No birds had sung in quite some time. Earthworms were too frightened to leave the soily comfort of the dirt and foxes were a rarity these days. The woodland road was quiet, the only noise to echo outwards being that of the rustling of leaves as the trees on either side danced for no one. The tranquil atmosphere that came with such an idyllic country road was interrupted by the screeching sound of tires. The truck shuddered to a halt, shunting its contents forwards rather violently. The two soldiers sitting in the front seats turned to look at one another, confusion painted on both of their faces in the form of grimaces and arched eyebrows.
Muttering something in German, the man behind the drivers seat grabbed the keys and attempted to rev the truck back to life, however what followed was simply a cough and a splutter. The vehicle had well and truly admitted defeat.
The two of them exited the truck, paying little attention to their weapons left sitting on their seats as they made their way out to the back of the vehicle to see what the problem was.
Their answer came in the form of the barrel of a gun pressed right against the sweaty bridge of the drivers nose.
Without hesitation, the chamber clicked into life and the silencer activated. The two Nazi soldiers were dead before they hit the ground.
A hiss, distinctly irish, came from beneath the truck as a grime covered Benson crawled out from under it. A pair of well-worn pliers gripped tightly by his left hand.
"What was that for. Michaels said only when necessary. We could've questioned them about the deathwalkers"
Jones lowered his pistol, using the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the blood off its silencer. He shrugged.
"Sick of the Krouts. We been living round 'em for far too long now. Gotta let off some steam every now and again"
Benson tutted, grabbing the body.
"it's only been round two weeks or so"
Jones grunted "two weeks too fucking long if you ask me".
Benson threw the two bodies into the back of the truck, taking a moment to survey their spoils.
Boxes of food, ammo and other various pieces of equipment, all theirs for the picking.
They both made short work of it, grabbing the items they could in the short amount of time that it would take the Nazi command base a few miles further to realise something was amiss.
Once they'd plundered what they could they left, tailing back the way they had come on foot with two large bags full of necessities.
"Let me remind you" Benson started up, "That it was I who drew the short straw and had to hold on for dear life under that thing for almost 5 miles! Don't go complaining to me about living"
Jones clenched his fist. They'd been living in close proximity to one another for a while now, and in that time they'd allowed themselves the occasional fight or two. For the most part they had Michaels and Abigail to keep them in check, however in times like these were it was just the two of them, it took all of Jones strength not to land a sucker punch right in his big Irish face.
The sound of ammo clinking back and forth in its own wooden box followed them, becoming their own sort of rhythm beat to march to as the pair of soldiers diverged from the gravel main road and into the dense undergrowth of nature and woodwork that was the forest. It was a small forest that much was true, but a beauty of flora nonetheless. More importantly however, it served as brilliant cover from any incoming Nazi vehicles.
"cant believe the searg has got us robbing supply trucks like petty thieves" came Jones.
Benson sighed
"Not even you can say with confidence we're a proper match against a barrel of Nazis in a truck. Plus, with this 'ere shit we got, we'll finally have enough stuff to make it back to base in one measly piece"
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.
The large crackling fire enveloped him with a warmth that seemed capable enough to stove off the harsh morning chill.
He sat down on an adjacent couch and pulled out a dossier file, bent at the edges and shoved down the back of the couch.
The squad had not put their two weeks to waste. When they weren't plotting against the occupying Nazis, they were performing deep reconincance on their new enemies.
Just yesterday in fact, a new type of sub species had awoken.
Half the size of the normal tripods and sporting two long wiry snake like arms with claws on the end, this new type of Alien was nothing to laugh at.
The reports coming through Abigail's stolen transmitter spoke of it stealing people in the night. Grabbing them with its tendrils and storing them in a hollow dome hanging underneath the central sphere that made up the tripod. Rumours had now begun to suggest it specially targeted the youth.
Such a ghastly thought hung in the air. Of children, pried from their mother's hands and dragged off into the cold harsh night never to be seen again.
Michaels closed the dossier, choosing instead to stare deep into the hypnotising embrace of the crackling amber glow.
