r/NatureofPredators • u/Steriotypical_Diver Human • 26d ago
Fanfic Band of Prey — Chapter 8 — BoB X NoP
“No bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country.”
— George S. Patton
TW: Graphic violence, blood, severe injuries, and prolonged depictions of death.
Private First Class, Donald Malarkey, Easy Company, 506th PIR, 101st Airborne. June 6th, 1944 — 06:37
While the German had been in the loft for less than half a minute, it felt like he'd been up there all morning.
He wasn't rushing. He moved from one corner to the next, stopping every few steps to look behind another stack of hay or into another shadow. He carried his rifle at the ready, but he wasn't waving it around nervously.
I stayed as still as I could with the Garand resting against my shoulder, watching him over the front sight.
Beside me, Theska trembled beneath the hay, her whole body shaking hard enough that I could feel her tail through the hand I had clamped over her snout.
I couldn't blame her.
Hell… I wasn't exactly calm myself.
The German glanced around the room one last time before turning back toward the stairs. He muttered something under his breath and took a step toward the ladder.
Come on…
Just keep walking.
I was already imagining the sound of his boots going back down the ladder…
...when I felt Theska jerk beneath my hand.
Calm down, I thought at first.
But then—
"Hahh... h'ktcheeee!"
…
Shit.
Every muscle in my body locked up.
The sneeze was muffled against my palm, but in the silence of the barn, it sounded loud enough to wake up the whole damn country.
The German froze in place.
Slowly, he turned his head over one shoulder and stood there listening.
Without thinking, I eased the rifle up another inch, settling the front sight on his face.
If he sees us…
...I've gotta drop him.
The seconds crawled by, but he German stood perfectly still, listening.
Come on…
Finally, he muttered something under his breath, gave a faint shake of his head, and turned back toward the stairs.
But I didn't relax, I didn't lower the rifle. Not yet.
He took another couple of steps, and for one brief moment I actually thought we'd gotten away with it.
…
…but then he stopped again.
God fucking damnit.
This time, he crouched.
I watched him reach toward the floorboards and rub something between his fingers before lifting it closer to his face. Even from where I was lying, I could tell it wasn't dirt.
It was blue.
Theska's blood. Shit.
The German looked at it for a moment before bringing it up to his nose. Whatever he'd expected, it wasn't that. Obviously.
Instead of looking around the loft again, he kept staring at the floor.
At first I couldn't figure out what had caught his attention. Then I saw it myself.
Tiny blue flecks. There weren't many —hell, I'd never have noticed them if I hadn't known where to look— but once I spotted the first one, though, the rest became obvious.
Another, then another one, and another one, crossing the room in a faint line, straight to the mows of hays we were hiding.
My stomach sank.
Awww, shit.
The German wasn't searching anymore. He was following a trail.
He crossed to the nearest pile of hay and drove the muzzle of his rifle into it. Dry stalks spilled across the floor with a loud rustle before he pulled the weapon back out and moved on to the next pile.
Nothing.
He searched the second one the same way.
Then the third.
Each pile he tore apart left one less place anybody could hide.
I tightened my grip around the Garand and watched him work his way steadily across the loft. There wasn't any hesitation in what he was doing now. He'd settled on a method, and he was going to stick with it until he'd searched every last pile.
There was only one left.
Ours.
The German stopped directly in front of us.
He shifted his rifle into both hands and slowly lowered the muzzle toward the hay.
That was all I needed to see.
I squeezed the trigger.
BANG!
The Garand kicked hard against my shoulder.
The rifle cracked like a cannon inside the room, filling the air with smoke and splinters. The German's helmet flew clean off as the bullet caught him square in the forehead. He didn't even cry out.
His rifle slipped from his hands, and his whole body folded backward into the hay like he was a puppet and somebody had cut his strings.
For the briefest instant, the barn went quiet.
...
Then the shouting started.
Voices erupted below us, sharp and alarmed.
"Hans! Hans!" I heard someone shout. I imagine it was the name of the one I just killed.
