Soft Steps

Brandon continued merrily as he munched on some hay. He was a copier. And currently he was copying a cow. I picked him up and rested him on my hip as I pulled the hay from his hands and mouth. “This has got to stop.” I said firmly as I placed Brandon down and locked up the barn. “We won’t be eating if you keep letting the animals out, Brandon.”

Brandon tried to grab for the hay, so I stuffed it in my pocket. “Up!” He laughed. “No.” I said firmly. He whimpered and whined, but I instead went inside the house.

“Hey Sol?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna go look for Roger. I’ll be back in a few.”

“Lucy,” She said, coming into view. “Let me go. You need to rest, you’ve been up since before dawn.”

“Sol, I got up on my own, I’m not tired! Honestly. I’ll go. Just keep an eye on Brandon, he keeps munching on hay.” Sol rolled her eyes and tugged Brandon’s hand to bring him into the house.

“I’ll be back...I promise!” I smiled, waved and blew a kiss, before turning and heading down the road.

Hoof marks began to appear in the dirt road, and I decided that because most people did not take their cows on a walk, I should follow the hoovemarks.

After passing another farm, more hoof marks began to appear, but one set of marks drifted off towards the forrest. Decided that would maybe be my cow, and if not at least a free cow, I followed that specific set of markings.

My foot got caught in a tree root and I began to roll for a few feet. When I finally got my feet on the ground, and not in any tree roots I quietly cursed myself for being so clumsy. I had ripped my shirt, and now my bellybutton was showing, and the sleeves had all slits in them. Running water could be heard, so I followed and soon found a stream.

When looking at my reflection in the cool mirror water, I could see scratches all over my face. They weren’t too deep, but they were beginning to sting. Thankfully none of them were over my eyes. I ripped the sleeves off my shirt and used them to wash the blood off my face. The ripped sleeves were abandoned at the creek and I continued on my way to find Roger.

Keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of the cow, and keeping my ears open to hear anything, I almost didn’t notice the second tree root. The tip of my leather shoe scraped the top of the root and I stumbed a bit.

A faint moo was heard. But what direction was it coming from, was unknown. It was definitely from my left...no it was infront of me...or maybe it came from behind me? I heard it again, and once again I was completely unable to determine the direction of the mooing.

Roger...when I find you...you are being turned into beef stew.

My leather shoes allowed me to step sofly through the forest, and not make any sounds. I didn’t want to be mistaken for an American Soldier, and be shot at. I also didn’t want to be taken as a Nazi and get shot at. The truth was...I’d prefer to not be seen or heard...or shot.

A cow mooed again and I stood up, being as silent as ever. It was definitely coming from ahead of me. Picking up my pace, but not increasing the noise level of my steppes I headed towards Roger, or atleast the abandoned cow.

When my feet flitted across the grassy forest floor, towards the cow, I suddenly heard someone yelling. They sounded as if they were rejoicing, but I couldn’t make out what they were rejoicing about. Thankfully the human voices were coming from the same direction as the cow. This would allow me to please my curiosity and to also allow me to locate the cow.

As I picked up my pace, I found it harder to watch were I was going. My foot got caught in another tree root, and my head tucked under as I rolled. Something snapped and I prayed it was the tree root, or a tree branch, but that prayer was discarded when excruciating pain shot through my ankle.

After rolling a bit more I came to a halt. With an inspection of my ankle and the use of my “extensive” medical knowledge, I came to the conclusion that my ankle was sprained...and badly. A good night’s rest, a few eskimo kisses from my angel, and a towel of ice would probably cure the swelling joint.

My ears perked up at the voice. They were noticeable closer now. Within shouting distance. The voice, I noticed, was speaking English, and then I heard some laughing. I looked around and noticed a small ditch. In the ditch were about ten or eleven people. All of them male, and all but one of them American.

My eyes also noticed the dozen or so de-skulled bodies that law strewn across the ditch. I bent down on my hands and knees and empied my stomach filled with Sol’s phenomenal cooking.

These must’ve been the people who massacred the nazi’s who had driven me around. I stumbled back onto my feet and noticed that most of the men in the ditch were quietly looking around. I pressed my back against the nearest tree and peaked around at the ditch. All of the men seemed to go back to their business, one of them was examining the deceaseds’ weapons while another cleaned his gun, and a third sharpened his engraved knife.

