.

He didn't even have time to swear before Cumore pulled a gun on him. "Well, well, look who speaks English."

Yuri held one hand up, the other occupied with the cane. He briefly considered using it as a weapon, but he'd get maybe one blow in before he was shot. "That's the only phrase I know."

"Don't think you can fool me."

Yuri shook his head. "Pardon? Sorry, I don't speak English."

Cumore glared at him. "What's the name of the next village over?"

"Saint… Pierre?"

Cumore flicked the gun at the table. "Sit down."

Yuri moved lowly, never taking his eyes off Cumore. The cane was gently leaned on the table beside him, within easy reach in case he had a chance to use it as a weapon. "Hands on the table," Cumore barked. "Where I can see them."

Yuri made a show of pressing his palms into the wood. Move slowly, he thought. Judith will be home soon, and she can… what? There were more German soldiers in the village. Any kind of confrontation would draw them out and then they'd be shoot on sight for initiating a fight. Did Judith have her gun on her? Would she have taken it on a walk through the village?

Cumore kept his gun trained on Yuri's chest. "Name and rank."

"Yuri Lowell. Flight Sergeant. 604th Squadron in the RAF Second Tactical Air Force." His mind raced with possibilities, most of which ended in prison camps or death. Hypothetically, being taken as a prisoner of war would be better than getting killed, but he wasn't ready to roll over and let himself be marched to Germany in chains.

"You were the pilot?"

"That's right." And I'm a damn good one, too. He thought the last part to remind himself. Getting shot down had been a blow to his pride, but he remembered what Flynn had pointed out when they were still in the air. He had shot down five enemy planes in the past year – he was an ace, and a single mishap didn't take that away. And because he was an ace, he wasn't going to let this asshole captain walk all over him.

"And where is your navigator?"

"Dead." Yuri tilted his head back with a scowl. "He got shot before we even bailed and he was dead by the time his parachute hit the ground. I buried him."

"With what?"

"Judith lent me a trowel."

"So you could direct me to this alleged grave, could you?"

Yuri shrugged. "I'm not sure. It's out in the middle of the field and I patted the dirt down pretty well."

Cumore leaned forward and slapped the table. "You are lying, Sergeant."

"I would never."

Cumore glared at him, but then straightened up with a smile. 'Smile' might not actually be the best word, because those were supposed to be reassuring and this looked more like the barred teeth of a cat closing in on a mouse. "You know, perhaps I was wrong. I was under the impression that you were a pilot, and therefore would obviously have been flying with a navigator at night. But since he apparently doesn't exist, I must conclude that you are not."

Yuri wasn't going to say anything until he figured out where Cumore was going with this.

"You're no downed airman," Cumore was saying with a taunting smile. "You're a spy."

Yuri's gaze flashed back to his. "I'm a what now?"

"Dressed in civilian clothes, giving a false name and backstory, obviously didn't come from the crash last night because there's no navigator present… you're a spy. I was going to have the pair of you turned over to the Luftwaffe for imprisonment, but they only take airmen. Spies get turned over to the Gestapo, where they will be quite keen to find out how much you know."

Yuri kept his face still. He'd heard a lot of rumours about the Gestapo over the years. The ones about eating babies were probably false, but all those stories of heinous torture had to come from somewhere. "Lucky for me I'm not a spy and don't know anything."

Cumore smirked. "Not being able to give them any useful information to give is not going to make your situation any pleasanter. In fact, it will probably make it worse."

Yuri's arms tensed as he suppressed the urge to slam his fist into the table, but the gun in his face kept him still. "I know my rights. You can't torture a prisoner of war."

"Ah, but you are not a prisoner of war." He made an expression that was probably supposed to be sympathetic, but he was so out of practice at expressing such an emotion, it just turned to more mockery. "Based on the facts, I have to assume you're an enemy spy. The Geneva Convention doesn't protect spies. You're on your own, Sergeant, which isn't a nice thing to be with the Gestapo."

"You know perfectly well I'm a downed airman and what you're suggesting is a war crime."

