Maria knew nothing other than the searing agony in her chest as her lungs attempted to fight for oxygen that wasn't there. Her airways felt like they were filled to the brim with tar, making it impossible to breathe. Thick, heavy layers of dust and debris clung to her throat, to her nostrils, to her lungs that threatened to burst from the strain.
Every desperate gasp for breath left her windpipe clogged with more ash and more smoke. Her retinas burned against the claustrophobic smog of soot that blanketed her, weighing her down and pressing her body into the ground beneath her with unforeseen force. Grit, dirt and sharp pieces of debris pressed into her face where she lay against the pavement, the scratchy indentations in her cheeks the only indication that she was anchored firmly on solid ground, that she was still alive. She tried to scream but could only choke, any sound becoming lost to the deafening ringing in her ears.
Her head spun with the lack of oxygen, her eyes rolled back in her head as she felt her veins beginning to bulge against her skull from the unrelenting pressure. She would surely die here. It was inevitable. It was already happening. There was no oxygen, no light, no life, no hope. No Georg.
But just as she began to succumb to the struggle, just as her body began to give in to the pain, the suffocating cloud of ash began to dissipate achingly slowly, just enough that her lungs could fight for the oxygen they so desperately needed. Her body clung frantically to the opportunity for life, gasping in deep lungfuls of sooty air, coughing and spluttering, vomiting up dust and debris until she could finally breathe through the agony.
Gradually, the world began to come back to her, the smog thinning to reveal mayhem, flames, bodies and wreckage. Muffled sounds met her ears, as though she were far away from the chaos - but the noises grew stronger and clearer with each passing second until she recognised them as the chilling screams and pained cries of those nearby.
Her head felt like lead as she attempted to lift it from the ground and turn to her left in search of Georg. To her utter relief, he was lying a few feet away from her splayed on his back, caked in powdery ash from head to toe. His eyes were closed and she tried desperately to determine whether his chest was rising and falling but it was impossible to tell through the dissipating smog. She scanned his form and the bile rose in her throat again when she spotted an ugly, twisted shard of metal protruding from his shoulder, blood marring the material of his jacket where the jagged debris met his skin. She heard a strangled cry and realised the alien sound was coming from her own throat as she called out to him, willing him to open his eyes while she tried to push herself up. Her body wasn't ready to move however and she remained rooted to the ground - from fear? From shock? From injury? She wasn't sure. All she knew was that she needed to reach him.
Dragging herself forward, she clawed her way through the dust and debris towards him, her fingernails scraping against the rough surface of the pavement. When she finally reached his side, she was reminded vividly of another time - the night of the party all those months ago - that she'd clung to his lifeless body, crying and shaking him in a desperate attempt to bring him back to consciousness. That night, his blackened eyes hadn't opened. Would they open for her now?
"Georg..." She choked, clutching his good arm firmly, coughing again from the effort to speak, "Georg, please.."
When he didn't move she looked heavenward in her desperation. She was greeted by nothing but tendrils of smoke, nothing but blackness, nothing but enveloping despair. Where was her mighty God now? Where was her saviour amidst this fresh and unrelenting hell? Where was He when Georg had lost his memory? Where was He when her suffering Captain and his children had lost a wife and a mother? Where was He when she'd lost her parents?where was He when she'd punished herself for loving another? Where the hell was He?
She squeezed her eyes tight shut and threw her head to the skies, the anguish tearing from her lungs before she could stop it, "is this your will?!" She shouted into the air through her spluttering, the despair she felt inside suddenly manifesting itself into a fiery rage directed at a God whose presence she could hardly feel anymore, "Is this what is expected of me?!" She bellowed, tears of despair pooling in her bloodshot eyes, "because I cannot do this! I am not strong enough!"
"Yes you are," a feeble voice groaned from beneath her as Georg's body suddenly stirred.
Her heart stilled in her ribs, hardly daring to believe that he'd spoken. Surely she'd imagined it, surely her mind was playing cruel tricks on her. It was only when his eyes fluttered open that she finally allowed the tears of sheer relief to flow, flinging herself at him and clinging to his body desperately.
"Oh Georg! I thought.. I thought you were.."
