Chapter 25

Inside the shop all the lights were off. The dim natural light spilling in from the broken windows and around Ludwig cast the shop's contents in ashy shades of grey that faded into darkness. Directly to the left was a wall. Straight ahead, in prime theft-prevention location, a cash register sat atop a wooden bar-table that connected with the wall behind it to form a cozy little cashier's box. To the right of this an expanse of carpet stretched out beneath a dozen or so racks of clothing before ending at a wall on which a few more items of clothing, mostly men's formal wear, hung in full display. The clothing racks were about half bare, probably from looting.

Ludwig flicked the light switch. To his dismay — but not surprise — no light came on. Most of the town was without power and had been for a long time.

Verdammt. He'd given his flashlight to a soldier in need late last night and forgotten to grab a new one before heading out this morning. Now that he'd already made a loud entrance and alerted anyone who might be hiding to his presence he was just going to have to try and see in the dark as best he could. Fortunately the room wasn't all that big: searching it shouldn't take much time. He lifted his confiscated rifle into position and slipped inside, muscles taut and ready for the tiniest stir or noise.

So far so good.

No movements.

No sounds.

Nothing that warned of an imminent attack.

Heart beating a little bit faster, he stalked towards the end of the room with the air of a big cat traveling through an area which it knew to be dense with other large predators, eyes hyper-alert for any shapes that might be a weapon or explosive, any clothes that might have a person inside them.

Clothes.

Clothing racks.

A closed door.

More clothes.

It wasn't until he reached the wall of men's formal and started towards the side of the room that had the closed door that Ludwig noticed a big heap of clothing piled into a corner.

There! Someone was hiding in that pile, he just knew it. Stepping as softly as he could so as to hopefully delay alerting the hider to the fact that he'd found him for as long as possible, he walked over to the pile and poked his rifle into it.

The pile didn't react, but it did appear to be rising and falling. Breathing. Ludwig nosed a few articles of clothing aside with the rifle and exposed a pale, very small, human hand.

The hand retreated further into the mound.

A child. Probably the boy's little brother or sister, or…something. Ludwig felt most of the tension drain from his body. After taking one last look around the room to make certain he didn't have any actually dangerous company he fell to one knee, laid the rifle on the floor, and started digging carefully into the middle of the pile with his hands.

Within seconds he'd uncovered a little body. A second more and the head came into view: small, fluffy-haired, chubby-cheeked, and very, very young. A little girl. Of course it was too dark to be certain, but something about the child's face struck Ludwig as feminine. She appeared to be somewhere around 5 years old. Her eyes were closed.

Playing dead, are we? How cute. The scene called to mind memories of hunting in the woods back when he himself had been a boy the same age as the one he'd tackled outside, memories of walking stealthily through a thicket or meadow and coming across a newborn fawn lying close to the earth, still as a rock, hoping he wouldn't notice it hiding amidst all the vegetation. For an animal that was so tasty, deer had ridiculously cute babies. Those big innocent eyes, perpetually timid expressions, spindly little legs… Ludwig didn't know how any hunter could look one in the eye and kill it. During fawn season he'd always been careful not to kill any does for fear of sentencing a fawn to a slow and cruel death. Prussia had had fewer qualms about it, but had never chided him for it or implied that it made him less of a man, merely accepted it as his choice.

Face softening, Ludwig put one hand on the girl's shoulder and slid the other under her sweater. Her skin was warm to the touch — a little too warm it seemed. Thankfully she was breathing normally.

Hmn. Ludwig took his hand out of the sweater and slid it under the girl's knees, moved his other hand to support her neck and shoulders. Gently, he lifted her out of the pile. When the clothes covering her legs fell away he saw at once that something was wrong with one of her ankles: it was wrapped tightly in torn strips of cloth, the pant leg that should have covered it rolled up high.

You're hurt! Poor little thing. I'll get you into some light, have a look at that. Ignoring the rifle — he still had a fully-loaded MP35 strapped around his chest, after all — he rose up and carried the girl to the building's entrance. Amazingly, she continued to play possum the whole way, not daring to even twitch. The kid protecting her had probably told her to do that if someone came in, to not move or make any sounds no matter what. Smart.

What the…?!

Ludwig hadn't been expecting to see the boy again, especially not so soon after dismissing him. But there he was, charging him like a bull.

