War For The World

CHAPTER NINE

Jones grunted once more, and they continued the rest of their trek in silence.

* * *

The cold morning frost of November encased the field of grass in a thick blanket. Confined from within the four rather large walls of Hersch Manor, Sergeant Michaels stared outside through the window for the fifth time today. He yearned for the sweet taste of freedom.
An itch began to flair within his left hand and he went to relieve it, rubbing the stump end where his hand had once been.
He winced, preparing for the inevitable wave of phantom pain that would always follow.

In his right hand, gripped tightly now was a dirt smudged baseball. The red stitching was beginning to come undone and the words had long since been rubbed off. For the past two weeks this small symbol of home had been used to keep these pains at bay. Tossing the ball up and catching it with his right hand had proved difficult at first for the left-handed soldier. Over time he had become accustom to the feeling, and by now the gesture was simply done as a subconscious calming technique. Something he did naturally to pass the time.

Leaving the sorrowful temptation of the window, Michaels began pacing around the manor. It was all he could do to stop himself from going crazy, waiting for what was left of his squadron to return with hopefully good news for once.
It had been a busy two weeks for them all, a time that had Michaels beginning to sorely wish the normalcy of war.
They'd instead been holed up in this manor thanks to the saving efforts of one Lady Abigail Hersch, the nearby towns mayor and close associate with the resistance.
Her large house was a nice luxury compared to the blood ridden trenches of war. However, with every silver lining there must accompany with it a grey cloud. This particular grey cloud for them came in the from of the Nazis, they had begun occupation of the town below almost two years ago and were far from leaving. Germans were everywhere these days, preparing for their assault on both fronts. This by default forced Michaels and his crew to stay hidden within the walls of Abigail's abode. Between the Nazis and the Aliens, they weren't going anywhere.
At least, until now. Not two days ago Abigail had intercepted a German transmission through her German radio. Such machines were obviously banned from the public, but through quick wit and an apt for espionage Abigail had been able to pull through and retrieve such a device for them all.

The transmission had stated a delivery of goods were to be arriving soon.
They had been ecstatic, as a clear opportunity finally presented itself. No supply vehicles had come in or out of the town since their arrival, and what little did make their way cross country into town sported high grade security and tailing escort services. The attitude the Nazis had through their conduction of the occupied town was odd to say the least, but they were running out of food and Michaels knew his team needed a win.
They were running low on inventory, that much had been obvious. Food was becoming a scarce necessity as of late and what little medical equipment they had left had been ruined thanks to their experiences with the trenches. He'd sent them out with the remainder of their guns and ammo. Michaels prayed they'd come barrelling through the door baring metallic gifts.
There was no possible opportunity for them to visit the town themselves, too many soldiers swarming the place. As for Abigail, well she remained a constant on the Nazi's radar. An extreme number of rations taken or suspicious supplies requested by her would only strengthen the suspicion already held over her head similar to that of a blackened storm cloud.
Michaels made his way into the living room, a vast space full of assorted Knick knacks and do dads. The heart of the room sat within one of the walls. A large, wood fireplace that was currently heating the room up. Abigail must be awake, Michaels noted.
The entire manor carried a rustic, wooden Victorian aesthetic, standing atop its mountain overlooking the town of Yöpil just past the tree line. Abigail had told him once that she had won it in a bet back before wartime, Michaels still had no clue whether to believe her or not.