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Chapter Text

The Second World War had entered its eightieth year of endless stalemate.

Dr. Angela Ziegler rolled down the limo’s window, lit a cigarette, and stared at the crumbling Munich. The Nazis presided over eighty years of an endless nuclear standoff, skirmishes, saber-rattling, a hundred million casualties, and they still couldn’t fix their cities.

The limo’s luxurious suspension smoothed the bumps and potholes of the pitted streets, making it feel like Angela floated on a cloud. There were hardly any real clouds in the sky, so she could make out every detail of the hastily built or repaired buildings.

Every building had been made from either sub-par concrete or rough, mismatching bricks. Angela knew the materials wouldn’t last; soon each building would start to sag, the walls would crumble, and the foundation would slip and crack.

Munich wasn’t the only city falling apart; the juvenile Hitler family were content to run Germany into the ground because they never saw the corroding cities, sagging bridges, or dilapidated dwellings that filled the anemic Thousand Year Reich. As long as Berlin stayed shiny and new panzers were built, they were happy.

Angela raised a cigarette and took a drag of death, supposedly cancer-free. From under her long sleeve, her tattoos peeked out.

She had feathers inked to her skin; they began at her wrists, and extended down to her elbows. Three sets of wings decorated her left arm, while her right held two sets, as well as a pair of wings to memorialize her mother and father. The feathers of each wing were done by different artists, in different styles, in different colors, at different times.

Looking at the tattoos, vague memories of screams, cries, and pleading echoed in her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it out.

I’m sorry, she thought. I wish I couldn’t forget your faces; I shouldn’t forget them. I wish these feathers weren’t the way I could remember you, it’s more than I deserve.

Over her years of service in Blackwatch, the feathers had amalgamated into wings.

She took another pull of her cigarette, hoping to sooth her frayed nerves. The limo drew closer to the airport, closer to the trap waiting for the man sitting next to her.

“Such luxury,” Dr. Markus Gärtner sighed. He pushed his thick-lensed glasses up the crooked bridge of his nose. “Hard work truly rewards those who deserve it!”

In all their years of being forced to work together, Angela had never seen him stand up straight; not until Führer Heinrich Hitler began fawning over him. The Führer endlessly prattled about how Markus’ invention would single-handedly bring an end to the Noble War and secure a future for the Reich and the Aryan people.

Dear God, Angela grimly mused, for once, a Hitler is right.

“All those years toiling in the lab to make my precious Muninn, all worth it to taste this sweet life,” Markus beamed, downing even more champagne from a crystal flute.

Markus and his Muninn. Angela never thought that a true brainwashing machine could ever be thought up, let alone created. Her heart beat stressfully; the nicotine didn’t calm her down. She took another drag, hoping this pull would help her relax.

“Soon the War will be over, then we shall colonize the world like God intended. Maybe it would be good to be friendly with the man who saved the Aryan race, yes?”

Angela flinched as Markus grabbed her thigh. She might be a respected doctor, a creator of medical miracles, and the second in command of the Blackwatch secret police, yet in the eyes of the Third Reich, she would always be a woman first.

A good Nazi woman had a duty to bear children, hopefully enough to earn the Cross of Honor of the German Mother. A good Nazi woman raised good Nazi children.

Enjoy this, she thought. This is the last time you do this to me.

“I think we need to win the War first,” she smiled. She gently patted his hand, then quickly removing it from her leg. “You’re putting the cart before the horse, no?”

“Ah, but between your Caduceus and my Muninn, our victory is guaranteed,” Markus grinned. “You will heal our soldier’s broken bodies, while I turn our enemies into allies!”

Angela’s Blackwatch uniform wasn’t like the ones the Schutzstaffel made their female staff wear; those women practically had to be sewn into those things. She had good fitting pants, a dress shirt, tie, and blazer; the same as what the men wore.

Despite the non-sexualized uniform, Markus gazed at her like a lion stalking its prey.

Angela looked out the window to distract herself. As they passed a building, she saw propaganda posters of herself plastered all across the wall. Her stomach turned at the sight of the cheap posters, already yellowing.

The posters flaunted her blonde hair and blue eyes. They urged women to pledge themselves to the Reich, and goaded boys to join the Wehrmacht and fight the Good War, all to hold a woman like her in their arms.

I still can’t tell if my genetics are a blessing or a curse.

Looking like a perfect Aryan woman blessed her because it helped her fly under the radar of the Reich. It cursed her because she could only be seen as a Hitler loyalist. And because of the endless streams of propaganda, Angela knew she could never be truly welcomed back to Switzerland by her countrymen.

