Saving the Rifleman

by Julie Rowe

  “Report,” the officer ordered.

  “It’s an old cemetery,” one of them replied. “There’s no one alive in there.”

  “Keep searching. Our informant was specific about this route.” The soldiers continued their search, some coming back toward the cemetery.

  Informant?

  She wasn’t the only one who heard the word. John swore long and low.

  He put his mouth to her ear. “Don’t move from this spot.” He took a deep breath. “Promise me.”

  “John, what—”

  “Promise me.”

  She swallowed a mouth full of fear. “I promise.”

  “I’m going to lead them away from here. I should make it back before dawn.”

  What he was suggesting was too dangerous. “And what if you don’t?”

  “Carry on without me.”

  “No, I won’t—”

  “You must,” he hissed, interrupting her. “One of us must make it across the border.”

  “I think this is a mistake.”

  “I intend to lead them away then come back.”

  “How?”

  His rested his forehead on her shoulder for a moment, then kissed her neck and said, “You’re the most remarkable woman.” His voice broke. “I will return to you.”

  “John.” He was going to do this whether she liked it or not, damn him. “See that you do.”

  Then he was gone.

  Maria closed her eyes and listened with her entire body. She could hear the rustle as he retreated the way they’d come, the sound becoming fainter by the second. The Germans were walking at a steady pace that would take some of them right by the old cemetery.

  Would they search it again?

  She waited, every second seeming to take an eternity to pass.

  A shout went up, and dismay filled her until she choked on it.

  Damn him.

  * * *

  He stood with his hands in the air and waited for the Germans to surround him. One of them, a first lieutenant from the insignia on his shoulders, approached, yelling. His voice matched that of the officer giving orders earlier.

  John responded in French. “I don’t speak German.”

  The German switch to French as well. “Who are you? What are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

  John shrugged. “I’m a farmer. I’m travelling to visit my sister. Her husband died and she needs help with the fields.”

  “For this you travel at night?”

  “I thought I could move faster. During the day there are more people around.”

  “You thought you could avoid our patrols, didn’t you?”

  He didn’t respond, just shrugged again and attempted to look as if he didn’t care one way or the other what the German thought.

  The officer wasn’t having any of that. “Answer me!”

  John answered in a fear-filled rush. “I didn’t want to be conscripted and forced to fight.”

  “You are either a fool, a coward or a liar. We will see which.” The German flicked his hand at his men. “Bring him.”

  Two soldiers came up behind him and gave him a shove with their rifles. He dropped his hands and walked with his head down, careful not to look back at the old cemetery where Maria lay hidden.

  He’d pay any price to keep her safe and free.

  The whole group formed around him and they marched back down the track in the direction they’d come from, past farms and fields and the odd cow. They walked until light brightened the horizon.

  Eventually they moved away from the track, toward a farm perhaps a quarter mile away.

  The German officer ordered the family out of their house and they ran with just a few bundles of possessions in their arms. Then he gave a few more orders in German, and six soldiers herded John toward the barn. They tied him to a pole in the middle of a large paddock.

  Outside, the orders continued for a few more minutes, then the officer entered the barn and looked him over critically. “Are you prepared to tell me the truth?” he asked in French.

  “I have told you the truth.”

  “I don’t believe you.” The German walked in a circle around John, stopping to look at his injured leg. “Why are you limping?”

  “I was splitting wood a few days ago and a piece stuck me in the leg.”

  The German grunted and paced away then came back. “I think you’re some sort of spy or sympathizer.”

  “No, no, sir, never—”

  He struck John’s injured thigh. Pain shot through him and he only just managed not to cry out.

  “Interesting,” the German said. Then he kicked the back of the same leg, forcing John to groan and his breathing to spasm.

  He coughed and barely managed to hang on to what little food there was in his stomach.

  “Tell me the truth!”

  John didn’t answer. It wouldn’t make a difference. He could say nothing to please this man. Nothing at all.

  The German’s response to his silence was to beat him while continuing to demand answers. He punched John’s abdomen hard enough to make him vomit. Waited, asked another question, then took his fists to John when he failed to answer.

  The officer was careful to give John enough recovery time to make each strike as painful as possible.

  Time began to blur. One excruciating moment lead to another and another until it became evident that the German would in all likelihood beat him to death.

  The only thing that made it bearable at all was the knowledge that Maria was safe.

  Chapter Eight

  Maria stood shivering inside a chicken coop built against the barn where John had been taken. She’d followed the soldiers, keeping enough distance between them that they hadn’t noticed her. Through a hole in the wall between the coop and the barn, she’d watched as the German officer beat him while asking question after question. John had either denied doing anything wrong or answered not at all.

  The officer broke off his torture to drink some water and issue orders to the rest of his men, but he’d soon be back. And she feared John would soon be dead. No one could take that kind of beating for much longer without broken bones or damage to their internal organs.

  He hung from the pole, arms tied behind his back and secured to the wood. She could only see the back of him, but still noted blood on his clothing. Three soldiers guarded him, but they were young and not good at hiding their fear and unease.

