Thank you Artemis1000 for the reviews, they've meant a lot to me! I hope you enjoy the story as it progresses.
I'm sorry that it has taken me so long to update this. I'd throw out a few excuses out there, but I really have none. My apologies.
It was after several restless nights, days that passed by all too slowly, that Ludwig finally managed to conjure up a plan to save Alys and Heidi from their fate. It was stupid, idiotic. Impossible. It could have gotten him killed. And in the end it worked, for the most part. The two woman were spirited away from their musty room, what had been their living space since they were taken, and the German remained alive. But even six years afterwards, though he knew that he was fighting for the wrong things, that it went against his morals, he still couldn't seem to forgive himself for causing the demise of nearly his entire company. But he couldn't have known that his plan would take such a turn for the worst as he slipped away from the make-shift barracks into the yonder beyond.
In broad daylight, when his shift from the post was over and communication wires were nearly finished being ran over the border for the sake of being able to transmit the status of how many other platoons managed to pull out of France, Ludwig quietly made his way out of the small abandoned town. He knew that there would be another company of soldiers coming in from a full, static-filled message they'd received the day before, so he could no longer prolong his plan. At the time there seemed to be no other way. If he waited, more soldiers would come in, and the women most definitely be shot. But no matter what he'd heard about the Americans, they were fighting for the right thing, so how could they decline his request? Because he was doing the right thing as well. Right?
His boots carried him through the undergrowth, carefully avoiding the main trails, and his fingers wove around thin bush branches to brush away the foliage. Beyond, basking atop a gently slanted hill, sat a town that seemed as still as death. A bell tower stood in the middle like a finger pointing up towards the clouds, and even from such a distance he could tell that it was crumbling, already wearing away. Ludwig thought of what would happen to him if he was caught doing this by his side, and for a tiny second he almost turned tail to escape doing such a thing. But focusing on the resolve that he had come to that very morning, he knelt down and kept his eyes on the track that ran right along the forest. He tried to forget that only in a few days his company would be heading back home.
The plan he had thought up was a simple one. It took a lot of luck, and there were so many chances of him being injured that it showed just how desperate he was to save the two women. He sat behind the bushes at the edge of the forest, looking for any American soldiers on patrol. If there were more than one he'd have kept hidden, but if there was a single soldier walking down the path he'd confront them. Not by jumping out in the middle of the trail, of course, but rather by calling out and talking to the other man while still out of sight before he was at least mildly trusted. Ludwig knew that in the first instant of his voice being heard he had a chance of being shot, but to him, this seemed to be his last opportunity, so he knew that he had to take it.
A good hour trickled past, and still no sign of any movement.
Then two.
The German had since then sat himself on the leafy ground, knees hurting from kneeling so long. Besides a small amount of scuffling mice and rabbits in the underbrush, everything had gone placid since the dead leaves crunched under his bottom from sitting. His surroundings were almost peaceful, and he watching the shadows shift as the sun walked and long, wild countryside grass dance like music-box ballerinas But even so, Ludwig was tired and bored, thinking of going back, before he spared another look towards the town, then down the trail. A pair of electric blue eyes widened as down the path came a soldier, the man's figure tiny in the distance, and not before long he could hear his enemy softly singing as he kicked branches out of his way. The song was vaguely familiar, one that he'd hear on the radio sometimes.
"He puts the boys to sleep with boogie every night
And wakes 'em up the same way in the early bright
They clap their hands and stamp their feet
Because they know how he plays when someone gives him a beat
He really breaks it up when he plays reveille
He's boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B!"
The American, now so close that Ludwig could see his blue eyes, his blonde hair, snapped his fingers four times at the end of the sing and started up right at the beginning all over again. He was low-ranking from the looks of his uniform, which looked nothing more than a standard G.I. outfit, and the way that the young man's voice projected so clearly made the hidden German want to bolt out right then and there. He couldn't even fathom why someone would be singing out on patrol, away from the rest of the other men, by himself. That was like a criminal shooting a flare in the middle of a city, screaming "I'm right here!" But either way, this was luck in it's purest. Ludwig already knew it was a miracle that he caught sight of only one secluded soldier, so he wouldn't press it further. A few brief seconds were waited out as the singing, bumbling American continued down the path, until Ludwig stood from the bushes and walked into the middle of the trail.
"Halt."
And halt the American did. The singing ceased immediately, his feet came to a stop, but his hand did not. The young man's fingers floated towards his belt, but Ludwig, obviously not wanting a confrontation such as the one this other man was expecting, withdrew his gun and cocked it. The noise of the weapon did enough to cause the American to stop his arm from moving further.