The limo finally reached the airport, driving up to the private Blackwatch hanger. Angela inhaled her cigarette and scooted closer to the door, her stomach heaving from Markus’ leers. She could see Reinhardt Wilhelm and Torbjörn Lindholm standing with a small group of Blackwatch agents, and the plane that Torbjörn had rigged to crash.

Uncle Reinhardt smiled, looking every inch a massive, jovial, mountain of a man. His hair had long ago turned white, and while he kept himself in shape, even that had starting to wane. Despite the advances of time, he took great care of his appearances. He had gotten a fresh haircut, and kept his beard immaculately trimmed.

Torbjörn, meanwhile, had barely changed since Angela first met him over twenty years ago; he remained short, squat, and muscular. Only his growing beard showed any passage of time. Torbjörn lived up to his Viking heritage by putting more effort into maintaining his beard than most women put into their hair. He even braided it.

Angela and Markus got out of the limo. Her uncle smiled, wide and easy.

“Doctor Gärtner,” Reinhardt rumbled. “Welcome! It is our pleasure to be hosting you!”

“My thanks, Commander Wilhelm,” Markus said, shaking the bigger man’s hand.

“Anything for the Führer’s favorite scientist! My apologies for the rushed trip, but invasions wait for no man, and we want the honor of carrying you to our inevitable glory.”

“There’s no need to worry.” Markus smiled as he had his ever-fragile ego stroked again. “This shall be the quickest occupation in history! Tell me, Commander Wilhelm, would you like to bet on how long it will take to control Egypt? Your beautiful niece refuses to indulge me.”

“It’s a small wonder she refuses you; it is the official stance of Blackwatch that we do not gamble with the future of the Reich.” Uncle Reinhardt leaned in, as if telling him a secret. “However, between you and me, I believe it will take a week.”

“A week?” Markus laughed. “With my Muninn, I can do it in less than that.”

“That is the spirit, Herr Doctor,” Uncle Reinhardt roared. Like her, he and Torbjörn were in on the plan to deal with Markus, and to help her defect.

“Wait, where are the pilots?” Markus asked, looking at the plane.

“It has none,” Torbjörn said. “This is the next-generation of unmanned flight.”

“How…it flies itself?”

“It does! Don’t worry, it has over three hundred operational flight hours; it is proven.”

“Trust Torbjörn, Herr Doctor,” Angela said. “He’s one of the best engineers in the Reich.”

“I have heard of Torbjörn and his talents,” Markus admitted, “but is this truly necessary?”

“Let me change your mind,” Torbjörn smiled, leading them into the plane. Markus’ face lit up as he saw Torbjörn’s handiwork.

Designed to be a garish luxury and drain the resources of the Wehrmacht and Luftwaffe’s upper echelons, the plane had been fitted with big, wide seats that were upholstered in the finest Italian leather. It had no carpet but deep, rich rugs. There were three massive flat-screen TVs folded against the walls, as well as a fully stocked bar.

Angela had to admire the decadence. Too bad it would all be lost soon.

“Dear God, this is extravagant,” Markus gushed.

“And it shall all be yours for the next few hours,” Torbjörn smiled.

Markus fell into the nearest chair, sighing his contentment. Torbjörn walked over, explaining how to use the various heaters and massage units. Reinhardt gently pulled Angela towards a small alcove reserved for stewardesses. However, for this journey, the only ones aboard the plane would be Angela and Markus.

“Everything is ready, but there’s a problem,” her uncle said, his voice hushed.

Angela felt her stomach tighten, her mood sour.

Of course he’d make me do one last bloody favor. One more thing to hate myself for.

“I’ve sent Brigitte and her team to Markus’ apartment, and they found a safe.”

Brigitte. Despite the resentment she felt towards her uncle, Angela still smiled at the thought of her god-sister. Of how she would be left behind with her defection. Thinking of Brigitte helped Angela bury her disgust at the wrinkle her uncle sprung on her.

“We thought we had every piece of information on this damned Munnin brainwashing device Markus made, but this safe, it has us worrying,” Reinhardt continued. Suddenly, the moment ended; Angela felt herself dragged back to reality, back to what her uncle wanted her to do. “It’s bad enough that Markus made more of these devices, worse that they’re to be used to invade Egypt, but we’re worrying that this safe might be carrying more information, or a new version of the program he uses to re-write people’s minds.

“We can’t let Nazi loyalists get any more developments, we have to contain this. But we can’t crack it without leaving a trace; you must get the code from him.”