As his vision grew darker, his mind wandered. The faces of those he'd lost emerged from within his subconscious. First Trace, running up to Michaels crying
"I've asked her to the school dance but she said no, what'd I do wrong father"
He frowned, something was off. Trace now evaporated as a large tripod came stomping down right in front of him.
Michaels fell back, staring up at the big behemoth of metal. Only instead of the large green haunting eyes, he instead saw only himself staring back at him.
"Help"
A croaking next to his ear as he looked round to see Lars lying right beside him. Lars drew up his left hand and wiggled the stumpy finger bones right up against Michaels face. He tried to yell as the blood smeared across his cheeks but he couldn't find his own voice.
A sudden squirming sensation came to his attention, and with great effort he strained his neck to peer down his body. Maggots. Hundreds of them. All pouring out through a gaping, pulsing hole at the end of his arm where his hand should be. They were everywhere. Crawling on top of him and suffocating him. He tried to scream, but opening his mouth to yell simply invited maggots into his lungs. He was drowning. Dying.
A magnificent light erupted above him and the maggots were gone. Incinerated by the heat ray courtesy of the towering tripod. It loomed over him, peering and bending down so that it were looking down on him. He breathed, and the steam from his own breath created condensation against the steel shell of the craft. His own reflection was peering back at him, only it wasn't him. It was the bullet ridden face of Cincinnati. Half of his face was torn off and the other half, a singed mess of flesh and shrapnel. His jaw unhinged
"Why did you leave me"
Michaels finally found his voice. He screamed. Jolting forwards and falling off the couch, hitting the wooden floor of Hersch Manor. He was back, his thoughts slowly recollecting themselves. He was safe. He was ok.
A knocking on the door reverberated the glass windows. Three dull knocks followed by a short burst of three more.
He recollected himself, wiping away the sweat that had collected on his brow and grabbing the baseball that ha dmanaged to roll itself under one of the chairs. He made his way to the door, peering through the peep hole.
He smiled and turned the knob
"Delivery for one Sergeant Michaels" Benson said.
* * *
They had everything laid out on a wooden table in the attic. Five rounds of ammunition, fresh medical supplies and enough rations to last them a good week or two. Michaels was handling the pride and joy of the collection, a German MP40 that Jones had snatched from the truck before they'd left.
Michaels was staring at the motherload, exactly what they needed for their survival. The baseball once again sat in his one good hand, using his fingers to roll it back and forth against his palm.
"So" A familiar voice came, as Abigail Hersch rounded the corner.
"Where do we start"
Her French accent sparked something within Michaels in a way only she was able to. She was still just as beautiful as ever, blue eyes standing out against the blonde hair that fell gently around it. She was dainty, with a certain feminine quality about her. He had learnt many a time during his stay here however that she was not to be trifled with, he smiled as he felt a bruise around his ribcage. She was a pretty good boxer too.
Abigail strutted forwards, her crimson red dress succeeding in both making a point and flowing elegantly. She surveyed their haul and lifted to the ceiling a bag of potatoes
"Good. Potatoes should keep for a long time. Very versatile"
She placed them back down on the table. Michaels felt relief, the others felt pride. It were as if she was the school teacher and they, her pupils presenting their work.
"Agreed" Michaels had found his voice. "Should be enough to get us through a rough winter"
He pulled out a makeshift map created with scraps of paper and tape, marked on it were two words and a multitude of dots and pictures. Yöpil, and home base.
"The trek should last us a good week and a half, assuming we don't encounter any unsavoury guests. Otherworldly or not..."
The three others all nodded in agreement.
They'd all discussed it quite early on. How could they not, the giant elephant in the room. What were the mechanical beings. After agreeing they were against both sides of the war, the logical conclusion had landed on the fact that they must be of extra-terrestrial nature. Michaels had argued against such a childlike decision but sooner or later the term stuck and they had been known as the aliens ever since.
Jones cocked his rifle in celebration.
"Finally" he said.