He didn't have to move, however, because Gilbert was there in an instant, throwing his arms around the boy's arms and chest and stopping him dead in his tracks. "Nyet! Bood horosheem malcheekom!"(1)

This time Germany caught the word for 'no' — he'd learned that one before the war had even started courtesy of his ex-friend Russia.

"Anya!" the boy cried out in anguish. He tried to worm out of Gilbert's grasp, but the Prussian's grip on him was too strong.

"Is she dead?" Gilbert asked, eying the still form with a look of concern.

"Nein. Just pretending to be."

No sooner had Ludwig spoken than the girl's eyes flew open. "Petya!" She turned her head towards the boy, but thankfully didn't try to flip out of Ludwig's arms.

"Their names are Anya and Petya?" Ludwig asked, hoping he wasn't right. Anya was okay, he supposed, but…Petya? Who named their son that? These Russians were cruel even to their own kind.

"Nicknames. It'd be Anna and Pyotr. Not that Pyotr's any better." He smirked. "If you really want to piss Ivan off call him 'Vanya'. They hate it when enemies use their little pet names."

"Believe me, he's already pissed enough every time I see him." Ludwig dropped slowly to the ground, folded his legs under him to make a seat out of his bootheels. Secure in this position, he turned Anna around and propped the upper half of her body up against his legs. The girl cried out a little when her bad ankle touched the pavement.

"Her ankle's hurt — I don't know how badly. Also, it feels like she's running a fever. I'm going to give her some water and have a look at that wound. Can you get me something soft to lay her head on?"

"I think, maybe, I can get Little Comrade here to do it for us. If he's going to hang around he might as well make himself useful." With that Gilbert put his mouth close to one of Pyotr's ears and began speaking in Russian. He spoke several sentences, and with each one Pyotr seemed to calm down. Finally he turned the boy loose.

Pyotr came straight at Ludwig, and for a moment the country worried that his brother had put too much trust in him, but no. Instead of trying to pull Anna away Pyotr swerved and raced into the boutique.

It was at that moment that Ludwig remembered something very important.

"Gilbert! There's a rifle in there!"

Gilbert's eyes went wide. "Oh Scheiße!"He sprinted for the shop.

"It's beside the pile of clothes in the far corner!" Ludwig added helpfully. When the other nation was out of sight he undid some of the buttons of his trenchcoat and removed a flask of drinking water from one of the inner pockets. Unscrewing the lid, he put the mouth of the flask under Anna's lips. "Drink." he said softly, tilting the flask so that a tiny trickle of water splashed onto her mouth.

Anna drank. Slowly at first, then a little faster as she become more comfortable. Ludwig laid a hand across her forehead. She was definitely running a temperature, felt clammy, and looked peaked. Wound probably got infected. Whoever cared for her probably didn't have the right supplies, or enough of them.

But then, not 20 meters away was a factory full of dead Red Army soldiers. Surely they would have spared some of their supplies to help this little girl back when they were alive, unless these children hadn't been here very long?

Maybe Pyotr had been going to them for help when he'd realized they were too dead to help and run off.

Whatever the case, Ludwig had already made up his mind that he would do as much as he could for the girl.

Pyotr emerged from the boutique carrying a wad of clothes. He offered them to Ludwig, who gestured for him to set them on the ground beside him. He did so, then walked around to stand in front of Anna, face rife with concern.

Gilbert joined him seconds later. "He didn't go for the gun." he said, relieved. "I think it's finally starting to sink in that thick skull of his that if we wanted to hurt him and the girl we would have done that by now. We've only had, what, how many chances?"

"In his defense enemy soldiers aren't usually kind to civilians." Ludwig said, tipping the flask more for Anna, who continued to drink eagerly. "And our soldiers do have a reputation for being heartless killing machines, one that isn't helped by Russian propaganda I'm sure. And don't forget we have the blood of Pyotr's comrades splattered all over us. That can't be a comforting sight."

"True, true." Gilbert conceded. "Most soldiers in your position would have shot Pyotr on sight for carrying a weapon. I don't know how many would have helped Anna — it's so easy to fall into the trap of seeing every Russian as an enemy, even children. Or they take their anger towards the Red Army out on the civilians — I've seen that happen too. I kill civilians sometimes, but only when they're stupid enough to pick up a weapon and try to fight alongside their troops."

"Would you have shot Pyotr? If you'd spotted him before me?"

"Depends on how quickly I saw his rifle," Gilbert admitted, "I hate killing kids, but I'm not going to take a death nap for one, nor am I going to let him kill any of my men. Old enough to fight as an enemy, old enough to be treated as one, I say."