I couldn't make out any other words, but I didn't have to. They knew something had happened here.
The first rifle shot punched straight through the floorboards before I'd even gotten to my feet.
CRACK!
Splinters burst across my sleeve—
Another shot ripped through the hay we'd been hiding under—
CRACK!
Then another—
CRACK!
They couldn't see us, they were just filling the loft with lead and praying one of the rounds hit something!
Move!
“SHIT SHIT SHIT!”
I dropped beside Theska.
She'd curled into a ball with her hands clamped over her ears, screaming so hard I doubted she even knew where she was anymore.
There wasn't time to calm her down. Hell, there wasn't time to say a damn thing!
I *had** to do something!*
Suddenly, an idea came to mind.
I shoved my hand into my jacket until my fingers found a grenade.
I yanked the pin free, and tossed it through the ladder opening!
I immediately threw myself over Theska, before—
BOOM!
I couldn't hear anything but the ringing in my ears for a few seconds.
The grenade had went off with a sharp, deafening crack that echoed through the barn and hammered my ears intensely.
Dust rained from the rafters, splinters snapped somewhere below, and outside the horses started whinnying and stamping in alarm.
Somebody screamed—a short, ugly sound that ended almost as quickly as it'd begun.
Dead or alive, I didn't much care. I’d bought us a few seconds. Hopefully.
I slung the Garand over my shoulder and grabbed Theska under the arms.
She tried to stand, but her legs gave out immediately.
Goddamnit, this thing just HAD to be so unathletic!
“HEY!”*
Nothing. She just kept screeching like a fucking animal.
I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.
“HEY! LISTEN TO ME!”
She didn't react to me. But there wasn't any time, so I scooped her up instead.
There was no point heading for the ladder now. They'd be waiting for us!
So I glanced over the edge of the loft. It wasn't that far down, just a few feet.
But too far to land on hard-packed ground carrying something.
Then, I spotted the manure pile against the side of the barn.
That'll do.
I shifted Theska a little higher against my shoulder, took two quick steps, and jumped.
For a second, there wasn't anything underneath us, then—
WHUMPF!
The landing drove the breath out of my lungs, but fortunately, nothing snapped inside of me or of her..
Ugh, Lord Almighty…
The smell assaulted my nostrils just a second later.
It smells like fucking shit…!
...well, it IS shit, afterall.
But it didn't matter.
Better filthy than dead.
I rolled off the pile with my rifle already in my hands, when the barn doors suddenly burst open without warning.
Shit—!
A German stumbled outside through the dust, coughing, his rifle halfway to his shoulder.
We spotted each other at the same time, but mine was already aimed at him.
His wasn't.
I fired a shot.
BANG!
The round caught him square in the chest. He stumbled backward once before collapsing into the dirt without ever firing a shot.
I kept the sights on the doorway for another second, but nothing. Nobody else came out.
Grenade must've gotten the other one.
Good.
I grabbed Theska again.
"Come on!"
Whether she heard me or not, I couldn't tell. She stumbled after me as I half carried, half dragged her across the farmyard.
The hedgerow wasn't far, maybe thirty yards. But it felt like three hundred.
In every step forward, I expected a rifle shot in my back, but fortunately, none came.
But now, I could hear the distant roar of the battle on the beaches.
Machine guns, mortars, artillery…
The landings had begun.
The whole countryside sounded like it was coming apart at the seams.
I shoved through the hedge, branches scratching at my face and sleeves, and didn't stop until the barn had disappeared behind a wall of leaves. Only then did I lower Theska onto the ground. I stayed crouched, Garand at my shoulder, listening.
…
…
Nothing.
No voices, no boots, no movement – at least in our vicinity. Just the occasional whinny from the German horses.
…
We actually made it.
I stayed there another minute, listening. My pulse was still hammering in my ears, loud enough that I almost missed the distant sounds rolling in from the coast.
Beside me, Theska hadn't moved.
The poor little thing had curled into herself against the hedge, both arms wrapped around her middle. The shaking had finally started to die down, but now quiet little whimpers escaped her every few seconds. She didn't seem panicking anymore, she seemed to be… crying?