Michaels once more made eye contact with Abigail. Her deep blue eyes brought back recent memories. Nights spent lost in thought thinking of her. The longing staring down corridors, the late-night chats and the early morning exercises together. The simple fact was that Michael seemed infatuated with her. Ever since the incident he'd been in her debt. They'd seen each other day in and day out as she worked to heal his arm and he worked his way into her heart. Their laughs were hearty and their moments alone were tender. His heart skipped as he danced with the idea that he didn't truly know what game she was playing at. Though, whatever game it was he seemed to enjoy playing it.
Abigail spoke up, breaking Michaels from his trance. She was good at that.
"Obviously though you'll help us beforehand right?"
Silence. An uncomfortable note that had unfortunately not been factored into the mix. Abigail's love for her town. A town that was as of recent occupied by the Nazi regime.
Benson moved forwards, adjusting his makeshift bandolier
"Sorry Lady Hersch but we've talked about this. Once we've got enough supplies, we're out. Can't be saving nobody especially no town"
Jones grunted in agreement down the back of the attic
"For once, the Irishman has a point. Not staying here longer than I need to"
Abigail turned to Michaels, her doe eyes doing a number on him as she silently pleaded for his support. The simple fact was that even though they'd been ostracized from their military for two weeks, Sergeant Michaels was still that. A sergeant. If he said jump, Jones and Benson would begrudgingly ask how high.
He hesitated, followed by an expertly placed stammer and a pause. No good options here, all of them bad.
It seemed the hidden third option that Michaels had chosen was the worst of the three. Jones huffed and Abigail quickly turned and walked off, climbing down the ladder back into the second story hallway.
Michaels turned back to Benson who gave nothing more than a shrug.
"I'll talk to her" said Michaels, throwing the baseball to Benson.
Leaving his two men to prepare for their imminent departure, Michaels hastily followed Abigail down the ladder and out into the library.
Located on the second story, the library was vast and impressive with certainly more than enough books for just one person. In the middle of the room was a large glass window, overlooking the forestlands ahead and further along the town of Yöpil.
The town. No matter how serious Abigail was about the three soldier's survival, often times her decisions came down to whether or not it would benefit the town. She was the mayor after all, even in such terrible circumstances such as the one they were currently in. Michaels found it admirable, in a certain childish way. For all of her maturity that she liked to put forward, Abigail was still a frightened little girl doing everything she could to keep her large family from tearing apart.
Michaels put his arm on her shoulder, turning her away from the glass window and towards him.
"You alright?" he asked
Abigail frowned, shrugging off his arm from her shoulder and staring him down, her blue eyes radiating anger.
"You didn't stand up for me back there. I thought we had a deal, I help you three get better and you help me save the town"
Michaels sighed. She was asking for the impossible.
"We cant stay Abby. There's no chance in hell us four alone can rid the town of your infestation. It's better if we leave out of your hair before they find out you're helping us"
He felt the moment and made his move, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes.
"I only want to keep you out of harm's way"
She continued to stare into him, this time letting his arm rest on her shoulder.
"I don't want you to leave" she said quietly, ashamed.
"Neither do I..."
Their voices were lowering without either of them noticing. The whole manor seemed frozen in time, watching this moment.
"But I have to" Michaels finished.
Abigail frowned, her brow furrowing in a way Michaels had always found adorable.
They were inches apart now.
"Fine" she said
"Fine" he retaliated.
Moving in with a quick yet soft respect Michaels embraced Abigail. They kissed, passion igniting within them both as they released their desire within the library.
Michaels knew that this would most certainly complicate the mission, but he was too far gone now and his mind had begun to develop a sort of tunnel vision, and all he saw at the end was a Lady Abigail Hersch.
They both pulled back, still locked in a heated embrace. Staring deeply into each other's eyes they were able to ask the questions that needn't be said. Michaels noticed a few tears running down her cheek.
Just then came a rather abrasive knock from the downstairs entrance. Michaels head sprung forwards, noticing the long black car parked in the driveway.
