A/N: I hope everyone had a lovely Christmas! Some of this chapter is taken from my other story Sound of Silence.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE ESCAPE
The silence stretched on for all eternity as the three culprits stared down in horror at the crumpled heap at their feet, the shards of glass and whiskey-soaked carpet framing the evidence of their crime.
"Max!" Georg managed to splutter, "What the hell have you done!"
The impresario's jaw dropped open in apparent disbelief, "I've saved your life!" He insisted, thoroughly affronted, "That's what I've done!"
"And what exactly are we supposed to do with this mess?!" Georg retorted, gesturing to the motionless colonel as though he were some mud that the impresario had trailed in on his boots.
"Is he breathing?" Maria asked cautiously, sinking onto her haunches to take a closer look.
"Leave him," Max commanded sharply, "Breathing or not, this place will be swarming with Nazis before long. We have to go. Now."
"But what about the staff?" Maria implored, rising to her feet resolutely, "We can't just leave them. They'll get arrested for something we've done!"
She looked to Georg for support and he nodded in agreement, his brow marred with a heavy frown, "she's right," he told Max reluctantly, "We can't abandon them. They'll be done for."
The impresario stared at the pair of them as though they'd sprouted second heads.
"You're going to risk your life for the likes of Franz?!" he beseeched incredulously.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Georg fought for patience. They had precious little time and he didn't want to spend it arguing about the relative worth of human life.
"Look," he instructed slowly, as though talking to a squabbling Gretl and Marta, "Maria, you're going to go with Elsa and the children to the abbey now. The Reverend Mother is expecting you. Max," he turned to his friend, "you and I will stay behind to make sure the staff are safe. Then we'll head to the abbey together in my car."
"But-" Maria and Max retorted simultaneously.
"No buts!" Georg interrupted firmly, "if we move now, we can still evade them," hurriedly, he took one of his wife's hands in his and added, "I promise darling, we'll be right behind you."
The Reverend Mother paced nervously up and down the length of her office. Baroness Schraeder and Herr Detweiler were late. Everything was planned, all the details were taken care of; the caretaker's car was ready and waiting with a full tank of gas. The only thing missing was the Von Trapps themselves. There was no reason as to why they might be delayed. It was unlikely that anyone would've discovered their plot, or even suspect anything out of the ordinary - but Colonel Hans Landa was a very intelligent man. And with that knowledge came the possibility of danger.
Suddenly the front bell rang shrilly through the walls of the abbey and the elderly woman almost dashed down the corridor, finally reaching the gate and ushering a crestfallen Maria through the entranceway. Seven Von Trapp children followed, headed up by an alert Baroness Shraeder. The Reverend Mother's relief was short lived, however, for it was clear that something was very wrong.
"Where are Captain Von Trapp and Herr Detweiler?" she breathed, almost dreading the answer.
"They stayed behind to warn the staff," the baroness replied, keeping her voice down and casting a concerned eye towards a stricken Maria who was busying herself with the children, "Landa knew everything. He attacked them both. But Max got there just in time."
The Reverend Mother didn't mask her horror but nodded gravely nonetheless, "I was afraid something like this would happen."
"We must wait for them here," Elsa murmured, "they can't be far behind. They have Georg's car."
"Are any of you in immediate danger, my child?" The mother abbess questioned, her brow furrowed with concern.
Sighing, Elsa checked again that she was out of Maria's earshot.
"It's only a matter of time before Landa's men discover what we've done," she admitted to the older woman gravely, "I fear the abbey is the first place they'll look."
Georg paced relentlessly in his study dressed in his travel attire as Max watched him in silence from the corner of the room. They'd woken and dismissed all of the staff as quickly as possible, telling them simply that the Nazis were on their way and it was no longer safe. Those who had homes nearby had packed their essentials and gone back to their families, while those who had nowhere to go had been given a generous amount of money to give them a fighting chance. None of them had asked questions and Georg hadn't given them anything other than minimal instructions to follow.
"For goodness sake Georg, you'll wear a hole in the carpet," Max exclaimed, pouring a generous whiskey and handing it to his restless friend.
"Forgive me if I seem a little on edge Max," Georg retorted sarcastically, knocking the liquid back, pulling on his jacket and tossing Max his own.