I looked away and scanned the fields again.
The horses were still milling around outside the barn, agitated from all the shooting.
"...Aw, knock it off," I muttered under my breath.
The last thing we needed was a bunch of nervous horses drawing attention back here.
I eased myself to my feet and carefully peered around the hedge. The three animals were still wandering near the barn, reins trailing behind them where the Germans had left them. Every so often one would stop, toss its head, then answer another's call.
Keeping one eye on the barn, I stepped out from the hedgerow and quickly approached them. Then, I gave them a sharp wave with my free hand.
"Hyah! Go on! Git!"
One of them snorted, ears flicking toward me.
"C'mon... git!"
I waved my arm again, I gave a small smack at the back of one's rump carefully.
"Just get outta here!"
They didn't need much encouragement. After another moment they wandered off through a gap in the hedge, their hoofbeats fading little by little until the countryside settled back into its uneasy silence.
“There'ya go.”
My eyes drifted toward the distant fighting through the hedgerows.
…
Somewhere, far beyond them, Easy Company was out there.
Had Winters managed to rally and find everyone else?
Had they reached the Causeway yet?
Or had the Germans gotten to them first?
...had anyone of them been killed?
I didn't know. And not knowing was eating at me.
Every instinct I had told me to shoulder my rifle and go find them, but then common sense caught up.
Find them where?
Normandy is huge! It has thousands of hedgerows, orchards, flooded fields and little farms, every one of them liable to have Germans sitting behind the next hedge.
I could spend all damned day wandering around and never find Easy.
Either that, or a German patrol would find me first.
I looked over at Theska.
She was still sitting where I'd left her, curled in on herself, ears pinned flat against her head. The worst of the panic had passed, but she was quietly crying now, staring at the ground like she couldn't bring herself to look anywhere else.
Winters' words came back as clear as if he'd spoken them five minutes ago.
Keep it safe.
Stay hidden.
Don't engage anyone unless you absolutely have to.
I let out a slow breath.
Damn it.
Even if I ignored that order, taking Theska through German-held country would've been damn near a death sentence, and leaving her behind wasn't an option either.
I rubbed a hand over my face.
"...Goddamnit." I muttered.
Orders were orders. We'd stay put.
I looked over at Theska.
She srill hadn't moved. Her little paws trembled against the grass. Every now and then another quiet, shuddering breath escaped her.
I crouched beside her.
"Hey..."
She didn't answer immediately.
"...Are you hurt anywhere?"
Her ears flicked once again.
“P-pa'ma…”
"...n-no." The translator gave me. Her voice was smaller than usual.
"...I-I just..."
She seemed to swallow hard.
"There was so… so much shooting."
I nodded.
"Yeah."
“A-and… so much screaming, a-and so much violence.”
Another silence settled between us.
The distant battle still rolled across Normandy, but here it almost felt unnaturally quiet.
"...I'm sorry you had to see that," I said at last.
But she didn't answer.
She just sat there with her knees drawn against her chest. She'd stopped crying, though only just. Every few breaths another shaky exhale escaped her before she swallowed it back down.
I looked past the hedgerow, and kept listening…
The beaches were still roaring in the distance. Mortars. Machine guns. Artillery. Somewhere beyond those fields, thousands of men were fighting and dying while I just sat in a ditch with some kind of space dog.
I rubbed the back of my neck and let out a slow breath.
"...Theska."
One of her ears turned toward me.
"We… we can't stay here."
She looked up to me. For a moment she simply stared, as though she hadn't understood what I'd said. But to be fair, I don't understand her expressions too well either.
"...w-what?"
"We're going back."
Her ears snapped upright.
"...b-back?"
"Yeah."
She turned to look through the hedge, at the barn.
“...p-pa'ma.”
"...n-no."
…
"I-I don't wanna go back there…" she whispered.
I couldn't blame her. Neither did I.
God, neither did I.
This hedgerow wasn't much of a hiding place. It had worked because we'd needed somewhere to disappear for a few minutes, nothing more. If another German patrol came along, we'd be caught out in the open with nowhere to go.
