Once More Unto the Breach

by Meghan Holloway

  “No.” The whispered word startled us both, and I blinked to clear my vision. The abbess approached us silently but swiftly, her face tense. “Right now, you must hide. The Germans are at the gate.”

  _______

  We hid in the concealed stairwell in the crypt. Mother Clémence replaced the relic bones after us, and before I slid the door that served as a false wall into place, she caught my eye.

  “S’il vous plaît, no matter what you may hear, do not reveal yourselves. The children depend upon it. With Owain and Sévèrin gone, their safety depends on hiding here.” There was fear in her eyes, but the set of her jaw was resolute.

  “I do not like this,” Charlotte whispered as I sealed us into the stairwell.

  Nor did I, but I followed her down into the old subterranean chapel. Otto stood and padded to Charlotte.

  A single candle lit the room, and though all the children were tucked into their pallets, all save the infant were tense. The pounding on the church door and shouting reverberated even here in this hidden sanctum. The children’s wide-eyed, fixed stares reminded me of the dazed expressions I had seen so often in the trenches.

  When Charlotte moved to snuff the flame, I caught her arm. “The scent of smoke will carry.”

  We stood in the center of the chapel, attention on the ceiling. A tug on my wrist brought my gaze down. A young boy stood at my side, and he held up his hands. I leaned down and lifted him into my arms. His body was compact, and once I held him where we could peer eye to eye, I studied him in the low light.

  His face was round and cherubic with a snub of a nose and eyes that slanted upward at the outer corners. His small mouth held a downward tilt, and his tongue was wedged against his lower lip. His eyes were bright, face a study of innocence, and he perused my features as curiously as I did his.

  Something shifted within me when he leaned down and rested his head on my shoulder. I glanced at Charlotte to find her head tilted as she listened for any sounds above. One hand was buried in Otto’s hair, the other hidden in the folds of her skirt, concealing, I knew, her grip on her Colt.

  I looked around the room. The oldest girl, no more than ten or eleven, held the sleeping infant against her thin chest. Two boys, obviously twins, shared a pallet, and a girl who had to be their older sister had given the pair her blanket. A young boy no older than seven or eight sat leaning in the corner as his two younger sisters curled against his legs. Their gazes were wary and resigned.

  My decision was made even before I heard the screams.

  The child in my arms flinched, and a shudder coursed through him. I rubbed his back as I crossed the room and knelt to place him on the empty pallet. I covered him with a blanket and summoned Otto. The poodle settled next to the boy, curling against him and resting his muzzle on the child’s shoulder.

  I straightened and turned to Charlotte.

  “I am going with you,” she whispered.

  “We have the element of surprise on our side. We need to keep it as long as possible.”

  The crypt was empty as I climbed from the sepulcher. I leaned back in and gave Charlotte a hand up, and then moved to the foot of the stairs as she slid the door back into place behind her and rearranged the skulls I had pushed aside.

  Light gleamed around the curve of the steps, and I could hear voices echoing in the church above.

  “There must be another way out,” I whispered.

  Charlotte led the way deeper into the crypt. The air was still and held a dank chill. The darkness deepened as we ventured further until it was absolute.

  I stopped, blind, and reached for Charlotte, catching her hair with my fingers before I found her shoulder. Her chin brushed the back of my hand, and her breath was warm against my wrist. “Are you well?”

  “Aye.” The darkness cloaked any tightening of the space and made the mausoleum feel cavernous.

  “I think I feel a draft, but I—” She went rigid beneath my hand as German voices interrupted her and heavy footfall echoed behind us. The soldiers were descending into the crypt.

  I nudged Charlotte forward. “Go!”

  We moved as quickly and silently as possible in the darkness, shuffling to avoid falling, groping at the wall to avoid being lost in the black.

  Light pierced the dark just as Charlotte made a sudden turn to the left and yanked me after her. I tripped over the sudden elevation in the floor but regained my footing and pressed into the recesses of the staircase as the light bounced off the crypt’s stone walls.