“I understand,” Angela breathed, a deep sense of loathing twisting around in her gut.

“Angela, I know this is asking a lot of you,” Reinhardt said, his voice full of worry.

“No, I understand,” she smiled. But it came out as a ghost of a smile, forced. She made herself continue. “Markus has made a dozen devices, we can’t let there be any more made. We’re on the same side, uncle.”

“Yes, but I know this is asking much of you.”

Angela could hear the sincerity in her uncle’s voice; this twist, this safe that Markus had, it surprised him as much as it surprised her. And it hurt him to ask this of her.

“Brigitte will reply to confirm that the safe has been cracked. It doesn’t matter what’s in the safe, she’ll destroy it. If you can, see if Markus has made another version.” Reinhardt handed her a burner cell phone, a small pistol, and foam ear protection. Angela slipped everything into her pockets. “And…Brigitte gave me an odd message to tell you.”

“What is it?”

Reinhardt shifted his weight. Seeing a man two meters tall squirm had an odd charm to it.

“She told me to call you a ‘Swiss whore.’”

Angela laughed. Her uncle looked at her like she grew a second head.

“That’s our code,” she smiled. “Uncle, I’m going to fake my death. It’s only a matter of time until the world finds out I defected to the Allies. You said it yourself; when that happens, the Gestapo will use that to finally audit Blackwatch. You’ll have to curse me, spit at me, do everything you can to help take the heat off. Brigitte didn’t like it, so we came up with that code. Every time she calls me a ‘Swiss whore,’ she really means ‘I love you.’”

“That’s good,” he smiled, but only for a second. “I’ll have to call you vile things myself.”

“I know.” Angela paused, her heart growing heavy. “Reinhardt, I…we don’t see eye-to-eye much, but…you’ve been the best uncle I could’ve ever hoped for. Since my parents…since I—”

“Ach, don’t get like this. We must have hope that we’ll see each other again,” he smiled. “Someday, somehow, we will meet when this is all over.”

“Uncle…” Angela’s tongue caught in her throat. There were many times she hated her uncle, spat at him, times they fought and yelled. But suddenly, it didn’t seem important. “Many girls are lucky to have a good father. I’ve been lucky to have two.”

Tears welled in her uncle’s eyes.

“And I’ve been blessed to have such a wonderful woman as my daughter.”

Reinhardt wrapped her in a big, warm hug; possibly the last one she’d ever get. It made Angela remember all the times he hugged her as a girl, how it always felt like things would be fine. All of their past arguments didn’t seem to matter anymore.

“There’s not a chance we can change the plane’s course to fly me over France, is there?” Angela asked, tears welling in her eyes. “It would be easier to defect there than in Egypt.”

“I wish,” Reinhardt chuckled. “Defenses are higher in the west, and if the plane went off-course, the Luftwaffe would shoot you down. I’m sorry, but you have to go to Egypt, even if we will be invading it shortly.”

“I know, I know, but…uncle, this is too much.”

“It is. But we have to stop the Nazis from making more of these damned brainwashing machines; we can’t let any more be made,” he said. “Be safe, Angela.”

“I could say the same to you, Uncle.”

The moment done, they took a moment to compose themselves before walking back to the main cabin. Angela sat in a chair.

Blackwatch agents brought their bags in. Angela chuckled; a single order from the Führer brought them here. As the greatest medical minds of the Reich, they were given a simple order: save Reich solders. From that simple order, both her and Markus spent nearly a decade toiling in a shared lab, all to make devices that could fit into two small bags.

Angela had taken those orders and made her Caduceus; a device to cure nearly every physical injury, a panacea built from experimental medical nanotechnology.

Markus had taken those orders and had made his Muninn; a device to cure every mental injury a human could sustain, a device that could re-write the human mind.

I have to get this out of Nazi hands, get it to the Allies before more damage can be done, Angela thought. It helped her stomach what her uncle wanted of her. Failure would mean that the Nazis would finally win.

“Are you comfortable, Doctor?” Uncle Reinhardt asked, slipping into his cheerful persona.

“Yes! This is all magnificent,” Markus gushed from his chair.

“We’re so glad you approve of it,” Reinhardt smiled. “We must get to work preparing our agents for the invasion. Dr. Gärtner, it was an honor.”

“You are most certainly welcome, Commander Wilhelm,” Markus said, growing used to having everyone from the Führer to the secretive Blackwatch waiting on him hand and foot. “Angela, get me a glass of champagne.”

Her uncle gave her one last look before leaving the plane. From this, there would be no turning back. Angela nodded. Uncle Reinhardt nodded. He closed the door to the plane.

