Flirting With the Wind

“We better make sure the thing works,” Donny states upon seeing me.
“Thanks for the obvious suggestion Sherlock,” I counter rolling my eyes as I set the record player onto the table.
“I was just sayin’,” he argues stepping away from me.
“Relax I’m not going to castrate you or anything,” I smile.
“Play nice,” Jean Claude says warningly.
“I always do Jean,” I state, “So since we are going to have these fuckers here by noon it’d be safe to get the record group out there by ten thirty in case they are early, there’s a pretty good spot a quarter mile away. I think it’d be best if this group killed on a more quiet level no loud guns so that once we are done with the ten or fifteen that separated we can creep behind the rest of the group whilst the house people can get them in the front.”
“Ya know yer pretty smart when it comes to fightin’,” Aldo comments impressed with my proposition.
“Strategy has nothing to do with fighting, it’s about outsmarting the enemy,” I respond curtly. Hugo entered the room and my eyes fleeted to meet his blue green ones briefly yet long enough to feel the shiver run down my spine whilst I started up the record player. The sounds of brass and string instruments filled the silence of the room; my eyes unable to restrain the need to keep an eye on Hugo out of my peripheral vision. He was a soldier once, what if those I’ve been killing were no different? What if they didn’t want to kill those innocent people and were just doing what they were told? Young men with families that I have killed, their wives and children living without husbands or fathers, the very thought ripping a hole into my core.

“You decide who you want to spilt up, Shep will take the group to the proper point, until then Shep lets have a moment outside,” Jean Claude says sternly.
“Of course,” I nod as I got up and headed towards the door with Jean Claude. Once both of us were outside Jean Claude shut the door behind soundly.
“Look at me,” he orders but I couldn’t look at him for my eyes would betray what I was trying to mask. Jean Claude tugged my chin up and forced me to look at him his cold eyes bore into mine.
“They killed your family, tortured you until you lost your child. Don’t forget what has been to you,” Jean Claude says in a low eerie tone then let go of my face. I still looked at my feet feeling a bit weak as images of Dieter flooded my mind making me feel as though I was drowning. A felt a set of hands shove me and I stumbled backward tripping over my feet in my moment of weakness. I looked up to see Jean Claude towering over me his eyes narrowing at my collapsed body.

“Get up,” he says firmly. This time I listened and stood back up. Then he shoved me again and I stumbled slightly but did my best to remain standing. “Fight.”

My next move was to throw a careless punch but Jean grabbed my wrist and twisted my arm behind my back then kicked in the back of my leg. The pressure in my arm hurt as he thrust my arm higher. I winced in pain and Jean let go so that I could get back on my feet. When I did I started with a combination left, left, right, each one Jean dodge or blocked with his forearms. Then Jean started throwing in his own hits ones I dodged as best as possible while also putting in some hits of my own. He went to kick and I crouched down low an inch away from being hit.

I stood up making combinations of punches and kicks the anger taking over completely; the pace picking up faster with every sloppy attempt. Jean Claude then pulled on over on me and as my right foot came up to kick him in the chest he grabbed it then flipped me onto my back, knocking the breath out of me. Coughing from the wind being kicked out of me I rolled onto my stomach quickly then stood up ready to fight again.
“If you hesitate to kill a Nazi they won’t hesitate to kill you in your moment of weakness,” Jean states seriously.
“Its called being human,” I retort.
“Being human is what got my daughter killed,” he snaps.
“Your daughter?” I respond looking at him breathlessly.
“She was engaged to one of those Nazis but when they found out she was half Jewish he killed her. Do you know why I took you under my wing Shep?” Jean inquires.
“Not really,” I answer honestly.
“Because I saw a little bit of her in you, I saw a chance to teach you what I could never teach my daughter. I am harsh with my lessons in hopes you’ll stay alive,” he states.
“Alright,” I say looking at him.
“Don’t get yourself killed out there kid,” Jean says walking off back into the house. I stood there catching my breath and stared at my clenched fists. The Nazis took everything from me. My life was devoted to fight for those who didn’t have anyone to fight for them. I couldn’t think of anything that required a conscience it would be too dangerous.