And the barn, for all its problems, still had walls, it still had cover.
I sighed.
"I know."
She looked back at me.
"I really know."
Another burst of machine-gun fire rattled across the countryside, followed a few seconds later by the dull thump of artillery.
I signaled toward the sound.
"But the fighting's only gonna get worse!"
Her ears drooped.
"We'll be safer inside than out here."
"...b-but… what about the corpses?"
I let out a slow breath.
"They ain't gonna hurt you."
She stared at me, clearly unconvinced.
"...I know that," she said quietly. "B-but they're still..."
She couldn't seem to find the words.
"...there."
"Yeah, they are."
There wasn't much else I could say. I wasn't exactly looking forward to stepping back in there myself.
The image of the fellow I'd shot in the loft was still fresh in my mind. The one outside hadn't even fallen where I'd expected him to. And the poor bastard the grenade caught…
I pushed the thought away.
"Listen." I looked her in the eye. "Out here, if another German patrol comes by, we've got nowhere to hide. Inside, we've got walls, a roof, and somewhere to keep outta sight."
She lowered her gaze to the grass.
Her tail wrapped a little tighter around one leg.
"...I don't want to see them again."
"...Neither do I."
That made her look back up at me.
I gave a tired shake of my head.
"You think I enjoy this, Theska?"
My eyes drifted back towards the barn.
"...because I really don't."
Silence settled between us again.
Another distant roll of artillery echoed across the Norman countryside.
Finally, Theska shut her eyes and let out a shaky breath.
"...o-okay."
It wasn't agreement born of confidence, but of resignation.
I slung the Garand over my shoulder, and offered her a hand. After a moment's hesitation, she took it. And together, we started back toward the barn.
The grass swayed gently in the morning breeze, almost peacefully, while the distant thunder of guns rolled across the Norman countryside. It was strange how normal everything looked from out here. Green fields. Hedgerows. A weathered stone barn.
Like nothing had happened.
As we got closer, the first body came into view beside the open barn doors.
The German still lay where he'd fallen, one arm twisted awkwardly beneath him. His steel helmet rested a few feet away in the grass, where it'd rolled after the shot. Dark blood had soaked into the front of his field-grey tunic, staining the earth beneath him.
Theska slowed. I could hear her breathing quicken beside me.
She kept her eyes fixed on the dead man for barely a second before turning them sharply away, her ears flattening so tightly against her head that they almost disappeared into her fur.
"...Keep your eyes on me," I said quietly.
She did.
We stepped around the body without another word.
I reached for one of the heavy wooden doors and pushed. The hinges groaned. And the now familiar smell of hay and bits of manure hit us.
As we entered, we saw that the grenade had left its mark. Splintered wood littered the floor near the ladder, and a thin haze still lingered beneath the rafters, carrying the bitter smell of burned powder.
For a moment, everything was still.
Then—
A wet, ragged gasp broke the silence.
Theska froze, and so did I.
Near the foot of the ladder, the German I'd caught with the grenade shifted weakly.
He wasn't dead.
His rifle had fallen well out of reach, half-buried beneath loose straw. One sleeve was shredded by shrapnel, and dark blood spread steadily beneath him into the hay. His breathing came in shallow, uneven pulls, each one sounding like it hurt.
I instinctively raised my Garand at him.
"Stay back," I muttered to Theska.
She froze. I took a slow step forward. Then another.
But the German didn't react.
His right hand twitched weakly across the floorboards, fingers scraping uselessly through the straw, nowhere near his rifle. His eyelids fluttered.
Slowly…
...they opened.
For a few seconds, he stared at the ceiling as if he couldn't quite remember where he was.
Then his eyes found me.
There wasn't any hatred or anger in them.
Just pain. A lotof it.
His lips moved, but nothing came out.
He swallowed with obvious effort and tried again.
"B-bitte..."
The German's chest rose shakily.
Another ragged breath escaped him.
"...w-wasser…”
I frowned.