  My heart raced as I watched the light dart into corners. Charlotte was pressed against me, and I could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest at my back. Her fingers tightened on my arm as the light and voices drew closer. I fumbled in the dark, unclasped two of the buttons on my shirt, and carefully drew the Luger from the concealed holster. The slide of metal against leather seemed cacophonous, and the voices paused. When they resumed, though, they were in retreat rather than advance. After several long moments, the crypt was once more a dark, silent tomb.

  I let out the breath I had not realized I held and returned the Luger to the holster.

  “This way,” Charlotte whispered.

  I followed her up the winding staircase. The brief beams of light made the darkness even more impenetrable, and I found my way with my hands on either wall of the narrow shaft. The black dimmed to gray the higher we climbed, and the stairwell curved once more and then leveled.

  “Where are we?”

  The moonlight edging through the high round window lingered over the rows of laden shelves. “A muniment room,” I said, voice low. I wound through the stacks and found the iron latticed door at the far side of the room. I eased it open, bracing for a metallic groan, but the hinges were well-oiled. The door opened silently and led us into an empty chapter house.

  The door at the far side of the room stood open. It led out into the night, framing a moonlit courtyard. Charlotte started toward the opening.

  The scuff of a boot on stone and the murmur of movement reached my ears, and I placed a staying hand on Charlotte’s elbow.

  We both froze as a German soldier stepped into the doorway. Charlotte stood at the fringes of deeper shadow, visible to anyone peering within. I waited, tense, for the shout, the scramble for his weapon. But neither came.

  The soldier stood with his back to the room, facing out into the night as he lit a cigarette. He hummed as he shook out the match and drew a long drag into his lungs before exhaling the smoke.

  As the German began to sing under his breath, I drew the Luger from its holster and handed it to Charlotte. She glanced at me, eyes wide, her own pistol in hand, but I shook my head and motioned for silence. I undid my belt as I crept across the room, the whisper of leather sliding across fabric masked by the off-key singing. I slid the end of the belt back through the buckle and wrapped the tail around my fist.

  The soldier was shorter than I but solidly built. A stirring of movement or perhaps some sudden sense of no longer being alone must have alerted the German, for he turned his head as I reached him. His face was round and pock-marked, and his eyes went wide when he saw me.

  I dropped the loop of the belt over his head and yanked the noose tight, cutting off his shout before it could leave his throat. His cigarette burned my arm as it fell.

  I dragged him backward into the chamber, pulling the belt taut. He flailed, reaching over his head to claw at my face. He threw his weight against me, and I staggered into the wall. When he fumbled for his gun, I wrapped the belt around my left forearm and caught his wrist with my free hand. He had managed to get the pistol clear of the holster, and though I squeezed his wrist hard enough to feel the bones contract beneath my grasp, he did not relinquish his grip.

  My arm shook with the effort to hold onto the belt one-handed as he struggled. The leather burned as it dug into and dragged against my skin. My palm dampened with sweat, and the belt slid in my hand.

  I brought my kne
e up as I drove his arm down, catching his forearm across my thigh.

  The bone snapped with an audible crack. The pistol clattered to the floor, and I felt the soundless scream vibrating through his chest.

  He threw himself forward, the movement catching me off balance, and we fell in a tangle of limbs. Desperation lent him strength, and he fought wildly. I took an elbow to the ribs and to the jaw, the last hitting me in the same place as the healing bruise from the attack in Paris. It sent a shard of pain through me and set my head to ringing, disorienting me for a moment.

  A moment was all the German needed to land a knee in my gut and scramble away, clawing at the leather garroted around his neck. He got his knees under him and turned toward me, drawing his knife as I righted myself.

  “Rhys!”

  “Get back,” I snapped at Charlotte, and launched myself at the German.

  I tackled him, and the knife slid across the floor. I reared over him and drove my fist into his stomach in a quick succession of blows. He rolled to his side, curling into a fetal position, his broken arm cradled to his chest. I sat and yanked him upright and back against me. I pulled the belt tight around his throat and felt his chest work helplessly to draw in air.