“I will take care of you Mirabel,” Colonel Hans Landa says softly as I stared at the ceiling pumped up with so much morphine I was completely numb. Tears were sliding down the sides of my face uncontrollably and Colonel Landa continued to stand there looking at me. I couldn’t even talk; I was in a catatonic state of depression. All the doctors and nurses shot up so many pain killers in me that I couldn’t feel needles being inserted into my flesh. This went on for weeks until Colonel Landa took me to some apartment where a private nurse would take care of me and Landa could visit without being harassed or questioned.
“Mirabel, I want you to be my wife,” he says seriously as I sat in a chair looking out the dirty window onto the Parisian streets.
“I cannot stand the city, it stifles me,” I respond in a raspy voice.
“I will arrange for a nice little country home,” Landa replies abidingly.
“I don’t care I have to leave now,” I counter still not looking at him.
“As you wish Mirabel,” he replies taking my hand and kissed it tenderly. I was not going to do this anymore; I had to see an escape somehow. Not two days later I was in the countryside of France, Martine still my nurse that kept me company. The fresh country air brought energy to my dead body. My first walk I found some Jewish people hiding in the forest. No one was fighting for these people and I needed purpose. So I stole a squad car and sped towards the American lines. This was the day I met Jean Claude and I was on my own personal suicide mission.

“Mira,” the familiar voice says nearby.
“Yeah Hugo?” I reply looking up at him.
“Can’t you go back to America, you still have your brothers there,” Hugo says staring at me intently a glimmer of hope in his eyes.
“I can’t go back there, I’d rather them remember me as the old Mira, I don’t want to burden their lives with my blatant hatred and sadness, my conscience won’t allow it,” I respond.
“I don’t want you out there fighting,” he states seriously.
“This doesn’t work like that, I’m fighting and you will not try to stop me,” I state a little angry that he could think he would be able to stop me from doing this.
“Mira please,” Hugo begs.
“Nein,” I growl before walking off back into the house.

The team was split up and being that Aldo knew my aversion to injure Hugo he ordered for Hugo to stay at the house post. Our team consisted of Wicki, Utivich, Ulmer, and Sergeant Donny Donowitz then me. Everyone else stayed at the house perimeter. We set the record player onto the ground waiting patiently.
“A word of warning, do not get in my way,” I say seriously as I looked up at the sky to see where the sun now lied and I turned the record player louder. They all nodded seeing the look in my eyes.

We waited.

The sounds of German voices came along with the foot steps.

We were like apparitions, hiding among the trees.

There were ten of them just what we had planned.

They were no match, standing there scratching their heads in confusion at the record player.

Within five minutes each and every one of the Gestapo soldiers were silenced to death. Taking their machine guns we headed to take the others by surprise. As we approached the group stealthily gun shots had already entered our ears. It was a full out battle. Blood spurted every which way and it was every person for themselves. I sliced through the men with my sharp machete whilst the other hand held a handgun that shot the enemy creeping towards me in the distance. I was surrounded by Nazis, singled out because I was killing more on foot than most on the field. They wanted me dead.

I barely dodge a bullet that grazed my skin, causing the blood to run down my arm. But I kept on fighting. I ignored every pain that was being inflicted onto me and fought with a fierceness that could be match to that of a lioness. Successfully killing my opponents I noticed that gun fire had ceased and I looked at my surroundings breathing heavily. At first I just had a ringing in my ears from all the gunfire then slowly my hearing came back when I saw Utivich talking to me.

“You have a knife in your leg,” he says gesturing to my right leg. I looked down now realizing what he was talking about and found that the pain emanated from the area. Instinctively I pulled the knife out of my leg with much force and threw it on the bloody grass. The blood oozed from the wound flowing free like water from a faucet and I began feeling lightheaded.

“Fuck, that was a bad idea,” I mutter swaying where I stood before all the lights went out. Unconsciousness dug its claws into me and dragged me into its thick tar-like darkness.