"I didn't see the rifle until he turned on me with it, otherwise I would have done the same." Ludwig agreed.

Pyotr was very lucky.

A few seconds of silence passed before Ludwig changed the subject. "At least she's drinking. That's a good sign. Drank every drop." He screwed the lid back on the flask and slid it back into his coat. "Now we just need to have a look at that ankle." He grabbed the wad of clothes and slipped it between his legs and the little brunette head. Then he scooted back and let the makeshift pillow rest on the ground.

Anna said something in Russian and started to get up.

"Gilbert! Tell her to lay down and be still!"

Gilbert did, and Anna listened to him.

Good.

Ludwig moved over to the injured ankle, retrieved his army knife, and began cutting the bandages while Gilbert spoke in Russian in the background, probably reassuring Pyotr that he wasn't about to cut the girl's foot off.

After a few seconds the last strip of cloth was peeled away, and Ludwig's heart sank at the sight of an monstrous gash where the foot connected to the leg. Raw, wet, red-violet, and puffed up along the edges, it was definitely infected. A sliver of bone stuck out of the middle. The flesh around the injury was already starting to darken.

Ludwig sighed. "Looks like we're going to have to amputate to save her."

X-x-X-x-X

The amputation took place half an hour later with Gilbert, the more experienced of the two nation spirits, as the surgeon. They did it inside the factory using a cluster of lanterns for light and what medical supplies they could scavenge from the corpses. To say that Pyotr was upset by the sight of all his fallen kinsmen was an understatement: first he broke down into a sobbing, shaking mess of tears and raw anguish, then he became aggressive and had be restrained ( Gilbert later explained that two of the corpses were his father and uncle ). Luckily they were able to find some rope, and Pyotr spent the duration of the surgery bound, gagged, and tied to a support column where he could do no harm.

Every precaution was taken to ensure Anna's survival — amputations were tricky even under ideal conditions and recovery from them was never a sure thing, especially in people already succumbing to infection. Likewise, Ludwig and Gilbert did their best to ensure that she would feel as little pain as possible, putting her out with the only bottle of general anesthesia they were able to find before making the first incision. Even after everything was done and the wound cleaned, sewn, and dressed, Gilbert's prognosis remained grim. "She might make it and she might not." he'd proclaim, "If only we'd gotten to her sooner, before infection set in. Then we might have even been able to save the foot."

Though their soldiers needed them and they had urgent matters to attend to, both Germans decided to stay with Anna through the night, to take turns sleeping, standing guard, and checking on her and Pyotr. Gilbert would find some adult civilians to care for the children to in the morning, then they'd split up and carry on fighting in different parts of the city as usual, all the while secretly working to overthrow their own government.

At least, that was the plan.

X-x-X-x-X

There were few things in life Ludwig hated as much as night duty entry control in a city that looked — and felt — like hell frozen over. He was bundled up as warmly as possible in a few extra pairs of socks and trousers to go with his warm woolen gloves, hat, and earmuffs, and even wore a Russian trenchcoat underneath his German one, but the freezing air bit sharply into his nose, eyes, and face, crept into his fingers and toes, stung his nostrils and lungs when he breathed it in. He'd always heard that Russian winters were unbearably cold, and the merciless winter deep freeze that had killed more of his army than the damned Red Army during the failed Moscow campaign stood testament to that, but damn, if he didn't know any better he'd swear he'd been killed in his sleep and through some mistake, some bizarre quirk of magic, been teleported to Antarctica.

It was that damned subzero wind. Inside the factory it was significantly warmer, but out here…out here there were no walls to block the wind and no ceiling to help trap in heat.

And if he was this cold, he could only imagine what it must be like for humans. Probably neither side was going to be taking advantage of the cover of darkness for a sneak attack tonight. It was hardly a good night for stealth anyway, not since the clouds had parted to reveal a bright, almost full moon and patches of brilliant stars.

At least it's easy enough to see. Ludwig's eyes had long since adjusted to the to the soft moonlight and deep shadows, and having had plenty of prior experience with outdoor night patrols in dangerous territory he knew exactly what to look for.

And he was seeing none of it.

Everywhere he looked he saw nothing but snow, dead stone and machines without so much as a stray cat or dog to break up the monotony.

