The child.
Vroom vroom!
I revved up my motorcycle, the engine purring in my ears.
The night was fierce in the London streets as I whizzed past lone cars and lamps.
The wind dusted my hair as its cold fingers caressed my cheeks and froze the tips of my ears. My black uniform jacket undulated at the hem.
Gott (God) what a breeze!
The only promising thing I found about this whole mission of mine, was being able to own a motorcycle.
Unfortunately my unit hadn't been a Kradschützen (Motorcycle unit). But our jobs could be as equally exhilarating, though I did not like shooting. I did not like it one bit.
Riding my Krad (Motorcycle) through the London streets was a break from it all.
If only all of Germany could feel the joy of fleeting free on a high-speed motorized bike during a cold fall night, then maybe we would not have to fight.
My heart pounded in my chest as I raced down a corner and nearly hit a column.
I chuckled.
God, I was still just a child.
My eyes closed for a second, as another gust of wind enveloped my face.
Then they slowly opened, the world coming back to me all at once.
"Stop!"
I gripped the breaks, my lungs starving for air.
"Oh mein gott!" (oh my god)
I quickly propped my bike against a post and ran to the form that was flattened in the street.
I looked down, examining close, my chest surged with panic.
It was a child.
"Scheiße."
I knelt down on one knee, my hand shaking as I reached out to the unmoving form.
"I'm so sorry! Are you alright?"
The form suddenly shifted and sat up with a jolt, almost sending me flying backward.
His expression held an idiotic smile.
Then I realized something.
He was not a child, but a man.
With his eyes closed, he chuckled and reached a hand out.
I stared at his outstretched hand and grabbed it tightly, pulling him up.
As soon as he was back on his feet, he repeated the same gesture as he had done while we were on the ground before.
"I am Feliciano Vargas, I apologize for being in your way!"
He said, his voice shaky but sincere and polite all the same.
I took his hand and shook it gently.
"I am Obergefreiter Beilschmidt." I said, knowing I probably should not be conversing with a commoner in the middle of London.
YOU ARE READING
Dein Hand, in Meine
FanfictionThe Second World War has broke out; and there is no telling what anyone's fate will be. 20 year-old Ludwig Beilschmidt ends up at a recruitment office, being told that as a man, he must serve the Fatherland. But what he doesn't know is that that th...