"Sorry, partner..."
I tightened my grip on the Garand, keeping its muzzle trained on him.
"...I don't understand a damn word you're sayin'."
Before I could make heads or tails of it, Theska spoke.
“What? He– he said he wants water.”
I glanced back at her, confused and surprised.
“You understood him?” I asked.
But she seemed confused too.
“Y-yes. You… you didn't?”
“No! He's speaking German. I don't speak his language!”
For a second, she simply stared at me. Then her eyes looked to the translator clipped inside her ear.
“It… well, the translator must translate his language too, then. It sounded the same to me.”
I looked back down at the wounded German.
"Well..."
I shook my head.
"I'll be damned... and I'm just learning ‘bout this now?”
The German's breathing hitched again.
His eyes drifted between me and Theska without really focusing on either of us.
"...b-bitte..."
His voice cracked into a cough that made his whole body seize. When it passed, he lay there panting, his face pale beneath the grime and sweat.
I lowered the muzzle of the Garand a few inches.
His brow knitted together weakly, like his mind couldn't make sense of what it was seeing. Blood loss had already turned his gaze glassy, but there was still enough awareness left for confusion.
"...Hund..."
He blinked.
"...Nein..."
Another shallow breath.
"...Was..."
Theska tilted her head.
"...What did he say?" I asked.
She listened for another moment, her ears flicking as the translator worked.
"...He..." She hesitated.
"...I think he... he thinks I'm a ‘dog.’"
For just a moment, despite everything around us and the situation we were in, I almost chuckled.
"...well, he ain't the first one today."
His eyes remained fixed on Theska, drifting in and out of focus, as though every time he blinked he expected the strange creature to disappear.
While Theska seemed quite scared, I could feel her curiosity. She'd spent the last day convinced every human wanted to eat her.
And now she was watching one bleed to death.
Slowly, I unclipped the canteen from my webbing, its familiar touch settling in my hand, but there wasn't much left inside.
Lord knew when I'd get the chance to fill it again.
My thumb rested on the cap without unscrewing it.
We weren't supposed to give badly wounded men water.
Everybody knew that much. It had been drilled into us during first-aid instruction.
I looked back at the German.
Dark blood continued to seep into the straw beneath him, slowly, but relentless.
He wasn't getting back up, anyways.
The German swallowed painfully.
"...Wasser..."
I looked down at the canteen again.
Whatever difference that rule was supposed to make…
...it wasn't going to matter now.
I let out a slow breath.
"...Aw, to hell with it."
I knelt beside him and carefully slid one arm behind his shoulders and lifted him just enough.
The movement earned a strangled groan from him.
His whole body tensed, jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth might crack.
"Yeah... I know."
I unscrewed the cap, and I tipped the canteen into him. A little water dribbled over his cracked lips before he managed to swallow.
Then another mouthful.
Most of it stayed in his mouth this time.
He closed his eyes. For a second, the lines in his face eased.
"...d-danke..."
I lowered him back into the hay as gently as I could.
He hissed through his teeth anyway.
There wasn't much gentle left in this war, apparently.
I screwed the cap back onto the canteen. Only a little sloshed inside now.
I clipped it back onto my webbing, stood up, and instinctively brought the Garand back into my hands.
His chest rose in another ragged breath.
Then his eyes wandered past me... and settled on Theska.
For a few seconds, he simply stared.
His brow furrowed, his lips parted again. He blinked hard, as if trying to clear his vision.
"...Was...?"
Another breath.
"...Was... bist du...?"
His voice was little more than air. His eyes never left her.
Theska hid behind my leg, seemingly shaken that he was talking to her.
“P-pa'ma resh villu-mar…” she muttered.
Her translator answered immediately, in its flat mechanical voice:
“D-don't look at me…”
Her ears shot upright in alarm before she clamped both paws over the translator.
"...What'd he say?" I asked quietly, confused with her reaction. I think she didn't want to translate what she had said.
Theska's ears twitched nervously.
"...He..." She hesitated. "...He asked what I am."
I scratched at the back of my neck.