Ludwig was sweating now. He could feel it coming on, the tension, the nervousness. He'd never felt this way before in the middle of a battlefield - so why now? Maybe because it seemed like now more than ever it all depended on something important. And either way, he didn't want to kill this man, though he probably would have if the circumstances were different, if they were somewhere else indeed in the middle if a battlefield. "Turn around slowly."
When the man turned, the German paused and tried to lick the dryness from his lips. The man was incredibly young-looking, eyes widen and pupils drawn in fear. From where Ludwig was standing he could see the man's right hand shaking, the one next to his holster. If the American drew the gun and shot - even if it didn't hit him - he'd be done for. The rest of the men in that town on the hill would come pouring down like boiling water from a pan. "Throw your gun over there," he said, lifting his hand to aim more precisely. The American followed his instructions carefully, first pulling his gun out and looking at it for a moment before tossing it on the side of the path.
An instant later a sort of resolve came over his face. The young man's royal brows furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and he said, "Alfred F. Jones, 474th infantry." He lifted his chin a bit, shifted a bit so that his left leg moved a bit farther from his right, and he added, "that's all you're gonna get outta me, ya' dirty Kraut." At that, Ludwig winced and tried to process what Alfred had said last. What kind of accent was that? Southern, was it? He uncocked his gun and lowered it a bit, still cautious but not wanting to point it at the man any longer.
"I need to ask you a favour." Ludwig was stared so strangely that he decided to keep going before things started to seem even more suspicious. "I know the location of two women, and they are in need of assistance." His mouth still felt dry. "They have nowhere to go."
Alfred took a step back. "What is this?"
"..."
"No. What sorta sick joke is this?"
"It is not a joke, I assure you."
Seconds trickled past, and for a moment Ludwig was sure that the other would yell something else, but after such a drag of silence his voice seemed to lower. "You're lying. Why should I even trust ya?"
"It's true, I assure you. There is a town not far from here, just through these woods. My platoon has just set base there," at this Alfred's eyes widened, and his teeth gritted visibly underneath his lips as well, "and when we arrived the general population was already diseased, other than the two women that we found." He didn't mention the other man that had been with them as well, the one that was killed by the gunshot he heard in the tower. Ludwig heard about that man later briefly after being told to pile the body with the rest on the outskirts of the village. 'Tried to fend us off with half a broken broom or something,' they said. 'That boy didn't stand a chance.'
A pair of blue eyes, a bit darker than his and now even darker from a shade of doubt, examined him. the German could tell that the other blonde was thinking about the concentration of Germans straight through the forest. But he would understand, right? He was fighting for the right thing, and all Ludwig wanted to do was do something right too. "Are they safe? Are they being treated well?"
Ludwig shook his head.
Alfred drew in a long, shaky breath. They stood there as if they were in a stand-off, each man thinking out his own worries, sorrows, ideas, until the American opened his mouth to speak. "I don't trust you," he said. His eyes narrowed. "But... if there are woman in need of rescuing..." He fell silent again and winced, obviously battling with himself in his mind. "If I meet you here again tonight, maybe a little farther back behind those bushes, and if you bring them here, I could take them off your hands."
"It has to be closer than that," replied Ludwig, frowning. "They won't be able to walk this far." Chancing a glance at the forest, since he still didn't trust Alfred out of his sight, he added, "if you cut straight from here you will eventually find a trail. Go left on it and keep walking until you find..." What was there to possibly mark the path? He couldn't leave his gun there, nor his helmet.
Wait, his helmet. An idea struck him. He took off his helmet, looked inside of it, and pulled out a photo that was tucked in the corners. Then, he lifted it at Alfred so that he could take a look. It was a family photo, everyone in it looking terribly different. The bottom was burned, causing black to dust the tips of his fingers. "Until you find a tree with this on it. Be there at twenty-hundred hours and I will bring them to you."
The man across from him looked at the photo and nodded vaguely. Then, slowly, he walked back to his gun that was on the ground and picked it up. The German tensed for a moment, but relaxed when it was placed back in it's holster. "I'll see you there," Alfred said.
When Ludwig got back, he was told that in two days they'd be heading back to Germany and congratulated for their efforts in the war. They'd finally be able to go home.
Today they were going to see flowers.