As quickly as they'd opened, his eyes suddenly squeezed tight shut again, and a growl of agony escaped him as the searing pain of his wound hit him with full force. Moving off him abruptly, Maria's eyes fell to the debris lodged in his shoulder and she felt the blood drain from her face. The offending metal was long and jagged, violently jutting from his body at a sickening angle.
"Maria," He spluttered, but she didn't tear her eyes away from his wound, "Maria!" He growled, grabbing her hands.
Her eyes jerked to meet his own then, the fear in them evident.
"Are you hurt?" He asked insistently, gripping her hands tighter when she only stared at him mutely. He'd seen it many times before in the navy, young men rooted to the spot in fear, shell-shocked into muteness after the horrors they'd witnessed, "Maria! Are you injured!"
She shook her head again, dumbstruck.
"Good," he breathed a sigh of relief despite his own pain, "Now I need you to listen very carefully and do absolutely everything I instruct you to do," she nodded mutely again, unable to form words.
"We need to leave this place as quickly as possible," he continued calmly, adopting the necessary protocol that years in the navy had taught him. He spoke slowly, peacefully, as though talking to a frightened child, "I'm going to pull this shard from my arm and it's going to be excruciatingly painful. I need you to anchor my legs firmly to the ground for leverage. Do you understand?"
Again she nodded silently but made no move to follow his instructions.
"Look at me Maria," he said firmly, willing her to meet his gaze with her fearful eyes, "you are absolutely strong enough to do this," he winced as a fresh wave of pain shot through his arm, "You are the strongest person I've ever met. I love you and I know you can do this."
The awe, the admiration he saw in her eyes then was enough to set his heart alight as she quickly scrambled to his aid, straddling his legs as instructed and anchoring them with her full weight to stop him from jerking against the imminent pain.
Gritting his teeth, knowing it wouldn't be enough to numb the pain, he used his good arm to rip some material from his shirt, wrapping it around his hand to grip the sharp end of the debris that protruded from his shoulder. Maria's heart broke for him as he took hold of the jagged metal, took a deep breath, and then wrenched it out of his flesh with a strangled cry of agony, his whole body jerking rigidly under her weight. He threw the debris to one side and slumped back onto the pavement in relief, his face contorted in pain as he tried to breathe through his suffering.
Coming to her senses, she quickly helped him into a sitting position and stripped him of his jacket and shirt so that she could use the ripped material to bandage the wound. Wordlessly, she made quick work of the task, the entire ordeal lasting no longer than a few minutes, though it felt like a lifetime surrounded by such destruction.
But it wasn't until they were getting to their feet that Maria was finally able to see the extent of the devastation through the smoke that curled in front of them, and it made her blood run cold in her veins. Flames engulfed the charred remains of a car at the end of the street that only minutes ago had held a couple enjoying a drive with the top down. The man had tipped his hat to them as they'd passed but now he was nowhere to be seen. A few yards from there was the vendor she'd bought her first crepe from earlier that afternoon, only now the man was not smiling and gesturing animatedly. Instead he was slumped against the road, lifeless and mangled from the force of the blow. Rubble and ash caked the street and blood-curdling cries filled the night air. Other pedestrians who, like them, had been enjoying a stroll along the river lay motionless close by - helped by witnesses who had since run to the scene to offer aid. Maria realised, while rooted to the spot in horror, that if she and Georg had been even a little bit further down the embankment, they would surely be dead.
A few feet away, a solitary hand lay like a slab of meat on the pavement.
A strangled sob tore from her throat and she flung herself into Georg's open arms as he gripped his wife to his chest with all the strength he could offer her. Never in his life would he have wished for her to see the horrors of war, the very same horrors he himself had seen in battle. He would have done anything to prevent her from hearing the fearful sobs of grown men as they cried for their wives and mothers. He could do nothing now, other than hold her to him and get her as far away from this hell as possible. His clouded mind tried to think straight, tried to determine how the Nazi's could've broken the Maginot Line so quickly and made their way to Paris undetected. He knew, as dread unfurled in his stomach, that this wouldn't be the only attack. There will have been others, and there would be more to come. They had to get to the children as quickly as possible, they had to ensure the safety of their family before getting out of Paris on the next possible train. The city of love was soon to be mangled into an unrecognisable desolate wasteland of hatred, war and greed.
Pulling Maria closer against his body, he made to move them as hurriedly as his heavy legs would carry them but she shifted free of his grasp.