  They whispered amongst themselves then the one with the water approached John, lifted his head and gave him a drink.

  “He will kill you with his fists if you don’t tell him something,” the soldier said in broken French.

  “He’s going to kill me anyway.” John’s words were slurred, telling her his face had taken a beating too. “He’s enjoying it too much.”

  “But it doesn’t have to be slow.” He offered John another drink. “Why endure so much pain?”

  With a shout, the officer strode into Maria’s view. He ripped the canteen from the soldier’s hands and threw it away, all while calling him dog, sympathizer and spy.

  The man denied every charge, but the officer only screamed at him, saying he’d offered water to the enemy, aided the enemy, and that was treason.

  Treason had only one sentence. Death.

  The officer shoved him until his back was to the wall—only a few feet away from where Maria watched. And shot him point-blank in the belly.

  The young soldier gasped and slid down the wall to sit haphazardly on the floor.

  John swore at the officer. “You’re a coward and a tyrant to kill that boy.”

  “What interesting language for an uneducated farmer to use.” The German smiled, cold and evil, and waited. But when John made no other comment, he actually laughed. “You are a spy, and that has just saved your life. For now.” He glanced at the soldier, now holding his hands over his stomach and moaning, and sneered. “Idiot.”

  The officer marched out of the barn and ordered the other
two soldiers to stand guard outside. No one was to go inside. If any of them tried to help their former comrade, they too would be executed.

  All three left the barn, and there was silence.

  Maria clenched the wood slats beneath her hands until her knuckles went white. She sank to her knees and clutched at the boards.

  That’s when she found the door.

  It was small and low to the ground, but plenty large enough to crawl through. It swung out into the chicken coop, and Maria carefully poked her head through to see if anyone had entered the barn.

  No one but John and the gut-shot German soldier.

  She crawled into the barn.

  “John,” she whispered as she knelt next to him and tested the knots to see if she could untie them. “John?”

  “What are you doing here?” he slurred. Bruises mottled the left side of his face.

  She wouldn’t gasp. Wouldn’t cry. “Rescuing you.”

  “Again?”

  She almost laughed at his obvious frustration. “It seems you get yourself into all kinds of trouble, Lieutenant Bennet. Someone has to get you out.” She frowned at the rope. “I’m going to have to find something to cut this.”

  “Over there.” He threw his chin in the direction of the German soldier. The young man was watching her, the only noise coming from him a pain-filled pant.

  She picked up his rifle and he jerked away from her. She removed the bayonet and set the rifle down next to him. Then she sawed through the rope tying John to the pole.

  As soon as he was free, he fell to his hands and knees. Maria rushed to help him to his feet and dragged him toward the coop door.

  “Is this how you got in?”

  “Yes.” She let him sink to the floor then turned to go back.

  “Where are you going?” he grunted, clutching his abdomen.

  “To check on the soldier.”

  “That officer will return. Don’t go.”

  “He gave you water. I won’t let him be rewarded for his compassion with a long and painful death.”

  “There’s nothing you can do for him now besides end his pain. Are you prepared to do that?”

  “We don’t know how badly he’s hurt until I check.”

  “You stubborn woman.”

  She ignored him, rushing to the German soldier’s side. His eyes were closed, but as soon as she put her hand on his shoulder they popped open.

  “May I see?” she asked in French.

  He stared at her for a moment then nodded once.

  She pulled his hands away and tore open his shirt. The biggest danger to anyone shot in the gut was infection stemming from a pierced or nicked bowel. If his had been damaged, she should be able to smell it.

  Nothing but the scent of blood.

  He also wasn’t bleeding as much as she’d expected. Unless he was bleeding internally.

  “How bad?” the soldier asked.

  “I don’t know, but I don’t smell your bowel and you’re not bleeding too much.”

  “Are you who he’s protecting?”

  “Yes. My husband is a stubborn man. He was afraid that if I was caught with him things would go badly for me.”

  Outside, German voices grew louder.

  “Go,” the soldier ordered. “I won’t give you away.”

  “But—”

  He nodded at John and gave her look filled with determination. “Go.”

  She scrambled back to John and they went through the coop door to join the chickens. As soon as the door was closed, the soldier starting hollering.

  Had he lied to her?

  The two guards rushed inside. The wounded soldier told them the farmer had gotten loose and escaped out a window.

  They ran out yelling, “Escape, the prisoner’s escaped.”

  “He told them you escaped out a window.” she whispered to John.

  “Good man.” He cocked his head, listening to the shouts and running feet outside. “How long do you think he has?”

  “I don’t know. It’s possible the bullet missed anything vital.”

  “Possible?”

  “Possible.”

  “Damn, you’re going to insist on helping him, aren’t you?”

  She looked at him. “Aren’t you?”

  “He’s the enemy.”

  “Is he? He didn’t seem like an enemy when he gave you that water, or when he gave a false story to the other soldiers.”