Gilbert and Ludwig filled up the back of the cab, the albino looking out the window and blonde staring nowhere in particular while twiddling his thumbs. In the passenger seat was Francis, who rambled away about the city of a hundred spires, Rouen, and it's places of interest, rich history and beautiful gardens. The last of the three must have been the subject most spoken of though, since it just happened that they were going to visit Rouen's Botanical Gardens, one of the most acclaimed gardens in northern France. This time of year around there were hundreds of flowers springing out of the ground, the hanging pots that dropped from the top of foyers dripping water, and the Gothic main building accommodating hosts of crawling vines on it's outer walls. The air was also easier to breath there, so Francis said, which Ludwig was looking forward to.
So, though there was no chance of Ludwig laying his eyes upon the beauty that greeted him as they exited the cab to the garden's gates, he could feel the soothing presence of shimmering ponds and hear the gentle breeze through the grasses and trees that spotted the campus. It was truly relaxing, the birds singing sweetly in the foliage. And Francis by his side, the Frenchman's hand touching his arm and leading them through the gate after paying the toll.
Within a matter of a couple minutes of the three walking down the small pebble paths and twisting around willow trees and ponds, Gilbert took his leave, obviously bored of the plants. "Will it be alright if I look around inside that building?" He asked, hesitant at the aspect of leaving his brother but desperately wanting to do something exciting all the same.
"Don't be long," Francis replied, only chuckling a bit. It was painfully obvious, how bored Gilbert had been, but it was curious, how he didn't make it public by saying it out loud. The albino seemed like the kind of person that would. What had muted him, exactly? The fact that Ludwig looked like he was truly enjoying himself of course, but Francis wouldn't be able to figure that out himself just then. So they instead found a nice bench to sit at near a table where an elderly pair played chess under the sun and took in the warm light themselves. It was quiet at first, which was strangely alright, since there wasn't any feeling to cover nature's sounds with words at that moment. It was Ludwig who first brought up conversation, namely about the trip around France that Francis said he'd taken with his parents as a child. However, talk of his parents soon melted into words about the war, until the German finally brought up what had been picking at his curiosity this whole time.
'If you don't mind he asking," he said, eyes casted out into the ripples of flower-flecked bushes before them. "How did you recognize me?"
At this Francis smiled and looked down, crossing his legs. There was a silence as he paused to gather his words, before, "how could I forget you? Your saved me, after all. That is not something I would not remember." Looking curiously over at Ludwig, he added, "how did you recognize me is what should be the question." It was said lightly, but the words were genuine.
"Well," Ludwig began, and he actually leaned back and turned pinkish as he thought. "I didn't save many people. I suppose I remember the ones I did, and I try to forget the rest." His last words were said darkly, his tone not fitting in the sunny place they sat in. Francis looked harder at the veteran that sat next to him, trying to think of words to say.
"There was a bathroom connected to the bedroom," he said, flipping his palm over in his hand. "I went inside it after the soldiers left and shut the door behind me, and then turned on all the faucets. Busted the pipes underneath the sink, so the fire could not get inside. So when the fire was finally put out by the rain, I left the house and went into the street. There was nobody."
The German winced, trying to remember the room. He didn't remember any other door except the closet ones. They were so large, and as he looked back, in his memory they were pictured as dark and enormous, foreboding. There was no other door. "I'm so sorry," he muttered, and put a hand over his face to rub his eyes. "I didn't see her there. I didn't mean to... it wasn't intentional."
He turned towards Francis as he felt a hand rest on his shoulder, giving him a small squeeze. The Frenchman whispered something that he couldn't hear clearly before saying, "the gun was in both of our hands, Ludwig. I forgive you." The hand slipped off his shoulder and rested between them, on the wood of the bench. Then, with a small hum, "if you don't mind me asking, what is it like? Being blind?"
All around them buzzed the murmur of chatter, the footfalls of visitors that walked the gardens. 'Échec et mat' was heard at the chess table, and after a moment, a chess piece was knocked off the board. The king was saved. Birds fluttered about, hopping on the ground and picking at bread crumbs thrown about them, and the wind dropped to a balmy breeze. Summer was here, and with that came new life, like the newborn birds up in the trees crying for their mothers, the fluffy young bunnies twitching their tails in the bushes. Ludwig dropped his hand on the bench as well, and pulled it back quickly when it landed on Francis'. But after recovering from a small cough issued to ward off any presence of awkwardness, he made his answer.
"Something like seeing."
Translations;
Échec et mat is French for 'check-mate'.
Ending comments; These chapters are getting way shorter. ANYWAYS. As I said in my update to Smile, Darling, I really don't have any good excuses for taking this long to keep writing, so I'm sorry to whoever may be reading. Shame on me :C. Continuing with what I was saying about length, this chapter is just for the sake of transition and establishment, so from here on out things will get a bit more interesting, including, but not limited to, the introduction of more characters in future updates.