"Georg..we can't.. we.. We have to help!" She sobbed, gesturing to the devastation around them.
"There's nothing we can do!" He retorted, knowing full well it was a lie, a lie to try and protect his family, a lie that was painful to tell.
"We have to do something!" She cried, "we have to!"
He gripped her shoulders, his eyes burning a hole in her face, "the children, Maria. We have to get to the children!"
Her face was contorted in anguish, her brow furrowed in despair as the scene before her threatened to etch itself on her eyelids, to haunt her dreams for years to come. But he held her gaze, willing her to be strong and eventually she nodded, tears falling as he held her to him again, his good arm wrapped around her shoulder as he rushed them in the direction of their hotel.
Maria understood Georg's desperate need to prioritise the safety of his wife and children. But she could see his inner struggle playing out on his broken face. Never before had he been burdened with such a dilemma, the two lines between family duty and civic duty blurring before him. He'd faced many personal woes, and of course he had seen inexplicable horrors in battle. But never before had he been forced to choose between the duty to protect his family, and the overwhelming duty he felt to help those suffering from the devastation of war. She knew it was costing him a great deal to make such a decision. And it seemed that his family came first.
She was deeply moved however, when, despite his better judgement, he stopped to help a boy not much older than Kurt who was slumped on the side of the road, whimpering in pain, his ghostly stare sending shivers down Maria's spine. The source of the boy's discomfort was obvious - his right leg was caught under a nasty pile of rubble and brick that anchored him to the ground and blood caked the side of his head. Before Maria was even aware of what was happening, Georg was dropping to his knees, tearing at the rubble with his good arm to free the boy's leg, all the while muttering calm reassurances to the frightened child in French. When he'd finally freed the boy, he lifted him into his arms, his jaw set rigidly against the pain in his bad shoulder, and carried the young victim to the ambulance services that had finally reached the scene.
Before long he was hurriedly doing the same with other unaided victims who crossed their path and Maria helped, watching in awe as he set aside his own physical pain, his own inner struggle, to help those in need. Perhaps for the very first time, she truly saw him not as Georg von Trapp the widower, or the aristocrat, or the man, or the husband - but as Georg von Trapp, the decorated war hero. He was calculated, efficient, strategic in his movements - despite the utter mayhem before him, despite the harrowing screams of those nearby, despite the heat of the flames and the suffocating cloud of soot engulfing them. A fine man and a brave one, the Mother Abbess had told her. And it was clearer to Maria now than it ever had been before.
His face was an unreadable mask as he carried yet another victim to safety, the body in his arms so badly burned that the skin seemed to slide from the bone. His eyes gave him away - they were blackened with anger, his face stoney with hatred and anguish, and Maria wondered what awful memories he was being confronted with as he witnessed the destruction surrounding them. How many men had he watched burning alive in his naval days? How many mere boys had he comforted as heaven finally claimed them?
Before she knew it he was by her side again, grabbing her hand in his as they hurried from the scene and around the corner towards their hotel. The same high pitched whistling that had pierced Maria's ears before the explosion was suddenly heard again in the distance and she realised that Paris was very much under attack. Artillery fire could be heard not far away and down every street they turned, there were people just like them - holiday makers running away from the imminent danger, Parisians fleeing their homes with few belongings. Where they were all headed Maria wasn't sure, but within minutes the streets were swarming with terrified people trying to get as far away as possible. She heard panicked talk of Nazi tanks having infiltrated Paris and she felt her blood run cold.
Rounding another corner, Maria could see their hotel at the end of the street but she was halted in her tracks when Georg suddenly collided with another man rushing in the opposite direction. Helping to steady her husband, she suddenly realised, with a surge of intense relief, that she recognised the gentleman they'd banged into.
"Max!" Georg cried, grabbing his friend in a hug and hurriedly counting each child that stood behind the impresario. They were all there, frightened but otherwise alright, "Thank God!"
"I had to make a decision Georg!" Max explained frantically as crowds of panicked people jostled past him, "I'm sorry, I had no idea where you were, or whether you were okay! I had to get the children to safety!"
Before Georg had a chance to tell his friend he'd done the right thing, another ear-splitting whistling sound was heard above them and they froze before throwing themselves to the floor and covering Maria and the children in a protective cocoon with their bodies. With sickening efficiency, the offending object hurtled into the buildings at the end of the street, blowing the bricks of their hotel and the surrounding architecture to smithereens.