As I turned back around to face away from the ditch, a strong, and dirty hand was placed across my face. I screamed and tried to pull at the hand, as I was dragged into the ditch, but my petite, weak frame was no match for the war-buffed soldier.
The man released me by pushing me into the ditch. I immediately fell and rolled down the side of the bloody ditch, due to my impaired ankle. All the men laughed at me, but I did not blush, this was not a time to be embarrassed.

I tried to stand up when I reached the bottom, but had some trouble. Maybe I was wrong, maybe my ankle wasn’t just sprained.

“Found a live one, boss.” Spoke the guy who had grabbed and shoved me.

I was pushed down onto my knees and I felt something, most likely a gun, pressed against the back of my skull.

“Where’d yew find her?” One of the men asked.

“Hiding behind a tree over there. Heard some rustling. Making sure it wasn’t a fucking Nazi, and it turned out to be this little bitch.”

My head turned and I looked over at the man who had asked were I was found.

“What should we do with ‘er? She obviously doesn’t speak English...look at ‘er face.” A third guy said approaching.

I felt so small. My height wasn’t helping, nor was the fact that I was on my knees. Also the tall man standing infront of me made me feel, and probably look as big as a field mouse.

“English?” The man with slicked brown hair asked.

“Fluently…” I whispered, looking at the tall man infront of me.

His face scrunched up in confusion.

“That don’t mean we won’t kill ya. What the fuck are you doin’, spyin’ on me an my men?”

“I...I...Roger...and Brandon…” I began to sob.

“Please don’t shoot me…,” I begged. “I have a son at home...he’s only two. He doesn’t have a dad. Please I’m only nineteen.”

The man with the slick brown hair walked over to me and came nose to nose with me.

“What makes ya think, that just ‘cause ya have a son, I’m not goin’ a kill ya? For all I know, ya heard some of me and my boys’ plans. Where we’re headin’ too. Who we are. Fuck honey, just ‘cause yer a girl, don’t mean I ain’t gonna shoot ya’.”

I looked up at the man in horror.

“I can give you a reason not to kill her.”

Everyone turned and looked at the familiar voice.

“What the fuck…?” The brown haired man asked.

“You shoot her...I put this knife in your boy’s throat.”

“Sol?” I asked.

“Don’t worry Lue, I got your back...So what will it be boys?” Sol smirked, and pressed the dull end of the knife deeper into the throat of the shortest (yet noticeably taller than me) soldier.

“I think that you are in no position to attempt to bargain for your friends life.” A forth solider laughed, a pistol pointed to the side of Sol’s temple. I felt the gun that had placed on my head, press in further.

“I think I’m still in a position to barter.” Sol argued.

“Show me ya cards.” The brown haired guy laughed.

“We have food, a roof, some beds, and plenty of room. You have me and my girl. We give you a few nights stay...and you let us keep our lives.” Sol said.

“How do we know that ya aren’t saying this, and then yer gonna kill us all in our sleep?”

Sol laughed, “Because I’m just as American as you are, hun. My girl and I both happen to be native New Yorkers who hate how its run in this town…”

The brown haired man looked Sol hard in the face, “You’ve got yeself a deal.”

I was helped to my feet my a man in a wifebeater but I noticed that he still held his wooden bat in a offensive manner. “Thank you,” I mumbled. I limped a few feet, and soon felt a strong arm wrap around my waist. I looked up to see a blonde haired, light eyed man.

The help of the light-eyed man made the long walk back to the cabin a lot easier. “Can we slow down? I need to talk to my friend.” I asked the man who was helping me.

Sol caught up to me, with the man with the slick brown haired man holding a gun in an offensive manner, right in tow.

“What the heck did you do with Brandon? How could you leave him unattended to?” I snapped at Sol. “How you be so stupid? He could’ve gotten out of the house! How do I know he isn’t missing too?” I felt some tears slide down my cheek, at the thought of an empty house.

“He had just layed down for a nap when I had left. Lucy he is a smart boy...he won’t wander, like his mother.” I blushed a bit, but still kept my stern look at Sol.