  “Maybe some of them haven’t forgotten their honour in all this. That doesn’t mean we should risk our necks for him.”

  “So chivalry is dead, then.”

  The frown on his face could freeze a fire. “No, dammit, it’s not. I’m trying to protect you.”

  “He thinks we’re farmers. I told him you were my husband.”

  “Well that’s something at least.”

  The Germans sounded farther away now. Maria looked over John’s face critically. There was some swelling and bruising, but nothing appeared broken. “How badly are you hurt?”

  He shrugged. “I should be able to walk.”

  “Where could we go that those soldiers won’t find us?”

  “We hide where they won’t look.”

  He wasn’t making any sense. “What?”

  “How about right here?”

  With the chickens? Had he lost his mind? “Did they hit you over the head with something?”

  “Just a couple of fists.”

  “They should have hit you harder,” she mumbled.

  “The chickens don’t seem to mind.” For some reason unfathomable to her, he grinned at that, grabbed her hand and kissed it.

  Outside, the shouting sounded fainter and fainter.

  John sat down on the floor and leaned his head against the wall. Sweat glistened on his brow, stress bracketed his mouth. Or was it pain?

  “How’s your leg?”

  He sighed, a smile hovering still on his lips. “So much better now that I know you’re safe.”

  “Safe?” Anger lit a fuse in her belly. “How can I possibly be safe when you’re not?”

  “You’re more important.”

  She wasn’t having any of that. “No.” She held up a hand, palm out and hissed, “Stop sacrificing yourself for me. Just…” A sob escaped. Where had it come from? “Stop.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.” She sucked in another sob and pounded his chest with her fists. “You have to save yourself.” She kept pounding. “You have to.”

  “Why?” His question was so soft, so calm she almost didn’t hear it. “Why do I have to?”

  “Because if you’re not safe…if you’re not safe. I don’t…I can’t…I won’t go without you.”

  “All right.” He clasped her hands, cradling them in his own. “All right. And I won’t go without you. Agreed?”

  Having finally voiced the thoughts in her heart, she looked him in the eyes. “Agreed.”

  “We’ll stay here until dark then carry on.”

  “Not until I’ve checked on the soldier in the barn.”

  “Will you give him mercy if he asks for it?”

  Just the thought of killing another human being made her sick to her stomach. But if he was suffering and certain to die… “I—I don’t know.”

  “If you need my help, just come get me.”

  He was offering to do it for her, to put the soldier out of his misery. It was a generous and horrible choice.

  She crawled into the barn. The German’s eyes were closed, but she could see the rise and fall of his chest.

  Still alive.

  She put her hand on his forehead—pale, cold and clammy, he was covered with sweat.

  His eyes opened. “I was cold, but now I’m not.”

  She looked inside his shirt. The skin on his abdomen looked tight. She carefully touched his belly. It felt full and taunt. She pasted a small smile on her lips. “It’s a good sign that you’re not cold anymore.”

  He smiled back, but from one moment to the next
his smile turned to stone and his eyes went sightless.

  She’d seen death arrive many times before, but it never ceased to surprise and humble her. One moment you’re alive the next you’re dead. No fanfare. No warning. No second chances.

  She pulled the edges of his shirt together, got to her feet and went back to the coop.

  “How is he?” John asked.

  “Dead,” she said as she sat down across from him. Her limbs seemed to weigh far more than they should, while sleep pulled at her eyelids. She drew up her knees, closed her eyes and rested her head on them.

  His hand took hers and squeezed. “I’m sorry.”

  She lifted her head and discovered she was crying. “For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Didn’t I? Once again, we’re in this situation because of me.”

  He had lied to her about leading the Germans away without getting caught.

  “Yes, once again, you sacrificed your own safety for mine.” She rolled her eyes. “What a horrible person you are.”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Yes, I think I am.” She wiped the tears from her face. “It’s better than crying. But…” She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t lie to me ever again.”

  “I promise.”

  “You’ll give me your word?”

  “You have my word. I won’t lie to you ever again.”

  “Good.” She tore her gaze from his and glanced around the coop. “Should we move?”

  “No one has found us so far. Why don’t we rest here until nightfall?” He pulled her away from the wall, turning her so her back was against his front, and coaxed her to lie down.

  Safe.

  * * *

  After dusk, they snuck out of the chicken coop and made their way back to their original path. Though he was covered in bruises, John’s injuries from the beating weren’t enough to slow them down. She did wonder if he had a couple of cracked ribs. If they were bothering him, he kept it off his face.

  The night was calm, warm and would have been lovely had their errand been less urgent. As it was, every sound, movement and shadow was cause enough to hide, run or freeze. John asked for her opinion more than once about their route. Could she manage the terrain? How much farther could she travel? Where did she think they should stop?

  He also frequently smiled at her and at one point, when they climbed out of a steep gully, kissed the back of her hand. She tried to explain it away as camaraderie, but he didn’t make her feel like a fellow soldier at arms. No, he made her feel like a woman.