Dirty Paws

Hands up in surrender as ordered, Lina watched the man closely; there was no hesitation in the too-beautiful blue of his eyes—he would shoot.

When Lina stumbled upon the seemingly abandoned mansion, she knew it was too good to be true.

Upon entering, there were no immediate signs of life within. Windows broken, and their shutters hung limp, creaking as the winter wind whistled through the old brick.

Wounded and incapable of pushing onward, Lina had gambled with her chances and lost.

Collapsing on a dusty rug, Lina was barely out of the coat before a gun was pinching the skin between the shoulder blades.

Forced to stand though it was evident that it was a struggle, Lina expected no courtesy from the man to whom she was about to become a prisoner.

Unarmed, and with no ammunition in the gun she had anyway, Lina accepted that death had drawn her name that day.

Meeting the eyes of the man who held her life in his hands, Lina smiled at him; it was calm and relaxed, just shy of amusement.

‘It’s jammed,’ taking the man by utter surprise with her use of his tongue, Lina lowered her hands; they were aching. ‘Right?’

Pride shook briefly, and the man lowered his rifle. ‘You’re perceptive, granted,’ he responded dryly, discarding the gun with its firing mechanism locked and useless.

If not for the fact that they both held a disadvantage, Lina was sure that she would not have so quickly dropped to her knees, clutching at her side.

It was warm, wet with her blood.

‘Look,’ pausing in a hiss of pain, Lina threw back her head, staring at the ceiling when a fresh wave of dizziness sent spots dancing across her sight.

‘I am in no state to give you trouble, so,’ bringing her head back down slowly, Lina held out her bloodied hand, ‘either put me out of my misery or tell me you know how to get a bullet out.’

It wasn’t rooted in her body. Lina could feel it; part of the bullet was hanging out from her hip so that she could pull it free. Except Lina knew better than to remove anything that was keeping bleeding out at a minimum risk.

With a barely-there smile, the man examined Lina in some faint-hearted amusement, a gloved hand holding his chin. ‘Why would I do either?’

The question was not unreasonable, nor unexpected—just a pain to hear him speak predictably.

Lina felt her eyes attempt a roll but stopped them; her head was swimming as it was, and she didn’t need anything more to throw off her waning focus.

‘Here I thought you might be a gentleman, and act with good grace for your fellow man,’ littering her response in sarcasm, Lina winced a smile. ‘I am in a lot of pain. I will either annoy you until putting me in a grave is your only option, or until digging this out is.’

Unsure whether the man was annoyed or impressed was hard to decipher; his face was difficult to read. Emotions looked to be something that the muscles of his far-too-handsome face ever experienced.

‘You’re a woman, firstly,’ the man corrected in such a pedantic fashion that he too almost groaned. ‘Secondly, you will find that I have a suitable amount of patience that I will do neither.’

Head cocked, Lina sat for a moment trying to figure out the man. Was this his manner of humour?

‘See, this is why we say you have poor senses of humour,’ Lina informed him quietly.

The man sighed, seating himself on a rickety chair. ‘I wasn’t attempting to be funny. I was told I couldn’t tell a joke if my life depended on it.’

Whether it had been intended to be funny or not, Lina laughed at the man and his monotone drawl.

An action quickly regretted when a fresh wave of pain tore through Lina’s hip.

Cursing the misfortune, Lina threw her body down on the dusty boards, barely ruffled by the particles that fluttered in her mouth.

Pain close to blinding, Lina’s breaths came short and shallow.

What were the chances that Lina would stumble across an enemy soldier when she was in dire need of an ally?

Skin licked in a cold, feverish sweat, Lina knew that the window to take out the small chunk of metal was closing.

Sick, dizzy and feverish in the presence of an enemy soldier was already undesirable. To become delirious in pain too was unthinkable; she needed to keep some wits to her.

Pushing aside the jacket of the uniform, Lina fumbled with the belt of her trousers. There was no care for pride or decorum; Lina needed the bullet out.

Crossing one arm over her face, Lina bit the sleeve, pushing down the pants on one side. Lina’s fingers trembled when they floated down her waist to where the bullet was lodged in her skin, the tip scraping the bone of her hip.

Scrunching closed both eyes, Lina breathed out through her nose, fingers closed on the metal stabbed in her hip; she yanked it out with the very next breath.

Rolling on the suddenly too-hot side, Lina quickly moved to the other, throwing the dislodged bullet as she did.

Scream dampened in the sleeve of the jacket, her body convulsed once before Lina slammed her back into the floor.

Arm removed from the teeth, Lina covered her eyes with it, jaw locked as her mouth seethed the painful burn in her side. A new symptom washed her stomach.

If Lina didn’t feel faint before, she certainly did now.

‘Feel better?’ the man asked, though it felt pointless, as there was no care injected in the question.

Head rolling, Lina raised the arm from her eyes, catching him in a dead-eyed stare. ‘Much,’ she stressed through clenched teeth.

The man gave a slow nod of his head, a pensiveness taking hold of his mouth; he looked around the Spartan room once before standing.

‘Stay there,’ he requested, stepping over Lina.

Arms raised, Lina coughed a laugh. ‘It’s not like I have a date to make.’

Knowing it was best not to be too vulnerable, Lina tried to pay attention to the sounds around her.

The German’s footsteps grew fainter, drowned by the howl of the winter winds; Lina felt its icy lick far more than she had beforehand.

Wrapped in a shiver, Lina eased her rear off the floor, carefully pulling the trousers back up but leaving them undone.

Before Lina could contemplate getting dressed, her side would need at least a temporary patching up.

Focus swivelling slowly around the room, Lina could feel her consciousness waning, eyelids heavy and wantful of sleep; she fought it back.

Pressing both forearms to the floorboards, Lina wasn’t sure if it was her groaning or them when she pushed to bring her body off the floor.

Only just managing to get her back off the ground, Lina stopped for a breath, body far too exhausted with the pain and the long walk to find the mansion; a wave of sickness kicked her stomach.

Pausing and waiting for it to pass, Lina wondered if any of the others from her squadron made it free of the plane.

Was it possible that they were alive and moving towards their objective?

An objective that Lina, through pure pot luck, stumbled upon in this run-down mansion.

The Wolf of Dresden—Obergruppenführer Marcus Buckler.

Though dazed and a little confused, Lina recognised the man who apprehended her via the photo she was shown back in England.

Nicknamed the Wolf of Dresden for his uncanny ability to seek out those who sought to overturn the Führer, Marcus Buckler was a man with an enigmatic presence and a formidable mind.

Warned to tread with care when entering Germany, it looked as though their most recent intel proved false, or that Lina was thoroughly lost.

The intended course of action was to be dropped in the Ardennes, pick up their pre-arranged false paperwork and clothes, and enter Germany.

A plan thwarted when their plane was gunned down, Lina was separated from the others during their parachute jump, and in the process shot in the hip.

Wasting what ammo Lina had to try to evade capture, it was only by chance that she came across the mansion after shaking the pursuing soldiers from her tail.

Oddly, there were no signs of inhabitants on her way through the dense forest, and no signage to clue Lina into what side of the border she had landed.

And now there Lina was, at the mercy of her target objective.

Wondering who she could have pissed off upstairs to land her in such an unfortunate predicament, Lina’s body jolted with a sickly hiccup.

Cursing the cruel twist of fate, Lina threw her body to one side, balancing on an arm just as her stomach vaulted violently, splattering the floor with what little it held.