Through gritted teeth and with excruciating pain, Harlock made his way toward the plane, just missing several shots aimed at his life. With the soldiers quickly advancing, he had little time to devise an extravagant strategy. But this was a war! Survival was based on quick response to difficult situations! As he approached the left side of the plane, he picked up the pace of his steps and slopped out of the river. Quickly, he dashed out of the soldier's sight around the nose of the plane, and using the plane as a temporary barrier, he took a brief moment to collect himself and to pull the bullet from his shoulder. He winced as he ripped it from his flesh, a scarlet liquid covering his hand and soaking through his jacket.
With his back against the plane, and blood still trickling from his wound, he withdrew his pistol and waited until he could hear his enemy's footsteps getting louder and louder. And then, they stopped.
"Surrender! You have no chance to escape!" said a gruff voice in heavily accented French; Harlock estimated that they were approximately 2 yards from him. A moment of silence that seemed like an eternity passed. Then, with much stealth and accuracy, Harlock peered just from below the nose of the plane, and fired 4 direct shots to each of the soldiers, bringing them down efficiently; they slumped to the ground one after the other and in the order he had fired the shots.
Harlock slunk back out of view and waited for any further soldiers. When none came after some time, he breathed a sigh of relief mixed with agony. He put his pistol back in its hostler and sank to the ground, applying pressure to his shoulder once again with his opposite hand. Realizing that little was coming of his efforts to relieve the pain with his hand, he removed the scarf from around his neck, and with much difficultly, wrapped it around his arm where the gaping wound still bled. Harlock desperately wished to flush his wound with the water from the Rhine, but if he left the shelter of his plane at exactly the wrong moment, any stray soldier could end his life with much ease.
And so he sat there, waiting for an unfortunate event to cause more difficulty to his situation.
Hour after hour passed.
After relieving himself, he felt the prickling pains of hunger increase with the dying hours of the day. If he could just wait for the security of the black and cloaking night, he could much more easily seek the comfort that the waters of the Rhine provided and rummage about the fallen soldiers for any necessary items...