"Yes, but the interesting thing about being listed as Missing in Action is that the home country never finds out how your story ended. Now, I certainly wouldn't want to be detained by the Gestapo. You know how you can avoid this? Tell me where your navigator is and I'll be forced to admit you truly are a pilot."

Yuri just glared and let his scowl deepen. He hoped Flynn couldn't hear this conversation from the cellar, or he might turn himself in in a noble sacrifice to save Yuri. Assuming, of course, he could get out of the hiding place by himself. Yuri wasn't sure about that; the barrel was pretty heavy.

"Tell me where he is and the two of you will be sent to a prison camp together, where you can sit out the rest of the war in peace. Or, don't tell me and force me to assume you're a spy, and you can go explain yourself to the Gestapo. When I find your navigator, he will also have no pilot to prove he's an airman and he will also be sent to the Gestapo. What will it be?"

Yuri tried to ignore the fantasies playing through his head of grabbing the cane and beating this Nazi bastard over the head. Not all German soldiers are Nazis, he reminded himself. His mind quickly added, but I bet this fucker is.

"Do what you want. My mates are tearing you to shreds and making progress toward Berlin as we speak. It's coming from both sides, too. Ever since the Soviets kicked you out of Stalingrad, it's been all downhill on the Russian front, hasn't it? Go ahead and give me to the Gestapo – I can handle the couple of months it'll last before the whole Third Reich comes toppling down." A rational part of his brain told him that several months of torture was still really not something to which to say 'go ahead', but the look on Cumore's face was worth it. Well… ok, maybe he'd change his mind on 'worth it' when he was actually getting beaten to a pulp, but it felt good at the moment.

The fury on Cumore's face told him he'd succeeded at riling him up. The captain slammed his fist on the table and yelled, "Das denkst du, oder?!"

Yuri smiled in satisfaction. He didn't know what Cumore had said, but he'd touched a nerve and made him so angry he forgot to speak English. Cumore knew perfectly well the war wasn't going Germany's way, and if he was so ready to throw out the Geneva Convention over a single airman, Yuri was willing to bet he had a few other skeletons he wouldn't want dragged out of the closet in front of a tribunal when the Allies won.

Cumore composed himself after a deep breath. "All right, Sergeant-"

"See, you keep calling me Sergeant. You know I'm an airman. I know I'm an airman. When your side inevitably loses and my allies pull me out of a Gestapo prison and ask, 'Hey, Yuri, what were you doing here? Legally you were supposed to be imprisoned by the Luftwaffe!' I'll give them your name and recite this conversation. Boy won't you have a fun day in court."

"Steht auf!"

"Wha-"

Cumore rounded the table and grabbed his arm. "Get up." He yanked Yuri out of the chair, and Yuri stumbled as his weight fell on his bad leg. Cumore shoved him toward the door. He didn't say anything, but his gun was highly persuasive. "I'm taking you to Paris."

"Ah, how romantic. I've always wanted to go to Paris!" He said this loudly in the hopes Flynn could hear him. If he didn't find a way out of this, the best he could hope for was that Flynn would get home and report what happened. The Gestapo couldn't make him disappear if the British government knew where he was and would demand evidence when the war was over.

Cumore didn't give him the chance to grab the cane, so Yuri limped slowly out of the house with a gun at his back. He had to hope Flynn thought of something, because while it was true he'd always though Paris would be nice, perhaps it would be nicer under different circumstances.


Flynn lay in darkness, uselessly pushing against the stone over his head. He'd heard Cumore shout and then Yuri's voice say something about going to Paris, and then the door slammed shut. All he knew was that Yuri was in trouble and he was stuck in this stupid hole in the ground. He probably couldn't have pushed the stone slab and barrel away with both hands, and he definitely couldn't with only one.

Minutes trudged like molasses as Flynn waited for Judith to return. He couldn't stop picturing Yuri being taken farther and farther away with every second he spent down here. What was in Paris? That didn't make any sense. Prisoners of war were supposed to be taken to a camp, and as far as he knew there was nothing of the sort in Paris. Something was wrong, and he needed to get out of here before he could do anything about it.