So she got up and walked to the bar, taking a second to check her bag. Inside she found a rolled-up waterproof bag and a simple change of clothes, things that didn’t have the Blackwatch patch or the flag of the Reich. She also double-checked her Caduceus, her life’s work, making sure she had everything to keep it functional should she have to heal an injury.

Angela took the time to plug her ears. She steeled her nerves, walking back with a flute of champagne and a glass of water just as the plane started moving.

“God, isn’t this something?” Markus chuckled as he took his champagne. The ear plugs muffled his words; Angela wished she could entirely blot them out.

The plane taxied down the runway, and took to the air.

“All of this, with no pilot! The future of the Reich is bright!”

Angela sipped her water. Soon they were over the Alps. Angela pulled out a cigarette to calm her nerves. All the while, Markus prattled on and on and on.

“This shall be a glorious day for the Reich,” he gushed. “Me, the man who saved it from the Endless War! Me, a simple scientist, shall be a hero, a legend! Ah, such a day for the Reich!”

His boasting grated at her nerves. Suddenly, Angela couldn’t take any more.

“Fuck Hitler, and fuck the Reich.”

Just saying that felt like a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Markus stared at her. He laughed, tense and forced.

“W-what did you say?”

“I said, ‘fuck Hitler, and fuck the Reich.’” Angela blew a cloud of smoke.

“Angela,” Markus said firmly with another forced chuckle. He waved the smoke away. “Now isn’t the time for jokes.”

“Does it look like I’m joking?”

“Angela, stop. You’re sounding like a subversive.”

‘Subversive.’ If only you knew what kind of subversive acts I’ve done with Blackwatch.

“Then what do you want me to say, Markus?” Angela pressed. “Would you like me to heil the Führer? Praise his shitty behavior?”

“This is sick,” he snapped. “Angela, stop it right now, we have to focus on the invasion. I just created a new version of Muninn that will help turn enemies to the cause, I need you to focus on that rather than this sick new joke you think is funny.”

A new version? Does he have the only update? Angela thought.

“Then fuck the invasion, too,” she spat instead.

“We’ve worked together for years. Now is not the time to try a new brand of humor!”

Angela swallowed her disgust and what she had to do, what she had to pull from Markus. She pulled her pistol out, and made a show of cocking it.

“You…” Markus stammered, the color draining from his face as realization washed over him. “You…you can’t actually have meant any of that, can you…?”

“I meant every word, Markus,” Angela said. The growing dread in her gut, the knowledge of what she had to do, it faded as she finally, finally got to spit and yell at Markus.   “All those years of saying ‘Heil Hilter,’ God, it was all bullshit. I’ve had more than my fill of this fucking Reich, of seeing it bumble about, ruining everything it touches, forcing us to do vile things all because one man with a sick mind said so.”

“You are a subversive,” Markus  gasped. “You’ll never get away with this! This plane is bound for the armada, the entire Reich army! They’ll catch you!”

“What makes you think I’ll be caught?” She smiled.

“But…this plane is with Blackwatch!” Markus stammered.

“But if Blackwatch gave us this plane, if they left me alone with you, if they gave me a gun, what does that tell you?” Oh, all the years of forced silence, having to deal with his wandering hands and leers, all for this moment, it almost felt worth it! “I’m going to take your Muninn, Markus. But I know you have a safe at your home with notes. Give me the code.”

“Never!”

Angela steeled herself. She knew she had to put on a good show. Her entire life revolved around it, from what her parents taught her and made her do to her schooling to her professional career, Angela’s world had truly become a stage.

“Markus, do you know what the Allies call me?” She asked, lazily blowing another cloud of smoke. “What’s the name the French gave me?”

Realization dawned on Markus’s face that he had been locked inside a plane with her.

“They…” he swallowed hard. “They call you ‘the Red Angel of Verdun.’”

“I always hated that name,” she hissed. “I hated what I had to do to maintain my cover, the people I had to torture and kill to save my own life. I became a doctor to heal. But I learned something from the Verdun Uprising, Markus; I learned to hurt. Give me the code to your safe, or I’ll use that knowledge on you.”

“You’d never—“

The first bullet went into his left shin, the gunshot reverberating in the cabin. The foam ear protection blotted out the worst of it, keeping Angela’s ears from ringing. Markus fell to the ground, screaming and crying.

If it weren’t for her time in Verdun, she might’ve hesitated.

“I have four more bullets, Markus,” Angela yelled. “After that, I get my scalpels.”

