The Wolf Ballet || WW2

8. The Wolf Ballet

Chapter Eight

*ba-thuck

*swoosh

Small, swarming particles compressed into Ophelia's lungs, a shift from above unsettled the dry grey dust resting within the trunk she was concealed in.

Holding her need to gasp for air, Ophelia stood at a stillness.

They were unloading the truck.

Shifting her body carefully to its side, she peeked out through its small cracked corner. It was morning and from the sound of it, they had reached another checkpoint. Ophelia kept a close ear as she listened in to the sound of departing trains and nearby motors. The shouts of vigilant German officers had the ballerina recoiling in her rectangular confinement.

'Where are we?'

'Where is Chimel?'

Were the anxious thoughts that had Ophelia's breath shaking. Her face was saturated in humid sweat and dust. Licking her lips, she watched closely as maybe a dozen of armed Nazi men surrounded the vehicle.

"Out!"

"Sofort!"

The demands were harshly spoken, and the sound of the car door slamming had Ophelia praying for Chimel's wellbeing. This was the first time that the wolves have made the man step out of the car. With her free hand, she grasped for the gold pendant around her neck. The tiny cross creasing indent in the soft tissue of her hand the longer she prayed.

"Hier kommt der wolf,"

She heard a man say, before watching all the men surrounding the car gather and greet the approaching figure. Ophelia squinted her gaze, trying to capture a glimpse of the man. Heavy black boots, broad shoulders, and a head full of slicked dark hair. That's all she would see, the shielding heads of saluting Nazi men would prevent her from making out a face.

Though his presence was seemingly notable. He was a wolf, like all the others. Only his uniform wasn't as ill-fitted nor dirty. It was clean and kept well.

"I see my delivery has finally arrived," she heard the faceless man say. His voice was deep, very articulate, and sturdy despite the accent that carried out as he spoke in English. "I must say it's quite generous of you to take the time to bring it to me early,"

Ophelia, too engrossed in the scene in front of her, didn't notice the presence that was standing over at the end of the truck. An airy gasp left her lip, quickly muffling it beneath her hand, she felt herself move.

Holding back the urge to scream as she, within the leather trunk, was tossed out onto the dirt road. The impact alone knocked the wind out of her chest. Having landed on its side, a German officer proceeded to kick it over one more time to have it face upright. Ophelia could feel the oxygen run low the more she panicked but still, she refused to make herself known.

Instead, her mind raced with the direful hope that Olga's trunk hadn't been searched. Blatantly, she knew Olga was bound to crack if the circumstances became too hard to bear. Edging near the crack on the side, Ophelia searched for the maroon-painted trunk, but there was so much cargo laid aside that it was hard to tell.
The circling figure of wolves also added to the deterrence of locating her friend.

"You wouldn't mind if we took a look inside, would you Mr. Chimel?"

Picking up on the voice, Ophelia drew attention back to the man who held the driver hostage. Chimel, who was being restrained by the arms, looked down at the floor. For a second, she met eyes with the man as he peeked a glance in her direction. An apologetic stare, for not completing his promise. The color in Ophelia's face drained and for the first time in days, she wept. The guilt that felt in knowing that she alone had just granted this man his death warrant.