It seemed like an eternity by the time he heard the door open again. He heard footsteps, but didn't call out yet just in case it was a German coming back to search for him. Just in case, Flynn's hand slid to the pistol at his waist.

He listened to the footsteps for an extended minute until Judith's voice called, "Yuri? Flynn? Êtes-vous ici?"

"Hello!" Flynn slapped the stone overhead. "Hey! I'm down here!"

He waited another minute and then he heard the scrap of the barrel moving and then light filled his chamber. Judith gave him a hand and he climbed back into the cellar.

"Where is Yuri?"

"Cumore took him," Flynn buzzed with the need to charge out the door and run after him. "He came back and Yuri told me to hide down here. I don't know what happened, but I heard Yuri say he's being taken to Paris."

Judith frowned. "Paris? That doesn't make sense. Prisoners only get taken to Paris if suspected of being spies or resistance members."

"Then we'd better hurry." Yuri had a knack for getting into trouble and Flynn had spent a good percentage of his childhood bailing Yuri out of various jams. He certainly hoped this didn't turn out to be a crisis even he couldn't un-jam.

Flynn quickly changed into civilian clothes Judith had brought back and then they ran outside. They passed a donkey cart but kept going. "Isn't that how we're travelling?"

"It's not fast enough."

She led him to another house and banged on the door. An older man answered it with an amicable smile which turned serious when he saw Judith's expression.

The pair exchanged rapid words in French while Flynn stood back and tried to look like he knew what was going on. All he knew was that Judith pointed at him a couple of times and he heard words that sounded something like "aviator" and "anglais". The man nodded at something and then Judith turned to Flynn.

"This is Hanks. He's a friend. He's going to help us rescue Yuri."

Flynn smiled and stuck out his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Monsieur Hanks."

Hanks smiled and nodded.

"He doesn't speak any English," Judith added.

Hanks waved his hand and strode off around his eyes. Flynn and Judith followed him to a barn. Flynn wasn't sure what was going on, but every minute they spent here was a minute Yuri got closer to Paris. How could they ever catch up to a military jeep with a donkey?

Hanks opened the barn door and gestured inside with a grin. It took a few seconds for Flynn's eyes to adjust to the darkness of the barn, but enough light entered from gaps in the wood that he was able to make out what was inside and his hopes of catching up to Yuri swelled.

Flynn looked to Hanks with a smile and exhausted his knowledge of French to say, "Très bien."


Yuri sat in the back of a jeep. The top was down and the warm August sun made the breeze comfortable. He watched lines of thin trees pass in the distance, and all things considered it would have been a lovely drive in the countryside if he weren't surrounded by armed guards and on his way to be tortured to death. That put a slight damper on his mood.

Along with Cumore, there were two other German soldiers in the jeep. The one driving was tall and thin with a silly moustache, and the one sitting beside him was short and round with a face tragically sans hair. They hadn't introduced themselves to him and he didn't know if they even spoke English, so Yuri thought of them as Tweedle A and Tweedle B.

Yuri leaned back and stretched his arms. They hadn't restrained him; why bother? Even if he managed to jump out of a moving car, he was still left with a wounded leg and an empty field. "So… you guys seen any good films lately?"

Tweedle B glanced at him with a frown.

"I haven't been to the cinema since I left London. You ever been to London? Great city. Well, I suppose it was nicer before you lot started blowing it up, but it's still nice."

Based on the blank look, he was going to guess the Tweedles didn't speak English.

"Hey, Cumore, I know you speak English. Let's liven this drive up a little."

Cumore didn't even look back. "Save your energy, Sergeant. You're going to need it later."

Yuri glared at the back of Cumore's head and then tried to get comfortable. Might as well experience comfort now, because he sure as hell wasn't going to get any in Paris. His mind summoned images of cement cells, metal bars, and an array of torture devices he was certain were anachronistic. But what if they do still have an Iron Maiden? What are you gonna do then, huh?

It was stupid. Most likely they'd do a quick interrogation, realize he knew nothing, and throw him in a cell until the end of the war. Still, an empty field and unsociable travel companions gave his mind a lot of time to daydream.