  His legs kicked, arms flailing, and I leaned backward to avoid his fingers curled like claws, pulling on the belt so tightly my arms shook. The flails reduced to limpness and then to the occasional twitch until the German lay heavy and boneless over me.

  “Rhys.” Charlotte’s voice seemed to reach me through a dense fog. “He…he is dead.”

  I let myself fall back against the floor. I was winded, heart thrumming, and it took me a moment to gather the strength to roll the soldier off of me. He fell aside in a limp sprawl. I pushed upright, and my hands trembled as I loosened the belt from about the other man’s neck and pulled it away.

  I stood, letting my head hang for a moment when the room spun, and once I was steady, I methodically fed the belt through the loops in my trousers. I secured the buckle and then held my hand out for the Luger I had shed. Charlotte approached me slowly and handed it to me wordlessly, eyes large in a face that appeared even paler in the moonlight.

  I replaced the Luger in its holster and leaned over to retrieve the fallen knife and pistol. I handed Charlotte the pistol and watched as she inspected the weapon and checked the round in the chamber. Finally, she nodded and tucked it away, keeping the Colt in hand. When she looked up at me, her face was once again composed.

  “Wait as long as possible to shoot?”

  “Aye. There should only be a few soldiers posted as lookouts. When you hear gunfire from within, take that as your signal.” I peered cautiously out into the night, but the only sight that greeted me was the empty courtyard and the neat, well-tended rows of a vegetable garden.

  Charlotte caught my arm. “Rhys.” She searched my face but said no more.

  “I will see you momentarily,” I said, and slipped from her grasp and into the night.

  I crept through the shadows cast by the stone structure and followed the sound of screaming around the northeast corner of the abbey. There were no sentries standing watch on the north side of the abbey, and the reason became apparent as I stole closer to the light that spilled from an open doorway.

  The screams from within were wild and animalistic, raising the hair at the nape of my neck. Punctuating the cries were male voices and raucous laughter. I did not need to understand German to understand the tone.

  I knelt and peered around the doorjamb. A soldier stood just within, blocking my view. His trousers sagged around his thighs, and he worked himself in frantic motions while calling encouragement to his comrades.

  I ducked out of sight, stomach turning, and tested the knife I had lifted from the other soldier. It slid easily against the pad of my thumb, honed to a razor’s edge. I felt no pain, but in the dimness a drop of blood welled black in the wake of the blade.

  I took a deep breath and wiped my hand on my trousers, adjusting my feet into a wider stance. Then I leaned around the doorframe and clapped a hand over the soldier’s mouth. I used my grip on his face to wrench his head back and with a quick, weighted motion, I sliced the knife across the exposed, vulnerable column of his throat.

  The warmth of his blood hit my arm in a spray before I had even finished the motion. He jerked as I dragged him outside and into the shadows, but when I released my hold over his mouth, he crumpled silently to the ground.

  I clasped the knife in a slick hand and whirled toward the door, but it remained empty.

  The two Germans within were too preoccupied to notice their companion’s abrupt and violent departure, or my presence in the kitchen. One stood at the entry of the larder, waiting his turn. He was hurriedly unbuckling his belt when I grabbed him from behind. He abandoned his task to wrench at my arm, but I had already laid open his throat with the knife.

  He hit the ground gurgling and thrashing, and the noise was enough to distract the third from his rutting. He staggered to his feet.

  “Was ist das?” His voice held the commanding bark of rank and medals glinted on his chest. He struggled to get his trousers up from about his knees.

  I did not give him the chance. The scream that tore from his lips when I drove the knife into his groin was high and wailing. It cut silent, though, when I wrenched the knife out, clasped his shoulder when he would have reeled backward, and slipped the blade up between his ribs, piercing his heart. It was as if a candle had been snuffed. He went silent and limp in an instant. I pulled the knife free and stepped aside to let him fall.

