It was the same as any other village and the day was just like any other. The convoy tore across the countryside as it journeyed through the wreckage. A glistening layer of frost coated the burnt out shells of fallen tanks and machinery. The black oxidised metal shimmered in the daylight as it trembled with the passing vehicles.
The frosty afternoon air clouded the windows of the Mercedes. The icy cold crept across the glass of the passenger window obscuring the view outside. Richtofen retrieved a handkerchief and tried to cut through the thick layer of frost. Eventually, he made a small opening allowing him to see out once more.
The sky above was set alight with fiery orange and pink clouds. The winter sun shone amongst the clouds as spears of golden light pierced through and glimmered as they reached down to the earth. What was left of the country roads was treacherously laden with black ice and debris. Richtofen's chauffeur, a plump middle-aged man in his fifties, drove cautiously as the car slowed to a crawl. Some of the cars in the convoy would periodically skid before regaining traction which left everyone on edge.
But the poor weather conditions left Richtofen feeling exceptionally impatient as he longed to reach the next village. The ecstasy of his last tirade had long since worn off and he was keen to chase the high. But with the prolonged gentle jostling of the staff car; it began to lull Richtofen to sleep.
As he closed his eyes he fantasised about what he would do when he finally got there. He mused over the atrocities he would soon be commiting and havoc he would wreak. The thought of staring into the eyes of his victims as he watched their light being snuffed out soon began to excite him and he was once again awake.
But then, as the road snaked between the valley, Richtofen began to make out the vague shapes of houses on the rolling hills. White smoke blew from the chimneys of the quaint little houses signalling that the village still sustained life. The scarred land surrounded the towns-people in a sea of desolation. From atop their hills, they were like a beacon of refuge for displaced and weary wanderers - but also an inviting temptation for the sinister of heart.
As the convoy drew nearer Richtofen looked at the buildings; most of which still stood - albeit wounded. Somehow, they had remained more or less in one piece still providing shelter. And their occupants quickly took refuge in them upon hearing the sound of the convoy. The children playing in the nearby field froze before looking around like frightened fawns.
Hysterical mothers called out to their young as the little boys and girls emerged from the tall wheat grass and bounded towards the houses. It was the same reaction each and every time they arrived. And, in fact, it had begun to bore Richtofen. He had become desensitised to the procedure.
As usual, Richtofen's car pulled up in the centre of the village square before he exited the vehicle. He knew the rumours of his work had spread far and wide as his pale blue eyes honed in on the words "Beware the Doc" hastily painted on the face of a stone wall. Trails of bone white paint dripped from each letter before finally drying in their descent.
With a smirk, he clicked his heels and began walking. His heavy riding boots crunched on the gravel pathway as the smirk grew deeper across his mouth. With both hands clasped behind his back he meticulously inspected the village. Behind him, the Heer soldiers began setting up their stations as the rest of the convoy unloaded the crates of equipment.
The air was cool and crisp as Richtofen's breaths billowed from his nose and mouth in plumes of smoke - like an smouldering dragon. The black leather of his gloves creaked as he tightened his grip of his hands whilst stalking around the quaint buildings. The blank blackened windows shot his reflection back at him before he noticed movement to his right. As Richtofen snapped around, he happened upon the ghostly reflection of a small child in one of the windows - her eyes big like a doe's.
The little girl's face broadcasted the depths of her fear and anxiety right back at him as he glowered through the glass at her. Her lower lip trembled and her eyes widened with fright before a man's hand subdued her before she could let out a scream. She continued to peer over the large hand and back at Richtofen before the other grabbed her and pulled her away from the window. Her pale complexion disappeared into the darkness behind her before she was gone.
The spectacle caused Richtofen to frown disapprovingly. It was clear that it was the child's father who had moved her away from the window. But by now, he had seen everything. He rolled his eyes at every valiant yet hopeless attempt by those trying to protect their loved ones - as none ever succeeded. And it was this futile effort which seemed unnecessary and inconveniencing.
In retaliation, Richtofen carefully removed one of his black leather gloves. As he slid it off his hand the freezing air began to nip at his skin. Then, he furled his long slender fingers before clicking them to summon his soldiers. The sound echoed before reaching their ears causing them to immediately stop what they were doing. The men all hurried over and stood to attention - anxiously awaiting Richtofen's command.
With a curt nod, Richtofen then nodded towards the front door of the house. The men then encroached around it before one soldier began to batter the door. In rhythmic unison, they each took turns kicking in the spintering wood door as it began to buckle with the force. Eventually, after a few loud thumps, the door finally gave way as ear piercing cries and wails escaped the house.
A male voice then shouted in the distance. A young man then emerged from his home as his mother pleaded with him to come back inside. The desperation in her voice was clear even to those who did not speak French. She relentlessly pulled on the cotton sleeve of his shirt before he finally broke free. He called out to Richtofen and his men in French.
"Laisse les tranquille!" He shouted - telling Richtofen and his men to leave them alone.
Richtofen pursed his lips as he turned to look at the young man. He was around seventeen and looked to be a farmhand. His grey cotton shirt was stained with dirt and his cord trousers hung loosely on his hips - held up only by thick braces slung on his shoulders. His face betrayed him as he still looked like a boy. But his deep voice was the only indication that he was a man.
The German soldiers retreated from the home and awaited Richtofen's orders. But instead, the doctor stood continuing to watch the young man. From his house, his mother tried to call him back to her. Her pleading and sobbing echoed throughout the village as she tried to make her son see sense.
"Quitter notre village!" The young man shouted telling the Germans to leave the village.
Richtofen raised an eyebrow at the young man's reckless confidence. Though, his knees visibly shook with fear; he continued to try to defend the family and wider village.
"Tu n'es pas le bienvenu!" He added - telling them they were not welcome here.
"Nous n'avons pas besoin de votre accueil!" Richtofen replied - reminding him they did not need the village's welcome.
Then, the young man suddenly pulled out a revolver from the pocket of his trousers. The sight of the gun sent his mother into a frenzied panic. But before she could run to her son; her husband prevented her from crossing the threshold of the door. She hopelessly fought against the large man's grip before breaking down and wailing. The other residents looked on in horror from inside their homes yet none dared to stand with the young man in solidarity.
His arms quivered as he raised the revolver and aimed it at Richtofen. But the doctor never flinched. His men, however, immediately readied their rifles at the young man as the standoff began. Then, Richtofen ordered them to lower their weapons. The young man had dared not advance any closer. He continued to aim the revolver as his body gave itself over to trembling fear. His shaky breath stuttered erratically as he watched Richtofen slowly pace towards him.
The German never spoke a word as his gaze locked on to the young man's. The intensity of it only served to further erode whatever confidence the young man had left. The village was now quiet with only the sound of Richtofen's prowling footsteps on the cobblestones. The young man stood trembling as he looked down the barrel of the revolver at the doctor stalking towards him.
Richtofen had not even unholstered his own pistol as he continued closer and closer. His men stood together in a huddle as they nervously anticipated their commander's intentions. Then, within a few seconds, They were now standing face to face. The revolver rattled in the young man's hands as he watched Richtofen press the barrel of the gun against his chest - right over his heart.
"I dare jou. Shee vhat happens..." Richtofen seethed through his teeth.
End of part four...