"Fuck"
"Shit"
Michaels made a crack for the attic ladder whilst Abigail gave herself a short moment to look at herself in the mirror. She wiped away the tears and tidied up her hair before making her way downstairs to welcome the Nazis inside.
* * *
A clamour of freshly shined black boots made their way inside the manor. Peering down through the small hole in the attic floor, Michaels began counting. By the times he reached the sixth officer the old wooden door was being closed behind them.
The man in the front bowed slightly, before straightening himself and adjusting the large assortment of polished medals pinned against his long black coat.
"Good morning Lady Hersch"
Abigail replied with a respectful curtsy.
"What brings you fine men here this morning?" she asked, treading softly as to not provoke what had almost certainly became a group of ravenous bears.
The man with the medals whom Michaels know recognised as General Pierce Braltr chuckled.
"My men and I were simply passing through and decided to stop by for a friendly chat. Discuss with you how you are running the town, maybe offer up some suggestions" he lingered on that last word, making sure the spite was received.
"The warmth of your manor is much preferred to the harsh reality of a winter morning" he continued, contorting his face into a smile that felt all but artificial in nature.
Without invitation, General Braltr removed his coat and hung it on the nearby rack. He gestured to his men to follow suit.
Michaels leg was beginning to cramp. He sat up, still able to slightly make out the conversation being held downstairs. It seemed that they had moved on into the living room where Braltr was requesting some warm tea for him and his men.
It was almost certainly a ploy, but what game was he playing at? More importantly, how were they all going to survive this.
Braltr was ruthless, this much was known. Echoes and whispers regarding his cruel endeavours had made their way to the manor. The General had often times been the subject of Michaels' and Abigail's long night chats staring up at the stars from their position next to the large library window.
They'd sit together, Michaels listening as Abigail would recount tales of horror. According to her, Braltr had been one of Hitler's more respected officers within his secret service. With a special interest for the paranormal, Braltr was said to have often times keep the stowaway Jews he found hidden in basements and attics. Using them as human subjects for the plethora of experiments he liked to run.
The medals he carried deemed for exceptional performance in the apprehension of the Jewish people.
Short black hair and brown eyes meant the only way Braltr stood out was his large bushy handlebar moustache and the milky white marble sitting in his left eye socket, supposedly the result of an experiment gone wrong.
Interestingly enough was the fact that Braltr had been recently stationed to this small town as opposed to the big cities much as his reputation would suggest.
Benson had taken watch through the hole now. He peered up at Jones and Michaels quizzically.
"They're just chatting" he whispered.
Up in the attic, every noise sounded as if it were multiplied tenfold. Michaels put his finger up to his mouth and pointed back to the hole. Benson saluted sarcastically and kneeled back down to continue watch.
Michaels noticed Jones softly packing their supplies. Good, in case of a quick getaway.
The thought caused a knot in his stomach. Leaving Abigail was going to be harder than initially anticipated.
Jones began loading the guns as Michaels tip toed his way over to the other end of the attic. A thin crevice between the attic floorboards revealed two of Braltrs men sifting through Abigail's belongings.
What started as mustering quickly turned into talking and soon the two Nazi soldiers were having a fully blown conversation amidst chucking around Abigail's unmentionables.
As much as Michaels wanted to continue watching, he couldn't speak a lick of German. Gesturing Benson, they both stood up and swapped peep holes as Luckily for them, Benson could comprehend German. Even if it was at a fifth-grade level.
Downstairs, the conversation had switched from pleasantries to business. Abigail offered Braltr some tea as he slowly circled the living room floor. His presence was intimidating. Michaels knew that if they stayed here for too long, they'd eventually be found out.
Braltr moved towards one of the windows, peering out at his vehicle stationed on the gravel driveway outside. Without turning around to face Abigail he said
"must get quite lonely up here by yourself Lady Hersch. My men have told me about your late husband and subsequent decision not to marry again. Very bold I must say"
It was a simple comment, but Michaels felt stung.
