Waves of men bashed and bled against the walls of the city. Viktor peered up into the misty winter sky and closed his eyes. With one last breath, he rushed into the onslaught.
He had lost his weapon during the air drop. A semi-automatic was strapped around body of a Regenian soldier in the middle of the row. The man had fallen from a steeple and cracked like pottery on the icy cobblestones.
Covering his head with his gloved hands, Viktor waited for a lull in the gunfire. The machine gun spurted to a stop. He grabbed the weapon and stood upright. He took one shot and caught the gunner in the forehead.
Viktor jolted awake to the caw of a black bird swooping from the rustling trees. Running a hand over his face, he inhaled slowly to even his heart rate. He had fallen asleep in the sun with his back to a black poplar tree. The clouds had rolled in and evening was coming on. His watch was almost up.
Checking his wrist watch as he stood, Viktor popped his shoulder with a grimace. He hitched the strap of his gun over his arm. Gruber seemed convinced there was danger lurking in every corner of the quiet province and ordered extra watches around the perimeter of the village. He claimed there could be partisans anywhere. Viktor wasn’t so certain.
Slowly, they were breaking the back of the Regenian countryside. Once they had breached the defenses of the northern cities, the rich society of that area had folded like damp bread. He had been told by his country that the Regenians would be easily conquered because they liked to be comfortable. That might have been true for the top half of the country, but the south was a different story. They had met pockets of resistance in every provincial village.
However, Belnon was populated mostly by women, children and the old. Their eyes were empty, lacking the spark of rebellion. Perhaps the Berchtens were finally reaping the fruits of war.
He uncapped a silver flask and barely noticed the burn of the local moonshine down his throat. An owl called in the twilight amid the rusty canopy of autumn leaves. Viktor drew his gaze to his boots and realized that he was standing in a mushroom ring. A bad omen.
A crash echoed through the silent wood. Tearing through a thick layer of undergrowth, a figure burst into the clearing and ran past him even as he lifted his gun. A trio of wolves bounded into view, snapping viciously as they chased their prey.
Viktor shot into the air, the sound startling the canines. Two of them raced away but one remained, standing its ground. It growled, snout trembling as it bared yellowed fangs. Viktor stared back. He shot past its head. The wolf whimpered and bounded after its comrades into the forest.
“Why didn’t you kill it while you had the chance?!”
Viktor lowered his weapon and pivoted sharply. He almost scoffed in surprise. It was the same girl who had rebuffed his kindness on the side of the road a few days earlier. She wore a thick grey sweater with a beret covering her ragged curls. She carried a basket in the crook of her elbow. Still the same scowl as though she were about to spit on him. Her attitude wasn’t anything new to Viktor.
“Well?” She demanded again, panting from her ordeal, “Why didn’t you?”
“No need.”
She shook her head with a snort, “I thought Berchtens were only good for killing. What is your point if you aren’t going to use that weapon?”
“The wolf wasn’t the enemy,” Viktor cocked his head to the side, resting the barrel of his gun against his forearm, “The bullets are for when I meet one of those.”
“Regenians are your enemy. It was a Regenian wolf, wasn’t it?”
Viktor wet his lower lip and cast his eyes to the ground, fighting off a grin, “At least you’re entertaining. What’s in the basket?”
In the faint light, the girl’s face blanched as his tone turned staunch, “Chestnuts. It’s the end of the season for them. I was gathering the last.”
“This far off in the hinterlands?” He approached, eyeing the basket.
“These are only the hinterlands to you. This is my home, remember?” she smirked.
Despite her brazenness, he noticed her hands trembling as he halted within arm’s length. He took the basket, her fingers reluctant to let it loose. It was filled to the brim with chestnuts. He stuck a hand in halfway and found nothing. She sniffed and crossed her arms, her nose and cheeks red with cold.
“Can I please have my basket back. It's getting dark,” she shifted her weight. With one final glance at it, Viktor handed it over. She ripped it from his hand, “May I go now?”
He took out a packet of cigarettes and retrieved one. He didn’t offer any to her, “But you didn’t say thank you.”
The girl gritted her teeth, “You were in the right place at the right time. Don’t flatter yourself as my savior.”
“Those wolves were hungry.”
“Because your men have picked these woods clean of their prey.”
He took a drag and blew the smoke into the damp air, “Still, it would be good manners.”
She lifted her chin and swiveled to leave. Viktor watched her a moment, distracted by that swinging basket. There was something intriguing about the girl, but not in an attractive way. Something was off with her presence.
“What is your name?” He called out.
The girl froze in her tracks, “Why do you want to know? I thought I had done nothing-“
“Call it curiosity,” Viktor smiled coolly.
There was fear in her eyes but not fear of him and what he could do simply because he was the enemy. It was fear of getting caught. It set him on edge, the hairs on the back of his neck raising. He had not survived this long on the front without garnering a little survival instinct.
“Your brother called you Georgie.”
She blinked at his recollection, “Georgiana Roux.”
As she strode into the shadowy wood, trails of mist glossing the purple horizon, Viktor cursed himself for not digging his hand in to scrape the bottom of the basket.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