What his daydreaming mind focused on was that when they arrived at the Gestapo's headquarters in Paris, he was going to be surrounded by dozens of armed men, trapped behind stone walls, and in the middle of a city controlled by people who wanted him dead. There wasn't going to be any escape once they arrived.

So what did he have to escape now? His clothes and a bandage on his leg. His penknife had been confiscated when they searched him, and Cumore had taken his ID tags. This was entirely illegal, but Yuri doubted Cumore cared about racking up the war crimes at this point. He had a pretty good right hook, but he doubted it was better than Tweedle B's rifle or the pistol at his waist. This was going to take creativity.

Yuri yawned, shifted his weight, and then reached down to his leg. He didn't have very much of a plan. Steps one through four were roughly worked out, and then there was a big space filled with question marks that somehow ended in "Step ?: Arrive at airfield." He knew "punch Cumore in the face" was in there somewhere, but beyond that he'd have to hope it came to him before he completed step four.

Tweedle B gave him a look. "Was machst du?"

Yuri didn't understand German, but he did understand context clues and held his hands up. "My leg is itchy. Uh… you know…" He scratched the back of his hand to demonstrate. "Ich scratchen sie mine leg."

Cumore gave him a dismissive glance and then said something to the Tweedle in German. Leg scratching was apparently an approved activity, because he was ignored. Yuri leaned down and reached under his trouser leg to rub the bandage around his calf. It only took a few moments of fiddling to unwind it and let the bandage fall around his ankle. Satisfied, he sat back up and sat still for a few minutes.

When none of the soldiers were paying him any attention, he shifted his position enough that his injured leg pressed against the door hinge. Yuri bit his lip; this was the step where things started to get painful.

He rubbed. The metal bit through his trouser leg and pulled on the scabbed-over gash. The sting ran up his leg immediately but he ignored the instinct to pull away from pain. Yuri kept rubbing and pressing until he could feel the blood trickling down his leg, and still kept going. He didn't stop until the lip of the hinge dug into the wound and pulled, widening it with a fierce stab of pain.

"Hey, can we stop for a bit?"

Cumore didn't even look back to say, "Of course not."

"No, I'm serious, I need first aid. My wound re-opened."

Yuri reached down to massage his throbbing leg, mentally apologizing to his body, while Cumore looked back skeptically. He raised his bloody hand and said, "See?"

"What did you do?" Cumore snapped.

Yuri shrugged. "I think I scratched too hard." He crossed the leg over his other knee so he could clutch the wound. "It's bleeding pretty bad. Even if you don't care about me, this car's going to get pretty messy."

Cumore gave him a dirty look and then said something to Tweedle B. The Tweedle responded and pointed to the boot of the car, and then with even more annoyance Cumore spoke to Tweedle A. Seconds later, the jeep pulled over at the side of the road and Cumore climbed out. Tweedle A stepped out and opened the door on Yuri's side, while B directed him with the rifle to get out.

Yuri limped even more than before now that his whole calf throbbed and Tweedle A grabbed his arm to stabilize him. The Tweedle let Yuri lean on him as he lowered himself to the dirt road and stretched his bloody leg in front of him. Tweedle B pulled a first aid kit from the boot of the jeep and ran around to kneel in front of Yuri. While he rolled up Yuri's trouser leg, Cumore crossed his arms and leaned against the jeep in annoyance.

Yuri waited until Tweedle B had rubbed disinfectant on the wound and then wrapped fresh bandages around it to make his move. As soon as the cuff of his trouser leg was back at his ankle, his other foot shot up and smashed the Tweedle in the chin.

Yuri threw himself forward, tackling the startled Tweedle B. Cumore and Tweedle A startled to attention, but by the time they pulled out their guns, Yuri had yanked out the one from B's waist and twisted around so he sat on the ground with one arm hold Tweedle B against his chest and the other holding the gun against his captive's temple.

"Drop your guns!" Yuri yelled.

Tweedle A's gun hit the dust, but Cumore didn't move. His pistol pointed at Yuri's face while staring into him. Yuri felt slimy as the gaze seemed to be trying to read all his secrets.

