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✲꘏ ꘏ ꘏ ꘏✲
The soldier turned back toward me, once again aiming his weapon—this time directly at my chest.
I swallowed hard.
I understood there was nowhere left to run.
Now he would kill me too.
The only hope I had left was that our paratroopers had heard the gunshot and were already rushing toward the building. Surely they would arrive at any moment.
The young man cast a brief glance toward the entrance, quickly assessing his chances of escaping through it. Deciding he had none, he grabbed me roughly by the upper arm and dragged me toward the darkest corner of the mess hall.
Taking me out through the rear entrance would have been far too risky.
Instead, he apparently intended to hide until the American and British soldiers searched the building, found only the dead partisan, carried his body outside to be burned, and eventually lowered their guard—even if only slightly.
Then the German would be free to take me away.
To abduct me.
Although, if I were honest, I hoped he would simply strangle me instead.
Within moments, American and British soldiers poured into the building, clad in bulletproof vests and armed with automatic rifles.
They stormed into the mess hall as a group before immediately scattering in different directions, shouting orders to one another.
The German and I were hiding on the second floor, where the Allied command normally held meetings, discussed future military operations, and exchanged intelligence about enemy strategies.
Our battalion, of course, had its own network of spies.
Day and night they listened to German communications with representatives of other nations involved in the war and tracked every planned move.
Some even dared to lurk near German headquarters, secretly eavesdropping on conversations and observing enemy activity during periods of temporary calm.
At times, they even blended into crowds disguised as German soldiers.
James came back to mind.
Perhaps he had been sent to overhear enemy plans during that covert mission from which he had returned only to die moments after reaching our camp.
The German held me firmly against the wall.
I could feel the muzzle of his pistol pressed into my stomach while the finger of his other hand rested against his lips, ordering silence.
Every so often he glanced downstairs before looking back at me, biting his lower lip. Then, baring his teeth in a crooked smile, his gaze drifted shamelessly toward my chest, though it was fully covered.