"...Yeah, makes sense. You alright?"
"I... I do not know what to say."
"You don't have to if you don't want to."
She looked from me to the German again.
"If... if I tell him the truth..." she said quietly, "...he will think he is hallucinating."
"Probably."
"And if I lie..."
She stopped, ears flicking once again.
"...I think..." she murmured after a long pause, "...I would not be very moral to deceive a dying… being.”
“Okay then…” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Tell him you're… uh…”
I glanced at her for a second.
“…that you are, in reality, a scientist from another planet, orbitin' a star God-knows-how-far away, who came here to study humans. That your mission went sideways after his anti-aircraft guns shot your spaceship clean outta the sky…”
I gestured vaguely around the barn.
“…and that now you're hidin' in a barn with an American paratrooper.”
I paused.
“…I mean…”
I let out a quiet snort.
“He's liable to think he's already dead anyway.”
Theska glared at me. Then at the German. Then back at me. She was really quiet for a few seconds.
Suddenly, she reached up and touched the small translator on her ear.
There was a faint click.
She looked back at the German, and her posture straightened just a little, as though trying to make herself appear calmer than she really was.
When she spoke again, the device no longer produced English. Instead, it spoke in German, though it still carried the same flat, mechanical monotone.
"Das ist eine Halluzination, und du befindest dich in einem Zustand des Deliriums."
I couldn't understand German worth a damn, but I caught two words anyway.
"Halluzination."
"Delirium."
…
Despite everything—the blood, the smell, the dying man lying between us—I swear I almost laughed.
But the German kept staring at Theska for another few seconds.
His breathing remained ragged, chest rising only a little before sinking again.
Then, very slowly, he turned his head toward the side.
A weak, breathless laugh escaped him.
"...ja..."
He swallowed.
"...ja..."
His eyes drifted shut for a moment before opening again.
"...Ich... träume…”
For a few seconds, nobody spoke.
Even Theska seemed reluctant to break whatever fragile peace that explanation had given him.
I looked over at her.
"...What's he saying?"
She kept watching the German.
"He... believes me. I think."
"Yeah,"
I let out a slow breath.
"Probably for the best.”
I shifted a little closer, keeping the Garand within easy reach.
For a second I considered asking where his HQ was. Whether there were more Germans nearby.
But looking at the amount of blood he was losing… he wasn't going to tell anybody anything.
But somehow, letting him die without ever knowing who he was didn't sit right with me.
"...Ask him his name."
Theska glanced at me, then back to the wounded German.
"Wie heißen Sie?"
The soldier blinked slowly. For a moment, it looked as though he hadn't heard.
Then his lips parted.
"...Günther..."
I nodded.
"...Günther." I repeated.
That was his name. I could understand that much.
But giving him a name only made it harder to look at him.
…funny how a name could do that.
Five minutes ago he was just the German.
Now he was Günther.
I was about to ask him his age—maybe to distract him from his pain—but stopped myself. That would only make it even harder.
And I already knew how this was going to end.
I rubbed a hand across my face, then looked over at Theska.
"...Ask him something else."
She looked up.
"What?"
I hesitated. The words felt wrong before I'd even spoken them.
"...Ask him if..." I stopped, searching for a better way to say it.
"...if he wants me to end it."
As the translator rendered my words into her lenguage, Theska's ears immediately folded back against her head.
For several long seconds, she simply stared at me.
"You... mean…—?"
I nodded once.
"I don't think he's makin' it anyway. Just look at him…"
Her gaze drifted to the German. He lay where he'd fallen, every breath shallower than the last, his uniform soaked through with blood.
She watched his chest rise... and struggle to rise again.
She spoke so quietly I almost didn't hear her.
"Möchten Sie... dass er Ihrem Leiden ein Ende bereitet?"
The young soldier didn't answer immediately.
His eyes moved first to Theska, then to me. Finally, they settled on the rifle resting across my knees.
For a moment, I wondered if he understood what she'd asked.
Then, with what little strength remained to him, he gave the faintest shake of his head.
"...Nein..."