"Put all your guns in the car and give me the keys." Yuri did not, in fact, know how to drive a car. He'd never even been in a car until training. It stood to reason, though, that a lot of people in the world had driver's licenses but significantly fewer had pilot's licenses. Therefore, flying a plane was obviously the more difficult task. After all, a car only had two dimensions to worry about and fewer people shooting at you. So if he could fly a plane, he could drive a car, at least well enough to speed away to save his life.

"Or what?" Cumore asked.

Yuri pushed the pistol harder against Tweedle B's head. "Or I'll blow his brains out."

Cumore thought for a moment, and then shrugged. "Go ahead."

Tweedle B made a small whimpering noise while Tweedle A gave Cumore an aghast look.

"Ich sage! Herr Kapitän -"

"Ruhig!" Cumore barked, and Tweedle A fell silently forlorn. To Yuri, Cumore smiled and said, "Go on, then. Shoot him. What's your plan from there?"

Yuri's arm tightened around the quivering Tweedle. "I'll really do it."

Tweedle B, who didn't understand English but could read body language and emotion well enough to understand that two people were condemning him to death, pleaded, "H-Herr Kapitän…bitte…."

Yuri locked eyes with Cumore as they each threatened the other to break. All it took to figure out who was going to win was a simple analysis of potential rewards. If Yuri shot Tweedle B like he was threatening, not only would Yuri have to kill a man who was just doing his job and had gently patched up his leg, but then he'd have a corpse and no more leverage. Cumore didn't give a rat's arse if he lost a private.

So what now? Turn the gun on Cumore? He didn't think he could pull of a shot before Cumore, who's finger rested on the trigger and obviously itched to lodge a bullet in his forehead.

"If you're not going to do it, put down the gun slowly. Keep it pointed away from us."

This was the only plan Yuri had. If he gave in now, he'd be in prison by supper. Judith and Flynn must be coming after him by now, but if he got back in the jeep and sped off there was no way they'd catch up. He wouldn't even want them to try breaking him out; it would be a suicide mission.

Yuri dropped his arm and let Tweedle B scurry away. His other arm lowered slowly, gun pointed down toward the jeep. When it was just low enough, he squeezed the trigger. The gun banged, echoed by the eruption of the tire. The whole jeep tilted as its wheel rapidly deflated with a burst of air.

Yuri dropped the gun in the dirt and held his hands up. "Oops. My finger slipped."

Cumore glowered, marched forward, and smacked him across the face with the side of the pistol.

Yuri's hand flew to his face. "What was that for?!"

"Move off the road."

Yuri's hand came away with fresh blood. It wasn't deep, but he had a new cut on his cheek and an ache that was the prelude to a bruise. He awkwardly shuffled backward, trying not to move his leg, until he was behind the jeep on the side of the road. There, he crossed his arms and leaned forward on his good knee. He'd bought some extra time, but he hoped it was enough.

Cumore leaned against the back of the jeep while the Tweedles pulled out the spare tire and set about replacing it.

"You would have let me kill your own man."

Cumore snorted. "You wouldn't have done it."

"I could have. You wouldn't care even if I did."

"Why should I? Soldiers die in a war. There's no point crying over it."

Yuri thought about all the friends he'd made in training and in his squadron who went on missions but didn't come back. If he cried every time someone he knew got shot down, he'd never get anything done, but that didn't mean he shouldn't at least care.

"You should have done it," Cumore said. "Then you could have used his body as a shield to take shots at me."

Yuri looked to the Tweedles a few feet away. They had no idea their CO was discussing how they should have been killed. "You're a piece of crap."

Cumore laughed. "Don't act so superior as if you haven't spent the war shooting my countrymen out of the sky."

"That's not the same as shooting a hostage at all." There had to be lines you wouldn't cross. He'd enlisted in a war and he knew that meant killing people, but opening yourself to killing enemy combatants didn't mean you had to be willing to kill just anybody. If you let yourself become someone without any rules, you'd become, well, something like Cumore. Yuri's most important rule was that you did not shoot people who weren't a threat. You shot the plane until it fell from the sky, but if you saw the pilots escaping in parachute, you left them alone.

