Half Sick of Shadows » Band of Brothers [2]

25: Tiger, Tiger

She closed the bottom drawer and stood up, folding up the papers and stuffing them into her maid's bag.

The door to the office opened behind her.

"Wer sind Sie?" the man demanded, his voice incredibly loud and incredibly ferocious.

Juliette froze.

The voice repeated its words once more, in Dutch this time. "Wie ben jij?!"

Think, think, think, she begged herself silently, still refusing to turn around.

It was English, this time. "Who are you?!" He took a few steps towards her.

Fight. To go out fighting was the only way.

Juliette whirled around and slammed her knee into his groin. When he bowled over, she smashed her elbow into the centre of his spine. He screamed out his pain. When she was about to slit his throat three more guards burst in.

Such a compromising position. There was no lying that would help her this time.

"He tried to touch me," she told them in quick German, forcing herself to shake and cry. "He tried to -"

"Pourquoi êtes-vous ici?"

There really was no way of explaining why she was in there. Shit, shit, shit. How are you going to lie your way out of this one?

"He tried to seduce me," she explained in pleading French, big crocodile tears spilling from her eyes. "He took me here to - to -"

In the end, it was her mother tongue that gave her away. She had forgotten that she wasn't supposed to know French.

She was seized by the elbows before she could even register what she'd done, the maid's bag dropping to the floor. What a fatal error. What a tragic mistake. Juliette realised very quickly that there was no escaping this time. She fought with all of her strength against the arms that held her just so that she could reach for her cyanide. Why hadn't she done it earlier?

Stupid hope. She had always been too hopeful. She should have known sooner that this was it.

As soon as she had wrenched an arm free she tore at her necklace. The guard she'd broken free of ripped it from her grasp immediately. He threw it behind him and they dragged her outside.

There was a van waiting already, with four Nazis standing around it. It was almost like they had known. An anonymous tip-off? she wondered. A double agent? An inside source? There was no use worrying about it now. She had to focus all of her energy on working out how to escape, or how to die.

Juliette fought with everything she had inside of her, every last drop of energy, every last bit of strength, every single ounce of ferocity in her entire body. It was as though everything in her life had been leading up to this moment. She had been storing up energy and rage and fire for her entire life so that she could fight this final battle. And she fought with it all. If everything led to his, what could possibly follow after?

After a struggle that even stopped the guards in place, for she was that ferocious, she threw herself to the floor and scrambled to get away. They seized her again. They yanked her up by her arms so hard she thought her shoulders were about to dislocate. She dipped her head and bit the man on her right so viciously he screamed and she tasted blood, but the shoulder wasn't essential enough; it was all she could reach, but it wasn't enough to take him down or get him off.

She turned to try her luck with the other guard. The third seized her legs where they thrashed against the floor. She stilled suddenly. Her eyes locked onto one single beam of hope. One ray of glittering sunshine. One angel in the midst of hell.

Thomas.

Tom, watching from behind a car across the road with his gun in his hand and tears in his eyes. His face was full of such horror. There was nothing left to say.

As he raised the gun she nodded at him, tears beginning to spill out of her own eyes. Real tears this time. This was it. The final stand. She had gone out with a fight, and that was as good a way to go as any; with the blood of a Nazi in her mouth, and her feet still kicking. It was a proud way to die. A defiant one.

His hand shook as he aimed at her heart. She nodded once more, bottom lip wobbling all the while, to tell him that it was okay. She tried to smile, knowing that the guards weren't watching her face anymore. She willed him to smile back. One last smile, Tom, please, she silently begged. It's okay. It's okay. I want it to be you.

When Jules saw his finger move to the trigger she had to stifle a sob. It was okay, but it was still so scary. Would it hurt? Or would it be too quick to feel any pain?

Another stifled sob, and she forced that smile back onto her face. Her eyes hadn't left his once. Those precious green eyes. The eyes of her best friend in the world. "I love you," she mouthed to him, because it was true. She had lied so, so much, but that, at least, was true. She loved him in the most desperate and most genuine way; as a brother. He was family in every single way except blood. They had been through it all together. She was glad that it would be him. "I love you," she repeated, nodding frantically to try to bid him to just do it. She was ready.

That was when he lowered the gun.

No, no, no, Thomas. It was supposed to be you!

A sick sense of relief had flooded her body, but dread filled its place almost instantly. Was she really that afraid to die? She knew that what came next would be worse.

Don't leave me, she silently begged as she watched him return to where he'd been hiding.

And suddenly she was alone.

It was a funny feeling, being betrayed by your best friend. Juliette had never really known anything like it. It was an even funnier feeling to forgive him anyway. They had discussed it a million times over; if either of them were caught, and they couldn't use the cyanide, they would do it for each other. They had even discussed it in training, all those many years ago when they had first been assigned to the same team.

But Thomas couldn't do it. He had betrayed her. But she forgave him. Instantly. Just like always. Deep down she knew she couldn't have done it either, if it was him on the other end of the barrel. But, oh, God, what horror was waiting for her now?

-

I have to stop. I have to stop writing. This is too much. I feel like I'm writing my own death. I suppose I am, really. God, Thomas, why didn't you kill me? I am ruined. I am so ruined. I forgive you. Oh, I forgive you. A million times over I forgive you.

I miss him. Oh bloody hell, the tears are smudging the writing. I'll be burned for this but I can't stop crying. I miss him, I miss him, I miss him.