"Why thank you General" came Abigail's response, positioning herself within the doorway leading out towards the hall. Michela suspected that she was preparing herself for a quick escape. His hands tightened into two fists and the beating of his heart intensified to a degree where he was sure they'd hear it.
"My husband was indeed a nobleman. But after his passing I thought it wise to put my care into the town"
Braltr tutted to himself, continuing to stare out the window.
"A shame really, to lose someone like him so early in the war"
He suddenly turned back round to face her, a snide smile plastered on his face
"Then again, all who oppose our regime will face your husbands fate sooner or later"
Braltr was moving now. He walked up to Abigail, still standing underneath the door frame. He was like a snake, fast movement coupled with an uncomfortable silence. He lifted one of his gloved hands now, running it against Abigail's right cheek. She instinctively went to turn away but froze in place. Both herself and Michaels knew that to not play along with Braltrs perverted game would only be a catalyst for worse fortune. Instead, she chose defiance. She stared directly into his eyes.
"Such a relief you eventually chose the right side of history mademoiselle. I'm sure your husband would understand"
Michaels saw her recoil ever so slightly at the use of her own language as an emotional weapon against her.
It took all the self-control Michaels could muster not to slam open the trap door, run down the staircase and ram the butt of his gun down the throat of the German bastard. He kept repeating to himself what they were doing here. What was at stake.
Abigail put on her best smile, even though she was much shorter than General Braltr she still managed to stare him down somewhat
"Like I asked before. What brings you here General"
The hand fell back to his sides, and in one swift movement it was as if all notions of preteens were dropped. They were no longer friends, they were business associates.
"Mayor Hersch I am under the assumption that as of late your town has been overrun with Allied scum"
Abigail pushed back
"Are you suggesting I've had a role to play in this treason?"
Braltr moved, brushing past Abigail out into the hallway. Slowly, he made his way up the staircase.
"Mayor Hersch I am not charging you with anything as of late. We are simply here to make sure no rats are hiding in your walls so to speak"
He paused, as if contemplating his next move, and then.
"A truck of ours was overturned this morning. Our contents; precious supplies and cargo for our men was stolen. I don't suppose you know anything about this do you?"
Leaning against the staircase now, Michaels could see Braltr clear as day. The milky white of his eye was something not for the faint of heart. Michaels gave himself a brief moment to return to his men. Jones was finished packing. He was not crouching against the wall of the attic, aiming his rifle dead on at the trap door that lead back down to the second story. Michaels intended to keep this from getting bloody as much as possible, however such an outcome was seeming less likely by the second.
Abigail shook her head and pouted slightly. Michaels was impressed, her mannerisms were on point for that of someone truly out of the loop with their escapades.
"I'm sorry General but once again, my sole focus is the safety of my town and the people within. If you are suggesting that I am brazen enough to allow allied forces to infiltrate my home and cause havoc then you are sorely mistaken. No blood shall be split on my streets so long as I'm in charge"
Michaels smiled, proud with her display of resistance.
Braltr looked down at her from where he stood perched halfway atop the stairwell.
"Well we shall see about that now won't we Mayor" he gave her another one of his poisonous smiles before reaching the top of the stairs.
Michaels heart was well and truly racing now. The stress of such a situation combined with the natural heat provided by the attic had made him forget about the cold harsh reality of the winter that they were in. He removed his coat softly, the shirt he was wearing drenched in sweat.
He looked over to Jones and the cache of supplies that was their arms collection. If a fight were to break out he would need to be armed and ready, a problem that could only be solved by moving over to the other end of the attic and collecting his signature pistol.
Juggling the pro's and cons for a brief period of time, Michaels decided it were best to make a move.
Tentatively, he made his first step across the attic floor. The wooden floorboards beneath him bent slightly but held themselves without so much as a whisper. The quietness and ease in which he had moved gave Michaels an unearned confidence, and his next few steps came in thick and fast. With a gracefulness reserved only for that of ballerinas or flower petals he made his was towards the weapons stashed inside an old knapsack.