And you didn't shoot an average soldier you'd taken hostage, who'd probably been drafted and didn't want to be here anyway. It wasn't his fault his government was screwed up and started this whole thing, and it wasn't his fault he'd been assigned to work under Cumore. If the Tweedles fought back during and escape attempt, that would be different, but just grabbing the guy and shooting him was over the line.

Yuri spotted a cloud of dust farther down the road and then looked back to Cumore. The mere fact that Cumore would have approved of killing Tweedle B was reason enough not to do it. By now the war had been going on for almost five years and Yuri wondered just how much bullshit this captain had pulled. Yuri hoped he was still alive when it was over, because he wanted to see the bastard brought to trial for his crimes.

The cloud of dust was getting closer and now Yuri could see a boxy, navy blue car barrelling down the road. Cumore watched it approach without worry. The Tweedles were just finishing tightening the replacement tire when the car screeched to a halt beside them.

Flynn and Judith leaned out the side windows and then the Germans dove for cover as bullets peppered the side of the jeep. Flynn threw open the back door.

"Yuri, get in!"

Yuri's knee screamed as he jumped up and ran. He felt Cumore's fingers graze his arm as the captain tried to grab him, but a few rapid shots from Judith forced him to duck for cover behind the jeep. Yuri could hear the whizz of air behind the gunshots as the tires were once again deflated by bullets. Yuri dove into the car and it was moving before Flynn even shut the door.

The driver was a white-haired man who plowed off the road to make a wide loop until they were speeding back the way they'd come. For the first few seconds, bullets pinged against the back of the car until they put too much distance between them. When the shooting stopped, Yuri raised his head and peered out the back window so see the three soldiers growing smaller in the distance next to their ruined jeep.

Yuri let out a breath and got comfortable on the leather bench in the back. "Flynn, you're a terrible shot."

Flynn holsters his pistol and then whipped his head to Yuri. "I learned to shoot with my right hand. It's hard to aim let-handed."

Judith twisted and leaned over the front seat. "Are you hurt?"

Yuri shook his head. "I'm fine, thanks."

"How did you get them to stop?" Flynn asked. "And why did he take you in the first place?"

Yuri spent a few minutes summarizing what had happened. When he was done, Flynn looked scandalized.

"He can't do that. Even if you're not in uniform, according to Article 93 of the Geneva Convention, you're entitled to wear civilian clothing to facilitate escape."

Yuri wasn't even surprised that Flynn knew the exact article. "I really don't think he cares about the Geneva Convention. He's just a horrible person who wanted to screw me over for not turning you in."

"Sounds typical of him," Judith said. "Captain Cumore has been in the village for a few months now and uses his position to demand food from people who are already starving. He just likes showing off his power. By the way, Yuri, I haven't introduced you to Hanks."

Hanks took his eyes off the road to wave.

"Hey. I'd shake your hand but you should probably keep them on the wheel. This your car?"

"Sure is! I haven't driven it since the war started with petrol prices the way they are, but this seemed like a worthy cause."

"I appreciate it. You guys really saved my neck back there. Where are we going now?"

"A village near the front," Judith said. "Hanks will drive us that far, and from there we'll walk."

"I'm sorry," Flynn said, "but what are you all talking about?"

Yuri gave him a quick summary. "You should learn French."

"Yes, right, teach me the entire language during this car ride."

"Your French is very good, Yuri," Judith said. "Where did you learn?"

"There was a French guy who opened a shop near where I used to live. I learned the language so I could understand what he was saying and talk to him."

"You learned to talk to a friend? That's nice."

Yuri smirked. "I never said he was a friend. He was a complete bastard who took advantage of customers and insulted them behind their backs. I learned French so I could take away the satisfaction of insulting me without my knowing it."

"Hm, very practical."

Flynn leaned back and stared at the road behind them. "In any case, it will take a while before they can radio for help and get another jeep out there. We'll have a good head start."