  It was the young nun swollen with child who lay whimpering on the stone floor of the larder. I did not attempt to approach her as she struggled to draw the torn habit about her. I knelt in the doorway. The sounds escaping her throat sounded like those of a wounded, frightened animal.

  “Shh. Shh, now. You’re safe, you are. They’ll not harm you any longer.”

  The bullet that bit into the wall over my head belied my assurances, and I dove into the larder with a curse. A hailstorm of bullets chipped at stone and wood and shattered crockery. I shoved the nun deeper into the larder and with a hand on her shoulder forced her flat to the floor. She fought against me, keening, and I struggled to keep her head covered as debris rained over us.

  A lull came in the barrage. I tucked the wet knife into my boot and drew the Luger as I gained my feet.

  The two soldiers had ducked to either side of the inner doorway into the kitchen. They scrambled to reload their weapons.

  I strode toward the door, firing at either side as I advanced. One soldier’s knee was exposed, and the second bullet I fired at him found flesh. He fell into sight with a shriek of pain, hands clutching the maimed joint, but I focused on his companion. The second soldier lunged around the doorframe, gun raised. I fired in swift succession, and two of the three bullets found their mark in his torso. He fell in a sprawl, his gun clattering to the floor.

  I turned the Luger back to the first soldier just as he chambered a round and turned his on me. We stared at one another over the barrels. His face was a tight grimace of pain.

  Shouts and the ringing of boot heels against stone snagged the soldier’s attention. His head turned, and the barrel of his gun dipped infinitesimally.

  I moved to the side and fired. His finger reflexively squeezed the trigger in response, but the bullet passed harmlessly by. He slumped against the wall, dead, and I grabbed his gun and the other soldier’s. I pulled their holsters, gleaming with 9mm ammunition, from about their hips.

  I stepped over their bodies and realized I was back in the inner cloister. Light spilled from the church across the open courtyard, the braziers within lit and burning brightly. I ducked behind an arch as shadows passed before the doorways on the other side of the cloister. Voices barked inquiries, and I glanced at the bodies I had left in my wake. When no response came, the confusion was evident in the voices and quick, furtive movements.


  Hidden from view for the moment, I crouched and tucked the two guns into my trousers at the small of my back. I ejected the magazine from my Luger and kept an eye on the arches across the way as I collected eight bullets from one of the pilfered holsters and fed them into the box. A shadow separated from deeper shadow and crept from arch to arch across the courtyard. A scuff of movement behind me gave away the approach of another on this side of the cloister. At least two flanked me at an eight points approach, and I could not risk being completely surrounded.

  Gunfire from within the church ripped through the night.

  “Scheisse!” The shadow in the arch across from me straightened and pointed back toward the church in sharp motions. I slid the magazine home and pulled the jointed arm to chamber a round. “Zurückbekommen! Komme—”

  Two bullets from my gun piercing his chest interrupted his command. I leaned around the stone arch and fired three times at the soldier standing in the moonlight, looking back and forth in confusion. He grunted at the impact and crumbled.

  I ran in a crouch along the wall where the shadows were deepest. As I approached the church, the gunfire within fell silent. I peered around the corner and slumped with relief at the sight before me.

  Charlotte spun from where she knelt to help the abbess upright, her Colt level with my chest, as soon as I darkened the entry. She let out a breath and slipped the gun into her hidden holster. “Rhys.” Her eyes widened as I stepped into the light. “You are hurt.” She stood and hurried toward me.

  I held up a hand to stay her. My fingers trembled slightly, and my skin was stained russet with blood. Weariness settled about my shoulders like a weighty cloak. “None of the blood is mine. Did you take care of the lookouts?”

  “There were two outside.” She nodded at the men sprawled dead amidst the pews. “And three in here.”

  “There were four, Fräulein.”

  She whirled toward the German who stepped from the nave, but his gun was already leveled at her head. He looked to me and met my gaze over the barrel of my own raised Luger.

  “Do not attempt anything foolish. I will put a bullet in her head before you manage to kill me. Put your weapon down.”