With almost two steps to go before his prize, Michaels step met a floorboard that seemed less than cooperative to his endeavours. The wooden plank creaked and groaned under his weight, a loud sound that seemingly reverberated against the entire manor.
Michaels went ice cold and his pace quickened. He saw Jones' eyes widen and his rifle aim becoming steadier, aimed precisely where Braltrs head would eventually poke out.
Benson for his translation efforts hadn't noticed, it seemed that whatever the two Nazi soldiers were doing they were still doing.
Michaels hands were now clasped firmly around the pistol now, giving himself a tiny feeling of comfort amidst such a tense situation. Against the loud beating of his heart he tried to make out what Braltr and Abigail were saying, but it seemed to be that they had stopped talking.
A single drop of sweat made its way slowly down the side of Michaels head, his one good hand shaking as he held it out in front of him, waiting for the inevitable shudder as the trap door and ladder attached would both give way for their new visitors.
More silence. Agonising, excruciating silence as the soldiers stood there, perched behind boxes waiting with bated breath. And then, a voice from down below.
"Rat infestation, Lady Hersch?"
It was Braltr. And from the sounds of it he was directly below them now.
"Its an old house General. You know how it is" came Abigail's response. They must've made their way up the staircase now. No doubt she was eyeing up the handle on the roof and attempting to steer Braltr away from it.
"Quite..." Came a heavily suspicious reply.
More silence. Michaels couldn't handle the pressure of not knowing what was happening. With great care, he managed to crouch down into a squat position. Then, using his shoulders he leaned back against a large wooden box of miscellaneous junk in order to get him to a kneeling position. Peering down between the floorboards he was once again able to make out the two of them. They were indeed at the stop of the stairs, Abigail standing away from the latch as a means of keeping Braltrs eyesight away from the entrance.
The two Nazi soldiers from earlier returned from Abigail's room. Braltr looked towards them and nodded his head. The two men took a while to notice but once they did they said a few words in German before nodding back.
From his position above, Michaels was unable to make out Braltrs face. However, his voice oozed confidence in a way that he suspected could only be portrayed through a smirk.
"Lady Hersch. I don't suppose you have an attic? We noticed a window from outside that doesn't seem to match any of your other rooms"
When Abigail took longer than usual to respond, Braltr continued
"Just a simple sweep of the house you see. Can never be too thorough with these sorts of things. I'm sure you wouldn't mind"
Panic. Michaels stood back up to meet two pairs of concerned eyes looking back at him.
Michaels had to think fast, Abigail was no longer of any help now. She had done her best but now it was up to him.
Focusing hard as to not seem like a deer caught in headlights, a plan began to form in his mind. Some sort of distraction was necessary. Something important enough to warrant forgetting about the attic situation.
He felt as if he struck gold, his eyes landing on exactly what was needed. The baseball that had kept his right-hand company these past two weeks sitting on the table of supplies, right next to Benson.
Benson had been up from his peep hole for the last minute and so made the connection almost instantly. Michaels nodded, and Benson grabbed the baseball from where he was sitting.
Michaels one remaining hand clenched and he gritted his teeth as Benson tried as softly as possible to tread across the floorboards of the attic. Thankfully with no wrong moves, Benson had made his way to the side of the attic facing the manors driveway. A small window had been cut into the wall, no bigger than that on a navy vessel. With great care Benson released the windows latch and pushed the glass slab outwards.
This was it. Michaels stood no chance with this sort of a move since his left hand had been removed, Benson was their only hope. He could hear the commotion increasing downstairs as Abigail tried her hardest to stall.
"No trouble for me General Braltr. It's just you see ever since my husband passed I've been much too terrified to go up there, to face him once more through his possessions left to rot. It's a truly dreadful, to be widowed. When I married into wealth I assumed as such that my troubles would disappear, though this seems to have not been the case"
Braltr was obviously not buying whatever story Abigail was attempting to sell
"The attic, Lady Hersch... Now"
Benson was winding his arm back now, ready to throw. Michaels wanted to shout, to yell, to scream at him to just throw the damn thing. But he knew that if they were to be successful then Benson would need full concentration. Precision was everything, this was their only shot.