He should probably go back inside the factory, do another round of spying on the outside world through the little peepholes he'd made in its walls. Ten minutes of being outside gliding in and out of the shadows like a wraith was more than enough, and he'd already spent an hour poised in the window of the building across the street watching the only entrance like a hawk. Normally he would have kept that position and forgone a risky outdoor patrol, however abbreviated, but hell, the only Russian crazy enough to be out in this temperature was Russia himself, and Russia would surely be expecting a sniper at that location.

His mind made, he rose up from behind the car he'd been using for cover and was about to dash the 15 or so meters separating him from the factory entrance at nation speed when a woman's voice rang out from way, way too close by.

"Hello, Generaloberst Herrmann."

In a flash Ludwig had his sniper rifle pointed at her.

"Easy there, I'm alone and unarmed." The woman's German was almost perfect. She stopped and put her hands up high into the air. "I need to talk to you. Please don't kill me until you've heard me out."

She was so close…only a few meters in front of him. But there hadn't been anyone there when he'd checked a few seconds ago — she would have had to have rounded the corner of the building behind him at the exact moment when he'd started to stand up, it was the only explanation.

Ludwig blinked. She was young, early twenties probably, and had a pretty…no, beautiful…face framed by long, straight, pale blonde hair that seemed to glow in the light of the moon. Her voice was nice, too. Strong but not harsh and seductively velvetty it radiated danger, mystery, and feminine power. In fact, it was exactly the kind of voice he'd always imagined a femme fatale having.

It was all so…distracting.

Focus, Ludwig, or you'll be waking up next to the boss. "Alright, but only if we speak in there." Ludwig gestured with his rifle to the building behind them. "I don't want to be sniped by one of your comrades while I'm listening to you. You go in first."

"As you wish." The woman approached him seemingly without fear and readily turned her back on him to first open the door, then go inside.

You're very brave, I'll give you that. Whoever she was, this woman obviously felt that whatever she had to say was important enough to risk death for. Ludwig followed her inside, on fire with curiosity. "Move over in front of the window, I want to be able to see who I'm talking to."

"What, I don't get the same honor?" the woman teased lightly, backing up until the light streaming in through the somehow-still-intact window illuminated her smooth, flowing features. "I hate to admit it, but for a German you're pretty handsome."

What do you mean "for a German" I'm pretty hands- Ludwig killed the thought mid-sentence.

No.

No it didn't matter, he couldn't, wouldn't let himself be seduced by what was, in all likelihood, a viper in vixen's clothing.

Instead he said, in a voice totally devoid of humor and warmth "Flattery wont help you, Russian." At no point since their little encounter had he taken his rifle off her, and now he shoved the business end of it out into the swath of moonlight menacingly. "Start talking. Who are you and what do you want?"

The woman gave a little sigh of disappointment. "Straight to the point, I see. I should have expected as much. You're even more serious than the average German."

"I'm losing my patience." Ludwig growled, though nothing could be further from the truth.

"Fine. My name is Svetlana and I have a favor to ask of you. I saw how you and your comrade spared that boy and saved that little girl earlier today — I've never seen such compassion in German soldiers. Certainly I didn't expect to see it in someone with a reputation for being a 'Russian butcherer'. You obviously have a soft spot for kids-"

"More like I just don't like to kill them." Ludwig interrupted.

Svetlana saw right through him. "Right. So that's why you cushioned that boy's landing with your own body, and that's why you gave the little girl a drink from your own flask. That's why you and the albino took her into that factory to treat her injured ankle. You can drop the black-hearted act, Herrmann, I know you care. I've seen the goodness inside of you." She flicked a blonde lock out of her face with a gloved finger, offered him the hint of a smile.

Ludwig's expression remained harsh and unyielding. "Where are you going with this?"

"My sister, my little nieces and nephews, and a few of my nieces and nephews' friends got trapped in their cellar when a bomb fell on their house four days ago and buried their door under tonnes of ruble. My friends and I can't dig them out, and because they're right in the middle of a strongly German-held area the Red Army can't get any earthmoving equipment anywhere near them. They had enough water to last them a few days, but I'm almost certain they're out now, and probably suffocating, too…Generaloberst Herrmann, most of them are really young, under ten years old. My sister's the only adult in there with them."

"Is this cellar you speak of anywhere near the Volga?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm sorry about your family, but I can't help you. I'm not going to call my soldiers away from such a key location. The quicker we win this battle the quicker we can put an end to tragedies like this."

Svetlana's face fell. "I thought you might say that."

