Renegade

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Renegade III

Dan -

Just by standing there, they'd make me anxious. Mostly that was all they did: watch us, stand in every corner, and occupy every corridor. The way their eyes would always follow me around made me feel like I was constantly being condemned guilty for some crime I didn't even know I was committing. And today was no exception. Green-uniformed German soldiers were everywhere and I resented every single one. It was as if they'd just come to watch us breathe—make sure the Danish school children weren't taking up too much oxygen.

Even outside of school, I couldn't get rid of them. They patrolled the streets, hung out in the bars… even came into my home when my father invited them. Some days I could handle it—I'd just ignore them and try not to let the bitter thoughts consume me. But other days, like today, it was all too much. The pressure was too great. I needed to get out.

I was walking around the corner, deep in my own thoughts, when I bumped into him. My head hit his chest first, and then my whole torso collided with him, causing me to drop everything I was holding. I froze in place before realising what just had happened, my head still spinning slightly from hitting his chest. Still looking down, I could see black polished boots standing on the floor in front of me. I had walked straight into a German soldier.

Without saying a word, I hurriedly started picking up my schoolbooks. If he were anyone else, I would have yelled at him for standing in the way, but I knew that no matter what I said I'd still be considered the culprit here. I was just a simple student; to them, my words would be irrelevant.

I bent down quickly to collect my books, hoping to hurry away and avoid any trouble I would get in for not paying attention to where I was walking.

"Oh! I'm sorry," he said suddenly, bending down next to me. I still didn't dare to look at him, even though I was surprised. A German had just apologised for my mistake. In English.

Before I could get the chance, he reached for my blue notebook, which I'd dropped with my other books. But the second he touched it, he let go again like it was on fire. He looked up at me quickly, catching my gaze before I could look away again.

"You again," he mumbled under his breath while looking at me in surprise.

"A man often meets his destiny on the road he take to avoid it," I muttered back sarcastically, not even sure if he'd heard my words. The sight of him made me feel sick, almost dizzy. He was everywhere—this man who was capable of turning me in at any given moment.

Technically, I wasn't even supposed to be on this side of the school, I just knew it was the fastest way out of this place so I could get home. Even before the Germans came to my school, I'd cut through this way, getting into trouble every time I got caught. But those times were rare enough not to deter me.

With a gasp, noticed that the blue notebook on the floor was open and shut it as quickly as I could. It had landed on a page filled with some of my drawings and doodles, and I instantly regretted that I'd ever put them there. But that was the danger of letting my mind wander in a boring class.

"Why didn't you tell me you were from the Howell family?" he whispered—somewhat harshly— once we were both on our feet again and facing each other. But he looked more concerned than angry.

I glanced behind me, making sure there were no teachers or other students around before answering. "No, better question…" I began. "Why didn't you tell me you were one of the school soldiers?"

"Mostly because I'm not, but also because it's none of your business," he answered coldly.

"Well, what family I'm from is none of your business either," I answered, keeping my face as straight as his. "And if you're not a school soldier, then why are you here?"

"It's... complicated," he muttered in response. The heaviness in his voice gave me the impression that wasn't fully sure of why he was in this country, much less why he was standing in this corridor.

"They all say that," I breathed out. I leaned my back against the wall behind me. Everything was supposed to be a secret; the entire war was treated like a secret. We could see the German soldiers walking around, but only guess as to why they were here.

"It's not a lie." He smiled slightly, and then let out a deep sigh. He leaned back against the wall as well, but not too close to me.

I continued glancing over my shoulder every few seconds to see if anyone was spying on us. Every cell in my body was on edge; he was acting far too calm for this not to be a trap. What other reason could there be for him to be meeting me here? Why else would he be casually leaning up against a dirty wall in a dimly lit corridor, talking to a Danish boy? Maybe this was his way of reporting me without saying anything himself.

"There's no one, don't worry. I've checked," he informed me calmly.

