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I don’t believe she’s dead and I WON’T believe she’s dead until I hear the shots MYSELF and see her fall.
I burst into loud, gulping sobs, bawling like a baby.
Her face— Julie’s face— her face suddenly lit up like a sunrise. Joy and relief and hope all there at once, and she was instantly lovely again, herself, beautiful. She heard me. Recognized my fear-of-gunfire blubbing. She didn’t dare call out to me, didn’t dare give me away, Ormaie’s most desperate fugitive.
They fired at the second man again, destroying his other arm, and he fainted dead away. They had to drag him to the lorry.
Julie was next.
Suddenly she laughed wildly and gave a shaking yell, her voice high and desperate.
“KISS ME, HARDY! Kiss me, QUICK!”
Turned her face away from me to make it easier.
And I aimed to shoot her as the German corporal did the same.
I’ve heard that in battle time can seem to slow down. Bullets move at half speed, the cries of the dying are drawn out and anguished, and soldiers see enemies in the darkness as clear as day.
As I aimed at the head of my best friend, time slowed. My vision narrowed and through the pitch black everything became crystal clear. I had six bullets left in my Colt .32. There were seven men remaining in the lorries, six by the prisoners. I had never hit anything on the first try before, but now was as good a time as any for it to happen, with everything on the line. I silently prayed Paul and his men would take my cue, and I aimed at the head of the German corporal.
And I shot him.
His head swung around with the force of the gunshot and before his body hit the ground, I fired two more shots into the heads of the guards holding Julie. Their torches tumbled down to the ground. I heard the steady patter of Paul’s submachine gun as he took out the guards one by one as they exited their lorries.
They fired back haphazardly into the bushes. A bullet nicked my ear as it whizzed by. I barely noticed.
Five men fell to the ground beneath the lorry, their blood seeping into the mud. I blinked and aimed again.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Click.
Paul’s men finished off the rest of the soldiers exiting from the lorries. I emerged from the bushes, foolishly unafraid, and picked up a torch that had rolled nearby.
The final gunshots rang out into the night and the hurried sounds of Paul’s men running to release the rest of the prisoners from the lorries. I searched the ground for Julie, the electronic light from my torch illuminating the fresh blood staining the earth. My heart began to pound as the shock finally set in and my head began to fog with panic.
“Hardy,” a voice croaked. “You didn’t kiss me.”
I swung around and looked down to find Julie hiding under the body of the corporal. I dropped the torch and shoved his body off of her shaking frame. I gathered her up in my arms, holding her neck against my chest. The dust rose around us and I kissed her forehead and cheeks repeatedly. Tears streamed down from my face onto hers, streaking the dust and mixing with her own tears.
The light of the torches illuminated our huddled bodies in green sunlight. I smiled through my tears and hugged her close to me, the gentle hum of her heartbeat drowning out the echoes of gunshots in my ears.
I’ll just keep writing, shall I? Because that wasn’t the end. It wasn’t even a pause. More reinforcements arrived within minutes and we ran. With Julie’s shaking body huddled into my side, we ran.
They fired at our backs and came after us. Paul and his men fired at THEIR backs, swarming over the bridge walls, and they turned to face this rear attack. Carnage. CARNAGE. Half of us, Paul with them, were torn to bits on the bridge. The rest of us made it back to the boats and set off down the river with the six fugitives we’d managed to save. Including Julie. My Julie.
When we were away from the bank and someone else was rowing and there was nothing more for me to do, I lay Julie’s heavy head on my lap and stroked her hair, the strong scent of kerosene reminding me of what she had just escaped from.
Mitraillette gently unlocked my fingers from the empty Colt .32 and made me put it away. I didn’t realize I was still gripping it. She whispered, “C’ést la Vérité?” Is that Verity?
“Oui,” I whispered back, my heart growing stronger by the minute, “C’est la Vérité.”