"I hope you realise how terribly cliché that sounded," Emilie commented in Deutsch, smirking and hoping he didn't detect the waver in her voice. It wasn't in her stubborn nature to allow people to know she was uncomfortable or stressed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eugene flick a questioning glance at her, and she just extended her fingers to lightly touch his left hand reassuringly, not taking her eyes off of the German soldier in front of her for a second. Cliché or not, his mere presence was unsettling and downright irritating. It certainly ruined the mood. "What are you doing here, Eberhardt?"
Eberhardt shrugged and she saw him grin in the darkness, taking a step forward and stumbled once again. "I could ask you the same question, Demont." His voice was a threatening growl, but she could plainly hear his words were slurred. He hiccupped lightly. What was the highly-respected, distinguished, stern German army coming to?
Emilie frowned. "You're drunk."
"And you're out here with…" He waved his Luger at Eugene, who tensed even more than before. Even if he didn't speak the language, he knew danger when he saw it. "With that enemy soldier. Wait till that weakling CO hears about this. Or maybe I'll just tie up the loose ends myself. That stupid man was never very good at discipline." He shook his head scornfully, muttering under his breath just loud enough for her to hear, "Dummkopf."
"Back off," Emilie ordered, edging ever-so-slightly towards the armed man, "Right now. You aren't thinking straight."
He let out a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. "No, no, see, you have it all wrong, as per usual, Demont," he told her, blinking rapidly a few times. She could imagine his vision spinning as the alcohol coursed through his veins. "I am thinking perfectly straight! In fact, I was celebrating! Dachau is the best thing that has happened to me so far. Everything is falling into place. Everything is falling into place!"
Emilie swallowed hard, uneasiness tensing her muscles. She didn't dare risk a look back at Eugene, but she could feel he was still there. He didn't speak up, didn't ask what they were saying, he just stood there; she could tell he would interfere, however, if push came to shove. Right now, though, he didn't know what he was up against. "What are you talking about, Eberhardt?" she asked gently. Usually, when talking to the insufferable man, her voice came out cold and aggressive. But she knew how to deal with drunks that potentially posed a threat, and that was to not aggravate them any further by seeming like you wanted to pick a fight.
"I have friends," he continued, and Emilie bit back the sarcastic remark of 'really? Who would've thought.' She remained silent, listening, all the while taking tiny steps forward, attempting to get close enough in order to disarm him. The only thing worse than Eberhardt normally was Eberhardt waving a gun in your face. "Friends in the SS. I receive letters, I hear things. And one of those things was of the labour camps, both down in Dachau," he pointed to the town down the hill, "And all over Europe. But I didn't believe that such a marvellous thing could exist. That is, until now. Now I have proof! Oh, but I only wish I could see it with my own eyes. The good that my regime is doing for the world…"
He was certainly accomplished at making speeches while off his face. Emilie struggled to force down the rage that surged through her at his comment, but her efforts were useless. "You bastard!" she all but screeched, momentarily forgetting he had a loaded gun in his clammy little hands as she closed the distance between them before he had a chance to react, drew back her fist and punched him square in the face.
"Emilie!" She hardly heard Eugene's alarmed yell from behind her.
She felt his nose splinter under her knuckles and watched triumphantly as Eberhardt was knocked to the ground, falling onto his back. He lay dazed for a moment, Emilie fighting for breath as the adrenaline raced through her, before slowly lifting his head, blood dripping from his nose in a steady stream. His hand tightly gripping the gun followed, lining her into his sights clumsily, his arm swaying from side to side.
That gave her just enough time to fling herself to the ground. Eberhardt fired into the empty space where she had been standing just mere heartbeats ago; and, since her heart was beating at the speed of an army drummer, that really wasn't that long ago. "I'll kill you for that!" he gurgled, wiping blood from his face. She was sure he was serious.
But, before either of them could react, Gene was suddenly standing over Eberhardt and kicking the gun from his hand. The German glared up at him with an expression of pure hatred and confusion, but Eugene met his gaze unflinchingly. "You're next if you don't make yourself scarce," Eberhardt spat, but Eugene held his ground; he was even braver than Emilie had ever given him credit for. Even if he didn't understand what Eberhardt was saying, he was still willing to stay there. Whether it was to protect Emilie or get his revenge for the camp on any German he could find, she wasn't sure.
"Don't drag him into this," Emilie hissed, scrambling to her feet, wincing as she put pressure on her injured foot. So much for remaining calm. "Don't you fucking drag him into this."
"Then tell your guard dog to stand down! I don't do what you tell me, Demont. Useless medics."
With that, Eberhardt spun around on his back and kicked Eugene's feet out from under him with all the force of the with boar he was named after. Now he was just doing it to spite her. Gene's eyes sparked with fear as he landed on the hard earth with a thud, but, before Eberhardt could do any more damage, he was on his feet once more, staring down at the other soldier.
But Eberhardt was a terrible drunk and, if anything, the man was persistent. He pulled his small blade from his boots and looked ready to attack Gene, who looked just as prepared to take Eberhardt down with him.
Almost forgetting to breathe, Emilie fumbled around on the grass for the Luger Gene had kicked from the other man's hands. Come on, come on, she thought desperately to herself, mouth partially open as she sucked in shallow, shaky breaths. Her fingertips connected with something cool and hard. Yes! Drawing herself up onto her knees, she grabbed the small, black gun and, barely having time to aim, fired. Please don't jam, you stupid, fucking thing.
Bang!
The bullet whizzed through the air and lodged itself in Eberhardt's stomach. His eyes widened in surprise, looking down at the wound in his flesh that was already gushing blood. He looked over at Emilie, his glare as malicious as ever, despite the fact he had a gaping hole in his back. Snarling, he attempted to speak but the words got lost in the back of his throat as blood bubbled from his lips, dripping down his cheeks. With one last cry of agony and hatred, Eberhardt collapsed back against the frost-sprinkled grass, his head lolling to the side as blood pooled around him. His glassy eyes glazed over, staring sightlessly into the distance.
And just like that, it was over.