He could hear Abigail downstairs, trudging along to position herself underneath the attic trapdoor. The large wooden stick used to pull the door out and the ladder down made loud banging sounds as Abigail feigned terrible distance judging. Time was not on their side it seemed. The latch sooner or later connected either through purpose or accident, and Michaels could hear the beginnings of the trap door giving way to gravity.
Benson threw, launching the baseball into the air at the precise arc intended. Soaring through the air at a tremendous speed, the baseball came crashing down into the driver's side window of the Nazi truck.
Such a direct hit had the desired effect. The entire window smashed, glass erupting onto the driveway. The loud sound of shattering glass made its way into the manor, and Abigail took the opportunity to quickly shut the attic.
Braltr spoke, first in German and then in French to Abigail
"What the fuck was that Mayor Hersch"
"I don't know. It sounded as if it came from outside?"
The total seven Nazis followed Abigail back out into the hallway as she opened the front door for them. Staring at the wreck, Braltr let out an audible groan.
He charged forwards towards the broken window, inspecting it for any clues as to the culprits. As predicted, he returned to Abigail with the baseball. Michaels knew she would recognise it almost instantly, this was his message to her, they had done their part.
"Those bloody children" Abigail said after a brief pause.
"They've been coming here every few days now General Braltr. Hurling balls and rocks and all sorts of nonsense. I suspect they consider it to be funny, however I'm sure they won't be laughing for long"
A long pause came from Braltr. Michaels knew that look, from his own personal time in military training. Braltr was contemplating the likelihood that he was being hoodwinked.
Thankfully however, Abigail's explanation seemed to be satisfactory enough for the Nazi general. He nodded, before tipping his cap and pocketing the baseball in his coat.
"A pleasure seeing you Lady Hersch as always. If one gets so lonely, come down to the tavern. Im sure we can have some fun together"
Abigail only laughed and waved half-heartedly as the soldiers returned to their vehicle and drove off down the gravel driveway.
Michaels let out a deep breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding. It had worked. They had done it.
The three soldiers waited a moment until the vehicle was most definitely gone, swallowed by the horizon before they decided to talk
"Holy fuck" said Jones
"You can say that again" came Benson.
Michaels steadied himself. He hadn't noticed earlier but his vision had begun to blur, most likely due to the stress of the situation. He sat down.
Michaels turned to the Irishman "Good shot with the baseball Benson"
Benson nodded, not usually his chatty self.
The trapdoor without warning suddenly gave way, giving all three soldiers the fright of their lives.
Abigail's head poked out from down below, her cheeks were flushed and her makeup had begun to run slightly from sweat.
"That was a close one" she said as she made her way up the ladder.
"Are you ok?" asked Michaels as he stood up. His vision had come back into focus now and his head was beginning to clear.
Abigail blushed, and nodded.
"Searg" came Bensons voice, wavering and unsure.
Michaels didn't like the tone, it concerned him. Putting two and two together, he made his way towards Benson.
"What's the matter Benson. What did those two soldiers talk about"
Benson was stooped over the pile of bags Jones had prepared for their trek, digging through them until he found his own pistol. Michaels only now noticed Bensons hands. They were shaking, the grip on his weapon tight with little to no steadiness on his arms.
"Benson... What did they say"
Benson turned around to the group, his shaking hands going down to his sides. He drew in a deep breath.
"They're bringing them here"
Michaels frowned, he needed more context though he had a good idea he already understood perfectly.
"What do you mean Benson"
"They started just talking about random shit. Day to day stuff, how they missed their wives, how they'll kill us if they find us blah blah blah"
He paused
"Then it turned weird. They started talking about their plans for the next couple days, and how they both wanted to leave tonight. They mentioned that there's some sort of secret weapon Braltrs developed, and he's wanting to test it on the aliens"
One more deep breathe in for Benson as Michaels vision problems returned and his heart rate quickened.
"They're bringing the aliens here tomorrow"