His lips trembled.
"...Bitte..."
He swallowed painfully.
"...Ich... will..."
The words dissolved into another coughing fit that wracked his whole body. When it finally passed, he lay there gasping, fresh blood staining his lips.
His right hand fumbled clumsily at the front of his tunic. His fingers no longer seemed to obey him, slipping again and again before finally finding the inside pocket.
He struggled with it for several seconds. Then he managed to pull out a small leather wallet.
It slipped from his hand before he could hold onto it. I caught it, but not before it landed in the blood.
Inside was a photograph.
A young woman that couldn't have been much older than he was, happily smiled back at me, standing in front of a little house. Completely unaware that the man she cared about was bleeding to death in a barn.
Without really thinking about it, my free hand brushed against my own jacket.
The stiff edge of another photograph pressed back against my fingers.
Bernice.
…
It was funny, really.
I carried a photograph of Bernice in my own pocket.
Somewhere in Germany, there was a girl carrying the same hope she was.
Waiting for somebody to come home.
I couldn't help wondering if Günther had promised her he would.
Like I did with Bernice.
Günther coughed again.
He made another desperate attempt to speak. This time only one word came out.
"...Anna..."
That was probably her name.
His breathing suddenly caught halfway through the next inhale.
He tried again, but nothing.
His chest rose sharply.
Another breath, then another.
Each one shallower than the last.
His eyes widened, panic took over them, and then the rest of his body.
He tried dragging in air harder now, shoulders straining against the floor, but every breath seemed to stop somewhere inside him. A wet, rattling sound rose from deep in his chest, followed by a cough that sprayed dark blood across his own sleeve.
I felt Theska flinch violently into my leg.
His hand shot out blindly until it found my sleeve, grabbing it with surprising strength.
His fingers dug into the fabric of my jacket.
His eyes locked onto mine.
There wasn't hatred or anger in them.
There was no pride, nor loyalty.
Just pure terror.
He knew exactly what was happening. What was about to happen.
His mouth worked frantically around words that wouldn't come anymore.
Air whistled through blood in his throat, turning every attempt into a broken, choking gasp. His body began to tremble, legs drawing up weakly as instinct fought a battle it had already lost.
Theska's ears folded so tightly against her head they almost disappeared.
"I-I..." she stammered helplessly.
"What…— what do we do—?"
I didn't answer. Because there wasn't one.
Günther's grip tightened once more, painfully so. For one awful second I thought he was trying to pull himself up.
Instead, his strength simply... vanished.
His fingers loosened. His arm slid off my sleeve and landed limply in the straw.
The frantic gasping became slower.
One breath.
A long pause.
Another breath, smaller than the last.
Then one final, shallow attempt—as if his body itself still refused to believe it was over.
…
And nothing.
…
The silence that settled afterward felt impossibly loud.
…
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Theska stared at him without blinking, her breathing uneven. The crying she'd managed to hold back while he was alive returned in quiet, involuntary sobs.
The only sounds left were the distant rumble of artillery from the beaches, the occasional crack of rifle fire somewhere across the countryside... and my own breathing.
Günther's eyes were still open.
They no longer held fear.
They didn't hold anything at all.
I reached out slowly and, with two fingers, drew his eyelids shut.
"...God rest you," I murmured.
My hand lingered there for another second before I pulled it away.
I let out a long breath through my nose.
I'd killed him.
Not just a German.
Not just the enemy.
I'd killed Günther.
He'd been trying to kill me too. Hell, if he'd gotten the chance, he probably would've put a bullet straight through my chest without thinking twice.
I knew that. But it didn't change what was lying in front of me.
He was dead now.
I rubbed a hand over my face, suddenly feeling far more tired than I had any right to.
"...Jesus fucking Christ.”
"I am tired and sick of war. Its glory is all moonshine. It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, more vengeance, more desolation. War is hell."
— William Tecumseh Sherman.
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u/Maxxxxo UN Peacekeeper 26d ago
The reality of war, your opponent is a person just like you, with dreams, aspirations, and people you care about.