As we came to the opening where the cabin stood, I heard some of the guys begin to talk to each other.

“That looks like a fucking haven!” Laughed the one in the wife beater.

I spun around and let my left hand connect with the left side of his stubbly cheek. I immediately had guns pointed at me.

“Look, buddy, I don’t know who you think you are, but the second you come within 10 yards of my home, you cut that foul language. Incase you didn’t hear, I have a two year old son, who is latching on to every phrase that he hears. If I hear one foul word slip from his innocent lips, he won’t be the one who wakes up with soap in their mouth, and goes the rest of his stay without food. I’d advise you to keep your cursive thoughts to yourself, unless that is...you’d like to live a life without any testicles.”

The light-eyed man who was helping me stay standing began to laugh, as did the rest of the group. The only ones not laughing were me, and the guy who adorned the dirty wifebeater.

“I...I...yes...I’m sorry.” He stumbled.

“Now look whos stubling.” I laughed and continued on my way with my generous helper still attached to me at the waist.

I was the first one inside the house, and I immediately hobbled into Brandon’s bedroom. I heard him wailing. “Mommy’s here.” I cooed as I cuddled the hysterical boy.

Sol joined me moments later, and sat down next to me, petting Brandon’s fair hair.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie.” She whispered planting kisses on his head, “I’m so sorry Lucy.” I looked up at my best friend, “The important thing is that he is safe, and okay.”

“I’m going to go get some food started. I’ll send in their medic.” Sol said, closing the door quietly.

A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door before it opened, and in walked one of the guys. “We don’t have an official medic, but I’m Utivich.” I shook the man’s hand and set Brandon beside me.

“You, miss, have a badly sprained ankle, and the cutest little boy I have ever seen.” Utivich lauged as Brandon wrapped a spare bandage around himself.

After a few minutes, the young looking-man helped me back on my feet and shot a smile at little Brandon.

Brandon got up and headed out of the room and towards the kitchen where most of the commotion was occurring.

“Well, now that you’ll be staying for the next few days, I figure an introduction in in order.” Sol announced.

“Brandon!” Announced my son, and every face in the room lit up with delight, as laughter rang in my ears.

“Well this is Brandon, he’s two. And I’m Lucy-Carol, but call me Lucy, or Lue.”

“Solena.” Sol announced, raising a hand.

“Lieutenant Aldo Raine,” Said the man with the slicked back brown hair.

“Sergeant Hugo Stiglitz,” Said the light-eyed man who had helped me walk home.

“Corporal Wilhelm Wicki,” said the man who had originally kidnapped me.

“Private, Omar Ulmer, First Class.” said the man who Sol had held hostage.

“Private Smithson Utivich, First Class,” Said the man who had helped bandage my ankle

“Private Gerold Hirschberg, First Class” Said the man who had the gun pointed at my head

“Pricate Andy Kagan, First Class,”

“Private, Michael Zimmerman, First Class.” Said the man who had pointed a gun at Sol’s head.

“Private Simon Sakowitz, First Class”

Each man stood and I noticed they had said their titles with honor. I felt good, because they probably often were not addressed properly, or were often asked their title. I know that they earned what title they had, and I was happy to let them share that.

The last guy, using his bat as a cane, stood up, “Sergeant Donny Donowitz,”

I nodded politely and turned away to laugh at the bright red, but extremely small hand print, on Sergeant Donowitz cheek.

“If you guys would like, I’ll wash all your clothes for you, as long as you keep yourself covered.” I said sitting down in one of the chairs, as I shook up a bottle for Brandon. “Just leave your clothes right outside the back door, I’ll start the washing in a little.”

Sergeant Donowitz was the first to stand up as he snapped his suspenders off, staring me right in the eyes the entire time. Then he took off his wife beater. I averted my eyes to Brandon who was currently moving to put a large beetle in his mouth.

“Brandon!” I said jumping out towards him.

I landed on my sore ankle, and managed to squish the bug, but when I tried to stand up, I had a lot of trouble. I felt like a newborn deer, struggling to use my new legs.

I felt myself lift off the ground and looked up to see Sergeant Donowitz pick me up and carry me over to the dining room chair I was previously sitting in.

“Showoff,” I huffed.