A/N: my deepest apologies for the long delay - my computer began singing the Terminal Blues, and I had to get a new one - with the attendant fun of reinstalling software and transferring hundreds of files. Happy happy joy joy.

Plus, this chapter took longer to write than most. My first ever real fight scene, it took some careful choreography. But here 'tis at last. Enjoy.

Blue Wolf's Choice

For a split second, both Rose and Jared thought the speaker – obviously the one standing a pace in front – was a local guy (he'd certainly sounded like it), perhaps even a Resistance member who'd come to meet them? Those hopes were dashed a beat later, as they took in the Army uniforms; then one of the other two barked something in German, and he answered in the same fluent vein: "Nein, er ist nicht der Mann." Both of them were looking at Jared. "He's not the man we're looking for, Hans. But her..." And he turned back to his former perusal of Rose, his eyes parading insultingly over her curves. "You're either Rose Tyler, or the imposter. Which is it?"

Rose lifted her chin and didn't deign to answer. Her heart was racing. Singing a pop song wasn't going to get them out of this predicament. Neither was screaming – they were deep in the hedgerows, and anyone near enough to hear would be of questionable help – and neither was running. They couldn't outrun bullets, not on their best days, and those were semiautomatics being pointed at them if she wasn't mistaken.

She took a chance, and shot a quick look at Jared, six steps to her left. Thank god I gave him the disk; his disguise is holding. He might have felt her glance, because he returned it; his eyes betraying his racing thoughts, running the same frantic paths as hers. The rescued puppy in his arms was whimpering softly again, the whites of his eyes showing at the three newcomers.

"You think silence will help you?" their captor's voice slithered through the air. "I don't think you'll stay silent for long. Hans, cover him." At his leader's gesture, the second soldier stalked over to stand beside Jared, stopping with his rifle pointed directly at his new single heart from a bare foot away, then he turned his head slightly to keep an eye on the fun, glancing back and forth to enjoy his captive's reactions, too.

Suddenly the pup switched from whimpering to menacing growls, only slightly comical from his age and baby teeth. Jared glanced down at him in his arms; the dog was definitely not happy with the man in front of them. "What did you do to him?" he asked, half stalling tactic, half real concern.

The leader replied derisively. "Tossed the nuisance mutt down the hole. Maybe he wasn't as worthless as I thought though – he made pretty good bait for you." He'd strutted over to stand before Rose, his feet planted wide with disdain, while the third man trailed behind, covering her with his rifle from a couple of feet beyond his squad leader's shoulder. Rose and Jared were neatly boxed in by rifles and the mine shaft.

"Now," the leader drawled. "Kleinen Schätz. Did you really think just dying your hair that ugly brown would hide you from us? Which little bird are you, eh? The one who flew away from the General's warm bed? Or the one who managed to make two officers disappear from the Leipzig? Hmm?"

Rose remained silent, determined not to play his little game. Her mind was still racing, looking for a way out.

Without warning, he reached out with his massive left hand and wrapped it around her throat, then leaned in over her, letting his six-foot-two Aryan godhood do its usual work of intimidating the woman. For a moment, his piercing blue eyes reminded Rose of her first doctor's; a thought that was washed away immediately by his stinking beer breath flooding her face. She blinked, realizing that he was at least half drunk; the other two probably were, as well. Drunk and randy: his eyes were drifting down to peer down her shirt front. Her skin crawled.

"Take your hands off me," she hissed through clenched teeth.

"Oh, come now, kleinen Schätz. You can be friendlier than that. Much friendlier. Everyone knows how much you love the Germans. Even turned in your own father – and gave your own mother over for our fun. Too bad I missed out on that. But you'll make it up to me now, won't you?" Apparently he'd decided she was the "real" Rose. Finally dropping his rifle softly on the ground beside him, he snaked his right hand around her waist – keeping his left on her throat – and pulled her tight against him.

"Over my dead body," snarled Jared. Forgetting the rifle trained on his heart, he started to step forward towards the ugly scene – but Hans shifted in front of him, cocking his rifle and pointing it right between Jared's eyes.

The leader leered at Jared again. "Oh, no, Ginger. First, you get to watch this. The last thing you'll ever see is your little songbird... entertaining us." His voice managed to put the most obscene connotation possible on the innocuous little word, before turning shockingly casual. "We'll kill you after. After we've all had our fun," he went on, his eyes flicking towards Jared's guard. "I think Hans fancies you for himself, don't you, Hans?" He spat out another question in German, and Hans grinned evilly, his eyes parading down Jared's own body just as the leader's had Rose's. The third soldier snickered loudly, while Jared's eyes showed his disgust.