"And I can't in good conscience order my soldiers to dig them out. Svetlana, I want to believe you, but I can't. Not all the way. Not enough to risk my men's lives. A strange woman who just happens to speak fluent German seeks me out alone in the middle of the night and flatters me before asking me for a favor…this has 'sneak attack' written all over it. Probably we'd get rushed by the Red Army the moment we let our guard down. Maybe that cellar's even full of Red Army troops."

"Right, because we'd drop a house on ourselves in hopes of being dug out by Germans, who hate us, so that we could then ambush them. Because that makes nothing but sense and is in no way dangerous or stupid, oh no."

"I meant that Russian soldiers could have been hiding in the cellar before the house was bombed, not that they deliberately planned it." Ludwig clarified, agitation seeping into his tone. "Maybe some of them are your relatives. Maybe one of them is your boyfriend…how the hell am I supposed to know? I have only your word, the word of an enemy, to go on."

Svetlana raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So civilians are your enemies now?" There was a bite to her voice.

Ludwig frowned. The word had slipped out automatically without him even thinking about it. "No, but a lot of Russian women do fight alongside the Red Army. How do I know you're not one of them? You could be a sniper trying to lure me and my men into a trap."

Svetlana gave a frustrated sighed that passed her colorless lips in a puff of white smoke and shook her head. "I thought you might be hard to convince. You don't want to risk your men? Fine. Come alone. It's not like you need them anyway, probably, to dig my family out. I'm willing to bet coming back from the dead, miracle healing, and teleportation aren't the only supernatural powers you possess."

Ludwig's heart stopped. "Svetlana, don't tell me you really believe those-"

"Yes I do," the Russian returned emphatically, "I've seen it with my own eyes." Her voice grew stronger, hotter. "I'm the sniper you've been looking for, Generaloberst! I'm the one who shot you last month at the Flakvierling, the one who killed you. I saw your brains leak out onto the ground, your soldiers panic. Saw you walking around in roughly the same area not a full week later as though nothing had happened, not so much as a bullet-shaped scar between your eyes. I've been following you ever since, seen you shrug off injuries that would cripple anyone else, escape inescapable situations. I don't know what you are, but I know you're not human. At least, not entirely. Nothing you say is going to convince me otherwise — I know what I saw, know there's truth to the most fantastic rumors about you."

She took a quick breath, and when she next spoke her voice was calmer, more subdued. Tears welled in her eyes, glistened wetly in the moonlight. "Please, my sister and little nieces and nephews mean everything to me, and they don't have a lot of time — it may even already be too late for some of them. I know you're going to kill me one way or another, have your revenge. You might even torture and humiliate me first, and if you don't decide to help my family then I've thrown my life away for nothing, but I've seen the goodness in you, and you really are my only hope. If I have to die horribly to save Masha and Olga, Tatiana, Ivan, Yuri, little Sasha and Natalia, then so be it. Innocent lives are in your hands, Generaloberst Herrmann. Will you save them?"

Ludwig blinked like a deer caught in headlights, his face slack and white with surprise: Svetlana's impassioned little speech had hit him like a runaway train, and for a rare moment he was too dumbstruck for coherent thought, let alone words.

Then some of the shock subsided, and his brain, and his mouth, worked again. "I will."

X-x-X-x-X

(1) Нет! Будь хорошим мальчиком. = No! Be a good boy.

A/N: Woohoo! Double-update!

And so a new character arrives. Where does Svetlana fit into all of this? You'll see. ;)

I'm not going to go into detail about the rescue mission next chapter, as the story is winding down and I'm pointing everything towards finishing before too long here, but it is important to the plot.

Guest: Yes, it was a mistake. I've corrected it. ;)

Just Anthr Anon: Aw, thank you! :D I'm really glad you liked the battle scene a couple of chapters ago — they've always been a bit difficult for me to write for the reasons you mentioned, and I always worry I'm not painting a clear enough picture in the reader's head ( my goal is to have them feel like a movie, only through words instead of moving pictures ).

Oh yes, as you can see from this chappie, Ludwig and Gilbert are receiving some backlash — people do notice, and some are pretty certain about what they saw. Historically they haven't stayed in the same single battle for so long ( at least Ludwig hasn't ), ergo this wasn't as much of an issue in the past. How will this ultimately affect the plot? Only time will tell!

I'm happy to bring you some brotherly bonding, and sorry about the publishing mistake — sometimes Fanfic doesn't play nice.

Thank you so much for the review!