"Jesus Christ!" Max bellowed as the chaos surrounding them suddenly erupted into utter bedlam, crowds of screaming people and stampeding feet running in the opposite direction to the blast. Frantically, Georg scrambled to his children's aid, pulling each of them to their feet and watching as Maria gathered a crying Marta and Gretl in her arms.
"Train station!" Georg roared over the din. They had to get out of Paris as quickly as was humanly possible, "I'll take the front, you take the rear!"
Max nodded hurriedly, as they adopted the formation around the children and allowed themselves to be swept in by the crowd's frantic current. It was complete and utter carnage and all Georg could do was pray that the trains would be running, that they would be able to escape.
When they finally reached Gare d'Austerlitz it was to find the platforms absolutely saturated with people, all desperately trying to flee the unforeseen attack. The noise was deafening, the crowds frightening, and order had been entirely lost. The trains were running but the one they wanted to board had no announced destination, and it was already overflowing with refugees while others tried frantically to lift their children through the open windows from the platform. Men attempted to shove unsuspecting people aside and help their wives to board the vessel, others tried to climb the vehicle themselves, while panicked conductors tried unsuccessfully to contain the mayhem.
Without so much as a second thought, Georg grabbed Maria's hand with a startled Marta and Gretl in tow, wading through the impenetrable crowd before attempting to lift his terrified youngest into the overflowing vessel.
"Georg!" Maria cried in alarm, as Gretl kicked and screamed, "Georg what are you doing!"
"Take the youngest!" Georg shouted, wincing against the pain in his shoulder as Gretl squirmed in his arms, "take the youngest and the rest of us will go on foot! We'll meet you in Ermenonville!"
"No!" Maria shouted in defiance, tugging at his arm with all her strength to get him to put the poor girl down, but he didn't relent, his face set in a fiery determination. He'd mentioned the French commune of Ermenonville a few times when they'd discussed their travel plans - it was a small place, unlikely to be of interest to the Nazis and most probably the safest place within a reachable distant. But she'd be damned if she was going to leave without him, without the rest of her family.
"Georg!"
"Get on the train Maria!" He snarled, wrestling against Gretl's sporadic movements.
Amongst the commotion, the little girl managed to struggle free of his grasp and landed on the floor with a little thud before running to her mother's legs, wrapping her little arms around Maria's knees and burying her terrified face into her skirts. Georg, in his desperation, made to grab his daughter again but Maria stilled his movements with a strangled protest like a lioness defending her cubs. The sound that tore from her lungs came with such anguished force that Georg found himself frozen to the spot.
"Don't you dare!" She screamed, an angry sob escaping her lips, "do not think for one minute, Georg von Trapp, that I will let you leave my side again!" He looked entirely bewildered, his previously stoney face now wide-eyed with shock at her outburst, "I will NOT leave my family!" She cried, "You yourself said that I am strong, so you of all people should know that I am determined to face whatever we must face! We are in this together, side by side, until death, or not at all!"
Her impassioned speech left him breathless, as though he'd suddenly seen the light, and he gathered her in his arms frantically amidst the chaos surrounding them, kissing her hard and whispering rushed apologies against her lips. She was right, yet again. A blessing he had never deserved. She was strong enough to handle whatever it was they needed to face and they would only be made stronger while standing side by side.
Gently he bent down and scooped a cowering Gretl into his arms, soothing her cries and carrying her back through the crowds, followed by a relieved Maria and Marta. When they finally reached Max and the others, the impresario fixed Georg with a puzzled look.
"We'll go on foot," Georg commanded gravely, turning to face his wife with a look that spoke not only of adoration but a bold determination meant only for her, "together."
It was with heavy hearts that the family made their way to the roads where they joined thousands of anguished Parisians making their way out of the city on foot, with trucks, with wagons, carts, bicycles and automobiles. Maria could hardly believe her eyes - she could hardly comprehend how much the city of love had changed in the short space of time that she'd found herself falling in love with it. And as they joined the slow-moving river of refugees that formed part of what would later be referred to as the Exodus of Paris, she knew it would be a city she'd never forget.
A/N: again, historical events in this story are not accurate! But I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.