The Napoleonic Rose

Part 1

Sickly yellow and barely illuminating, the shielded light of an electric lantern stretched feebly into the warehouse rafters. It was enough to see the path ahead, but only just. I stayed low to the support beam,my legs wrapped around it, pulling myself forward with my arms. The chattering of a pair of voices wafted up, but the distance was sufficient to steal any meaning from them.

It had been instantly obvious, when I arrived, that there were no Apaches. The interior of the warehouse was plastered with communist propaganda, and a severe scent of sulfur. It was for these reasons that I had chosen to get a closer look. The only way to do so was to head to the roof, but even from here, I couldn't see anything of value. There were a couple of men dressed in simple civilian clothing, loading unlabeled crates into the back of a truck. If I wanted to know the contents of those crates, I'd have to get close enough to take a look.

When I reached the far end of my beam, I found myself only a few feet above a support strut for the wall of the warehouse. After dropping quietly onto the horizontal surface, I made my way across and onto a set of ancient metal stairs that groaned painfully beneath my weight.The sound made me freeze in place, waiting for the shout of alarm that would signal my discovery, but none came. I scurried down the stairs as fast as I dared, and crouched low the ground. The voices were clear now, from such a close proximity.

"And why do you think Notre Dame would make a better target?" This came from a taller man, seated on one of the multitudes of crates. He had a half-full bottle of wine in his hand, and readily took a swig while waiting for a response.

"Religion is a greater enemy than the ghost of an emperor." The other man, a mousey fellow with a scraggly beard, said with exuberance bordering on zeal. "We'd do better to invoke Napoleon as our own."

"The man didn't have a communist bone in his body." The first replied with a slight slur. I circled about the clear area, and came up behind the truck. I could still hear them talking as I yanked a tarpaulin from over the crates.

"Not true! He was a great supporter of the common man, you'll recall."Mousey argued vehemently as I pulled my stiletto free of the side of my boot. I began to pry at the nails on the nearest crate.

"Be that as it may, we don't decide what to hit. The boss does." Wino grumbled, and the conversation fell silent, just in time to make the sudden crack of a board deafeningly loud. I had misjudged my leverage, and snapped one of the slats on the lid of the crate. While it exposed the interior, and the deadly red cylinders of dynamite within, it also brought a challenging shout from Wino. "Who's there?"

"Don't move!" Mousey added, a heavy caliber revolver having materialized in the span of time I hadn't been looking directly at him. "I have a gun!"

"So do I!" My impulses got the better of me, as they had a tendency to do, and I shouted before the thought had fully run through my head.My hand responded in kind, pulling the awkward weight of a Colt 1911 from the holster under my left arm.

"O-oh yeah?" Mousey squeaked, his voice raising an octave. "Well, I don't believe you! You sound like a woman."

"What difference does that make?" I growled, keeping the truck between me and the two men. The light of the electric lantern was blocking a direct run to the door. They'd have a clear shot the entire time,coupled with the fact that I'd be leaving a pair of terrorists with enough dynamite to wipe out a small army. I decided to try a distraction, searching my immediate area for an object I could pitch into the distance to create a sound. I found a heavy wrench, and just as I let the tool fly, I felt a pair of strong arms encircling my waist.

I was lifted from the ground, right as the wrench clattered to the ground behind the truck. There was a roar as Mousey's pistol fired into the ground, which seemed to startle everyone involved. Judging by the stench of old grapes, Wino was the one who had grabbed me, but he paused to shout at the other communist.