"Everything's gone smoothly so far, the children are safe with Maria at the abbey and we'll be out of the country before lunch," Max replied casually, as though running through the agenda for an evening rendez vous.
Georg only scowled.
"What time is it?" He asked, resuming his pacing.
"It's ten minutes later than the last time you asked," Max rolled his eyes.
Georg nodded curtly and went into the top drawer of his desk, pulling out a box of matches. He struck one alight and threw it into the fireplace where piles of papers and documentation were bundled together for burning.
"Is that the last of it?" Max asked.
"Yes," Georg stated, "they won't be able to trace me or get at my money.. Or Agathe's."
"Good."
"Do you have everything?"
"The clothes on my back, my wallet. My passport. What else do refugees need?" Max quipped, draining his glass.
"Refugees.." Georg muttered bitterly, shaking his head as he watched the flames engulf the documents. He was being driven from his home by a crazed Nazi bastard who would most likely make it his life's ambition to watch the world burn. It made the bile rise in his throat.
Without warning, the sound of a fist hammering on the front door reverberated around the villa and the two men jumped in alarm, fixing each other with a panicked stare.
"Expecting company?" Max hissed as they jumped into action, Georg stamping out the fire with a booted foot and snatching the car keys from their place atop the desk.
"I'm sure it's nothing," Georg retorted uncertainly, more to convince himself than anyone else. But the reassurance behind his words fell flat when their visitor issued a vicious command.
"Open this door!" the voice bellowed, followed rapidly by something heavy smashing against the wood with a single sickening thud. Georg's stomach curled with panic. He'd know that voice anywhere - and by the look on Max's face, the impresario recognised it too.
"Zeller.." he rasped.
The two men moved instantly, slipping from the study and running across the hall until they'd made it up the stairs. They pressed themselves against the wall in the shadows beyond the banisters, breathing heavily - and Georg was immediately grateful that they'd managed to dismiss the staff just in time. Holding their breaths, they heard the sickening splinter of wood, watched helplessly as the front door burst open by force and several Nazi soldiers spilled over the threshold, their booted feet clicking intimidatingly against the marble floor. Heading up the ambush was none other than Wolfgang Zeller.
"Search every room!" The Nazi rat bellowed, as Georg heard the sound of various doors being opened and closed, the blood boiling in his veins as he listened helplessly to the soldiers searching his home.
"Sir!" a young Nazi suddenly bellowed from below, beckoning his commanding officer towards the drawing room, "I've found something."
Georg craned his neck to watch the horror unfold below - and instantly recognised the young lad as the telegram boy that Leisl had taken such an interest in. The little cretin's eyes were wide with excitement as he called Zeller closer and the two men peered into the drawing room to discover exactly what Max and Georg had left there.
"Dear God..." he heard Zeller curse under his breath, "Medic!"
Dutifully, one of his soldiers scurried out of the throng and clicked his heels together at Zeller's side.
"Check if he's breathing!" Zeller commanded, pointing into the drawing room, "Look for a pulse! And you - " he grabbed another passing youth in uniform, "find me a telephone! The rest of you, keep searching," he scuffed Rolf on the back of the head to kickstart the boy into action, "That's an order!"
Georg instantly felt Max's hand grip at his shoulder and his friend wordlessly gestured with his head for them to retreat further down the corridor and into the governess' bedroom. Nodding his agreement, Georg followed - and they managed to slip into the room unseen. As soon as the door was closed however, Georg rounded on the impresario with eyes narrowed in accusation.
"How did they get here so quickly!" He whisper-shouted, moving frantically to the window and looking down at the trellis to check their descent would still be safe.
"How the hell should I know!" Max hissed.
Georg whirled on the spot and jabbed an accusing index finger into the impresario's chest, "well for starters, Landa wouldn't even have come here if it wasn't for your intercepted telegram! Hand me that pillow will you?" he requested out of the blue, pointing to the bed.
"Elsa's intercepted telegram," Max corrected, mindlessly passing said pillow as they both turned back to the window in preparation for their escape.
"Either way," Georg grumbled, wedging the pillow over the windowsill for comfort before swinging one leg over the ledge, "this entire mess has led right back to you, every single-"
"Not another move," a shaky voice suddenly commanded from behind them, making both men freeze in their tracks, "or I'll.. I'll shoot."