"Why are you standing here anyway?" I asked curiously, slowly moving my gaze up from my feet to his face.

"I got tired of being in there," he said simply. "And they kept talking about you. The Danes, I mean…" The soldier's tone changed slightly, making him sounding almost ashamed. Was he ashamed of his own people?

"And is there anything new in that?" I replied. I couldn't quite figure how I should take his explanation. I knew how the Germans talked about us; it was almost as bad as the way we talked about them.

"Yes."

"What then?" I moved away from the wall so I could get a proper look at him, not really knowing what to expect.

"Me," was his answer.

"You?"

"Yeah..." I could tell from his facial expression that he was definitely not meant to be talking about anything. "It's just not fair. Not just you, but… us too. This whole war in general, you know? I mean it's—"

"Complicated," I interrupted quietly. I could practically hear my mother's voice in my mind, chastising me. We weren't meant to talk about the war; we weren't meant to hear about the war; we weren't meant to know about the war. The entire topic was off limits. And now I was standing here, face to face with a virtual stranger, in a public school, freely discussing it.

"Complicated," he whispered in agreement, his eyes locked with mine. Nothing about his demeanour was consistent with that of any other soldier I'd met before, and living in my father's house, I'd met quite a lot. His personality was calm and understanding, and his tone towards me was soft and friendly, like I was speaking to my best friend.

"What are you doing here?" he asked me, breaking the silence.

"I'm on my way home," I lied with as much confidence as I could muster. "The bell rang," I added quickly. He wasn't a teacher, so he couldn't really get me in trouble at school unless he told the headmaster on me, and he didn't seem the type to do that. He was already carrying one of my secrets—for which I was grateful. It would probably be best for me to stay as far away from him as possible so as not to give him any more reason to turn me in. But at the same time, part of me was glad to see him—at least glad that it was him I'd decided to run into and not someone else.

"It's eleven?" A smirk spread across his lips as he crossed his arms against his chest, knowing well that I was lying.

"Some classes got cancelled...?" I tried, but it was hopeless. Lying to him was just like lying to my mum—she could always see straight through me. "Okay, fine, so I just don't wanna be here anymore," I admitted with a sigh.

"What will you do when you get home then? Won't your parents catch you? You'll get in trouble…" He gave me a questioning look.

"I'll just sneak in. Easy. How do you think I got out the other night?"

I wasn't allowed out at night of course—no one my age was anymore. It was far too dangerous, our parents would warn us. But I couldn't stand being cooped up all the time, so I'd found my own way out. Living in a big house with many rooms and corridors meant that it was impossible for my parents to monitor all of it, meaning I could easily sneak out a window. Getting in was a little worse though.

"But you'll have to hide for hours," he said. "Even school must be more interesting than that."

"Maybe I'll sit in my closet and hide. Or write. Maybe read something."

"You like writing?"

"I love writing. It's all I'm good at." I exhaled. Just talking about it made me smile. It was good to remember that there existed other talents in the world than killing people and trying to orchestrate a war. That people could also use their minds to make beautiful things.

"Don't forget drawing," Phil added, sounding rather sarcastic.

"And drawing, yes," I giggled, clutching the notebook with my drawings tighter in my hands. I spent a lot of time inside, creating my own worlds through my stories and my artwork. I loved every second of it.

"Do you like writing?" I asked. I was trying to find some kind of common interest we could share, besides both not wanting to be inside with all the others.

He nodded. "I was actually sent here because I was good at writing and reading. The majority of the German soldiers come from poor families with different backgrounds, and they're the ones mostly sent out to the frontlines because there's not enough money to educate them properly. But I've always been really good at languages and translation, so they can use me differently."

Considering the fact that he seemed to hate the war just as much as I did, he still sounded rather proud of his job. But of course, compared to everything else in this war, he was at least lucky to be here and not out in the fields.

"So you know Danish too?" I asked curiously, standing up on my toes in excitement. Not many Germans bothered to learn another language, not even English.