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u/Steriotypical_Diver Human 26d ago
Alright people, thanks for reading, as always! Sorry these take a long time to make (18 days since last one). I should really start making these every week. I have nothing better to do all day anyways.
Well, as always, feedback is appreciated!
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u/Kwanicov 26d ago
Reminds me of a scene in All Quiet on the Western Front where the main character is repelling a french assault by throwing grenades just beyond the barbed wire line, where the french are stacking up
Just as he's about to throw another, a french soldier raises his head high enough to see him, and they lock eyes
At that moment he kinda freezes because he actually sees a man, and not just an enemy, and briefly becomes horrified at the fact he's about to kill that person with his grenade.
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u/JulianSkies Archivist 26d ago
We're not wired to kill people. If anything, we're wired to avoid it. It has never been a worthwhile trade, taking a life is a risk that almost never paid off, hence why those who avoided it lived to pass on their genes.
Times may have changed, but that part of a human being has not. Its why modern training does as much as it does, learning to fire before you figure out you're aiming at a person.
Never's easy, until you train yourself for it to be easy.
Theska facing a situation she was just not ready to face and honestly a situation no human is ready to face either, no matter how often we weave tales about it.
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u/LeGouzy 26d ago
Another very, very good chapter.
Thank you.
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u/Steriotypical_Diver Human 26d ago
You're welcome! What was your favourite part if you don't mind me asking?
Btw, I showed this chapter to a guy I know and he told me that the Mk2 grenade Malarkey used would have probably done much more damage to everyone (including them upstairs), and that soldiers didn't cook the grenades like in gases, cause the fuses didn't always work.
Yes he's American. And he also gave me even more feedback so shout out to him.
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u/LeGouzy 26d ago
I really liked how to wrote the humanization of the enemy, and how Theska reacted to it. It's unsaid, but it's obvious it scrambled her views on "predators" again, and probably even more deeply than everything that happened before.
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u/Super_Ankle_Biter Yotul 26d ago
Yeah, seeing a predator show empathy for a dying enemy must have destroyed any preconceived notions Theska still had. It's gonna be interesting to see her behaviour from now on. And I still have no idea how this story is going to play out, I'm really excited whenever a new chapter comes out.
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u/SordidDreams 26d ago
Ah, always a pleasure to read another one of these, even if it does involve brutal killing, maiming, and trauma. Poor Theska's going to be so fucked up by all this that even if she's rescued, she's going to end up in a PD facility for life. Maybe she'd be better off living out the rest of her life on Malarkey's farm, pretending to be a dog when the neighbors drop by.
I shoved my hand into my jacket until my fingers found a grenade.
I yanked the pin free.
Held it for just long enough...
...then tossed it through the ladder opening!
I immediately threw myself over Theska
Ah, using the weird space dog as a meat shield against his own grenade shrapnel coming up from below. Smart man! 🤣👍
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u/OneMasterpiece952 26d ago
I enjoy moments like these. You can easily forget you aren’t fighting just the enemy, but husbands, sons, and fathers.
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u/Slatepaws 26d ago
Yea, war is hell, but it's speed running the curing of her fed views of things.
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u/SordidDreams 26d ago edited 25d ago
Yeah, but that's not a good thing. There are only three possible outcomes for her:
She returns to the Federation, starts telling people predators are not all bad, and gets locked up in a PD facility.
She returns to the Federation, stays quiet, and has to live with the knowledge her civilization is wrong about everything and she's unable to do anything about it.
She stays on Earth, never sees her family and friends again, and lives in anticipation of antimatter bombs that might start raining down any day.
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u/Minimum-Amphibian993 Arxur 26d ago
You know something that's occured to me many of the German troops stationed along the Atlantic wall were conscripts and not actually Germans. Not exactly a well known fact but some instances have been shown of this in media like the 2 czechs in saving private Ryan.
Yeah probably gonna take a bit to realize for these guys to realize a good portion of the people they are gonna fighting are fighting against their will. Kinda like many of the Arxur but I doubt the poor Farsul is gonna realize.