Turning back to Rose, the leader suddenly pushed her sideways toward the third man. "Hold her, Dieter!" As she staggered, trying to keep her feet, Dieter swiftly slung his rifle on his shoulder, then grabbed her by the upper arms, almost wrenching them out of their sockets as he hauled her upright again. The leader, meanwhile, had unbuttoned his jacket and shrugged out of it, then flung it towards a nearby branch before padding dangerously over to his intended victim again. His eyes never left her chest. He reached with both hands towards her shirt – and all hell broke loose.

The puppy, still absently clutched to Jared's chest, had had enough. His growls turned to snaps at Hans, and he began struggling to reach him, squirming out of Jared's arms and jumping to the ground, where he lunged at his target's ankles. Hans swiftly brought his rifle down from Jared's forehead and went to reverse it, preparing to connect the gun's butt with the pup's brainpan – and Jared saw his chance. Echoing the pup's lunge, he grabbed the rifle and began grappling with Hans.

He realized immediately that he was outmatched. Although shorter by several inches, Hans outweighed him by a stone – and was obviously trained in hand-to-hand combat, something which, Jared reflected in a tiny, distant corner of his mind, was conspicuously absent from his own C.V. He held on to the rifle with a strength borne of sheer survivalist desperation, even as the soldier swung him violently around.

Jared wasn't the only one who saw and grabbed an opening. Both of Rose's captors swung their heads at the first sounds of the struggle – and Rose almost grinned as she leaned back into Dieter and kicked the leader's crotch as hard as she could. He went down with a strangled scream. Then she collapsed her knees, using her own weight to pull Dieter off-balance, then swiftly reversed direction, pushing up off the ground to knock him backwards. Both of them went sprawling; Dieter let her go as he tried to break his fall.

It wasn't skill, training, or even conscious planning; just good old luck: they hadn't moved very far away from the gaping, unfenced hole in the ground that was the old abandoned mine shaft. Rose had managed to knock Dieter just far enough that – although he frantically scrabbled with his hands to try to catch the edge, he missed, and and his momentum carried him over the side and down into the dark. His echoing scream was cut off by a dull, muffled thump from the bottom of the deep shaft.

Jared found himself flung into the thick trunk of a nearby tree, bruising his ribs and nearly knocking the wind out of his too-slender frame. How he managed to keep his grip on the rifle, he never knew. Hans paused and grinned evilly again at his expression, then glanced down in annoyance at the not-quite-knee-high puppy, again nipping at his ankle. He aimed a kick at the dog, which barely connected with its side – just enough. It gave a single yelp and slunk off into the bushes.

The further casual abuse inflamed Jared anew. Rage and adrenaline flooded through him, and he twisted his upper body, finally wrenching the rifle out of Hans' hands, then continued the twist to bring the gun back around to smash into the side of the German's head. Hans dropped without a whimper, and Jared knew instantly that the sound and feeling of the impact would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life. Nevertheless, he gave the rifle a tiny toss into the air to switch his grip, swiveling back around to go to Rose's rescue once again.

And froze.

Rose had fallen onto her back as she slipped out of Dieter's flailing hands, then struggled to a half-sit, leaning now on her hands as she stared frozenly across the few feet of bare ground at the squad leader. He, crouched on all fours, had recovered from her kick just enough to pull his pistol out of his holster. He was pointing it straight between Rose's eyes, his face twisted into purpling ugliness with pain and fury.

He glanced swiftly over to see who had been victorious in the other struggle. "Drop it," he hissed out of the side of his mouth, cocking the pistol with a sharp double click.

Jared sagged, the wind knocked out of him again at the sight. He leaned over slowly, preparing to drop the rifle to the ground.

And the wolf cub attacked.

Streaking out of the bushes, silent but deadly, the half-grown puppy Rose had just pulled from the mine shaft launched himself into the defense of his rescuer. Aiming not for the soldier's throat – perhaps instinctively knowing it was too large for his jaws – he went for his outstretched arm instead, sinking his small-bit-sharp fangs through the light cotton shirt sleeve and deep into flesh. More importantly, his momentum knocked the arm sideways, so the bullet shot from the pistol as the soldier's finger spasmodically tightened on the trigger screamed past Rose's ear rather than blasting through her skull. She reacted instantly, throwing herself back down again and rolling away from the bullet's path.

Three yards away, time telescoped for Jared, and he watched the attack in slow motion. A single coherent thought blazed a smoking trail across his mind. This is why I'm here.

He jerked the rifle back up, swung it into line, and fired.