Head snapping up in panic, Georg was confronted by the sight of the young boy Rolf in the doorway, clutching a gun in his quaking fist and looking as though he might burst into tears. He'd snuck up on the two of them like a thief in the night - but then again, he and Max had been so busy bickering they wouldn't have even heard the door open.
Interminable seconds passed as the three men regarded each other, trying to predict who would make the next move. Shifting with all the caution he could muster, Georg lowered himself from the window ledge, warning Max off with a quick gesture of the hand as he took a calculated step closer to the boy.
"Rolf.." he murmured warningly, lifting his hands slightly to show he meant no harm, "you're only a boy.." another careful step, "You don't really belong to them."
"Stay where you are!" Rolf demanded, fear contorting his face - but Georg ignored him, edging closer yet again.
"Come away with us," he hissed conspiratorially, "Before it's too late."
"Not another step," the boy quivered, holding the gun higher, "I'll kill you!"
"You give that to me, Rolf," Georg insisted, moving within a few feet of his assailant.
"Did you hear me?" Rolf implored, his voice trembling, "I'll kill you!"
"Rolf.." came Georg's final warning - and he managed to close the gap between them in a final stride, gripping the boy's wrist in his iron fist and wresting the weapon from his flimsy fingers. Shoulders sagging in defeat, Rolf hung his head in apparent shame and Georg stepped back safely with the retrieved weapon, shaking his head in disgust.
"You'll never be one of them..."
He wasn't sure what'd made him utter such a sentence - but it was clearly the wrong thing to say, because Rolf responded with great offence, his head snapping up and his chest puffing out in bold defiance before delivering his final betrayal, "Lieutenant!" He bellowed like a singing lark, blowing his whistle to alert his superiors, "lieutenant!"
Immediately, shouts were heard and thundering footsteps echoed across the hallway downstairs as Zeller's men made their way to the governess' room. Adrenaline coursed through Georg's veins as his body engaged in fight or flight. Hurriedly, he hauled Max across the room by the lapels and gave him a leg up onto the windowsill, shoving him through the tight gap without a single hesitation.
"Go!" He bellowed, giving his friend a hand down as Max dropped obediently out of sight. Quick as a flash, Georg scrambled after him, lowering his foot out of the window in a blind search for the trellis below. To prevent an unwanted pursuit, he kept the gun pointed firmly at Rolf - but he needn't have bothered. The boy was so paralysed with fear that he posed very little threat.
Within seconds however, Zeller and several of his men appeared in the doorway, shoving a useless Rolf out of the way, "move aside boy!" the Nazi snarled, wrenching the pistol from his own belt and taking aim.
A deafening gunshot was fired, the bullet hitting the window frame near Georg's head and blowing the wood to pieces with a splintering crack. Ducking to avoid the spray of debris, he momentarily lost his footing and was forced to cling to the windowsill to avoid a nasty fall. Soldiers swarmed the room then, and he felt a rough hand grab at his wrist as Zeller shouted orders repeatedly about wanting him alive. He resisted with all his might, wrenching his wrist free from their clutching hands - but his release came at a price. The force of his resistance made him lose his grip, and before he knew it he was falling the hefty distance to the ground, landing beside Max with a heavy thud and a pained groan.
"Are you alright?" The impresario implored, hauling Georg to his feet.
"After him!" They heard Zeller bark through the open window, "Outside. Now!"
"Come on," Georg spluttered, "The car is just around corner!"
Shouts could already be heard close by as the soldiers neared the side of the villa and Georg knew they didn't have much time left. Grabbing Max by the scruff, both men broke into a run across the gardens, scrambling through the orchard towards the back gate where Georg had parked many hours earlier. Gravel flew out from under his feet as he skidded to a stop at the driver's door and hurled himself over it into the seat, throwing the car into gear. Max was only a few feet behind him, but the Nazis were already hot on their heels, several of the soldiers coming into view as they rounded a corner and began sprinting towards them.
"Oh Christ!" the impresario exclaimed, the engine barely turning over before he was throwing himself headfirst into the passenger's side, "Drive, drive, drive!"
Georg didn't need telling twice. Slamming his foot down on the accelerator, the wheels spun in protest, dust and the stench of burning rubber filling the air. It wasn't until sometime later, when they were racing down the country road - away from their pursuers, away from their home - that he finally allowed himself to draw breath.
A/N: we're getting there slowly! Thanks again for all your reviews.