He shook his head slightly. "Only a very little amount. I understand some of what you're saying, but I can't use it."

"What are you doing here then? In Denmark?" If I had the chance, I'd ask all the soldiers that question. What gave them the right to walk on our streets, take our food, and basically use our country as their own personal summer home?

"You have a lot of questions, little Dane." The soldier uncrossed his arms and stood up straight again. I took a small step backwards because our small height difference was causing him to look down on me, and I didn't like that.

"I do," I answered simply, trying to keep my voice calm.

"And I have no reason to answer you." He smoothed out his sleeves and straightened his jacket as if he were about to leave. I couldn't quite figure if I'd made him angry or just uncomfortable by my questions. Probably both.

Putting his hat back in its rightful place, he nodded at me once before spinning around on his heels. I watched as he turned his back to me and started walking away, leaving me alone in the darkened corridor.

"Write me a letter," I burst out before he got too far away. I regretted it instantly, as soon as the words left my lips. But I was desperate to know more about him. The questions were building up inside my head, and for the first time I allowed them to float out. He was so different. And I was so curious.

It made him stop his pacing and turn around to face me from down the hall. "What?" came his reply.

"I said..." I took two steps closer, pretending for just a moment that he wasn't a powerful German soldier and I wasn't a frightened Danish boy, "write me a letter. If you're so good at writing, then write me a letter, Phil," I commanded, letting my mouth say his name for the first time that day. "Prove it."

"Why?"

And for that, I didn't have an answer—at least not one that could convince him to do it if he didn't want to.

"What? Are you too busy?" I teased. I knew I was pushing it, but I wasn't really scared of him—at least not anymore. He was just a normal person to me now, which meant that I was starting to let myself act normally around him rather than treating him as a superior.

"What do you want me to write about?" Phil relaxed his shoulders again as he asked the question, sounding almost interested for once.

"I don't know." I hadn't gotten that far yet. To be honest, I was just bored. I wanted someone to talk to, and I was curious about this soldier-who-refused-to-act-like-a-soldier. But I wasn't ready to admit that yet. "Don't you have some kind of family back in Germany?" I suggested.

"Yes, but I can't—"

"Write about them." I smiled widely at him, like a little kid requesting a bedtime story from his mother. "Tell me a story, Phil. Then I'll tell you one."

I knew I had to offer him something in return. Not that I didn't want to anyway, but it was even more important now. I had to make sure he wanted to do this first, because no matter how much I tried to deny it or convince myself otherwise, he was still the one wielding all the power in this odd little relationship.

"And how should we do that, if I may ask?" he asked skeptically. "This is not a post office. And we're in the middle of a war." He lowered his chin as he stared at me, indicating just how ridiculous he thought I was being.

"If you're a school soldier, then you'll be around. And I'm a student, so I'll be around—"

"Yeah, when you're not skipping classes," he cut me off.

"I'll try working on that," I told him, my voice determined.

But it only made him shake his head quickly, followed by a small grin.

"But we can—" I paused to glance around, my eyes searching the abandoned corridor for something that could help me out, not even sure what I even was looking for, "—put the notes somewhere in here. Like…" But I really didn't have a proper plan for this. "Maybe here."

There was a cupboard near where he was standing, and I moved over to open it. No one had used this part of the school for ages, so the chance that anyone else besides us would look in there was slim to none. "Top shelf," I said, "under this Danish-to-German dictionary."

He smirked. "Coincidence."

"Kind of." I picked up the book and waved it in front of him so he could see it. "It's even green. Like you." I pointed at his chest quickly before putting the book back on the dusty shelf.

He thought for a second. "But we can't ever write our real names in case they get found. The notes I mean." He was beginning to sound like this could actually happen. "Do you have some kind of nickname?"

"You can call me Bear." I smiled and stretched out my hand towards him.

"Then you can call me Lion." He smiled back as he grabbed my hand and shook it gently.