Markus’ blood stained the leather and rug, but the plane would soon be lost.

“N-no!” He sobbed. “Please, stop! Don’t hurt me!!”

“Give me the code to your safe,” Angela hissed, hating how he begged. “Now.”

“You’ll…you’ll let me live?” He gasped, clutching at his leg.

“Yes Markus, I’ll let you live,” Angela lied. “Now tell me the code.”

Markus whimpered as an answer, and Angela knew what she had to do; the second bullet went into his right knee. She could hear the bone splinter. Markus cried and thrashed, dragging himself to the door of the plane. He reached for the handle in a vain attempt to open the pressurized door and flee. He could only thrash against it.

“This is something else Verdun taught me,” Angela said, walking over as Markus cried. “It taught me to ignore the screaming and the begging. I hate myself for learning those lessons, but right now, it’s coming in handy.”

Markus babbled mindlessly, suddenly finding religion.

“The code,” Angela forced herself to say. “Give it to me now, and I’ll stop hurting you.”

Against the pain, Markus nodded. She tossed him a nearby pad of paper and a pen. With shaking hands, he jotted the code down. Angela pulled out the burner phone and sent the code.

She lit another cigarette and walked over to Markus’ bag. She pulled out the wooden box that held his Muninn, and opened it. It had two parts: a collection of adjustable plastic straps with wires and nodes set at regular intervals, and a laptop with a custom-made adapter. Said laptop held the program that could re-write a human’s very mind.

And in France, they had used it re-write a woman’s entire being. Angela found it morbidly funny that such a small thing could turn the entire world on its head.

“You said you made a new version of your Muninn,” she said. “Did you send the code to the forces preparing for the invasion?”

Markus cried.

“I asked you a question,” Angela said, raising the pistol.

“No, no, no!!” Markus howled. “I, I finished the code this morning, I have the only version! Please, please don’t hurt me!”

“Good.” Angela’s stomach didn’t twist and turn and sour at Markus’ begging.

Her phone blipped, showing her god-sister’s reply: Swiss whore.

Angela smiled, then crushed the phone underfoot.

“Y-you’ll be stopped,” Markus cried. He either found a small wave of courage, or a new well of spite. “The Reich will stop you, they must!!”

“Not if Blackwatch has its way,” Angela hissed. “You heard me right. Blackwatch isn’t a secret police, we’re fighting to end the Reich. I am but one of many, Markus; Blackwatch will get the Führer’s ear, and we’ll kill him. We’ll topple this fucking Reich, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Fuck Hitler, and fuck the Reich.”

Markus rolled on the ground, sobbing, broken.

“Do you know why I have these tattoos?” Angela asked, showing the tattoos on her left and right forearms. “Each is for a person I’ve been forced to kill. You won’t be one of them.”

“You promised—!”

She put the next bullet in his head. Markus’ body went limp. Blood leaked from the entry hole and poured from the exit, mixing with bits of skull and brain.

Angela ignored his body. She took a second to sit back in her chair and finish her cigarette. She finally killed Markus. She felt a great weight lifted from her shoulders; all the years of putting up with him, all gone. She felt wonderful! But at the same time, that scared her.

God…Her stomach turned. I liked that too much. Oh God I liked torturing him.

Suddenly, Angela felt like throwing up. She wasn’t Angela Ziegler then; in those moments of torture, she had turned into the Red Angel of Verdun.

“I’m not a Nazi,” she mumbled, “I’m not a bad person, I’m doing the right thing…”

But the tattoos on her arms reminded her of exactly what she had become.

Angela looked out the window. They were making their way over the Mediterranean; that meant she had to move. She quickly changed, packing her old clothes into the waterproof bag along with both her Caduceus and Markus’ Muninn. She placed that bag in the little stewardess alcove by the door, stepping over Markus’ dead body.

Angela pulled open a cabinet door. Inside were two boxes, just as Torbjörn had promised. One read ‘carry with you.’ The other read ‘crash protection.’ With everything ready, she went to the cabin. While automated, the plane still had seats for pilots, should the worst come to pass.

She had to make that happen.

A sticky note sat on the instrument panel, pointing to a button. Angela took a second to strap herself in, then reached for the button. She stopped, her finger hovering over it, her hand trembling. She knew what would happen, she’d read and re-read the plan dozens of times before destroying the paper, but now that she sat in the pilot’s chair, she froze.

Would this even work?

“I’m going to defect,” she said, closing her eyes, whispering to herself. “The Allies will take me in. I’ll get to leave, I’ll get to practice medicine again, I’ll make my own hospital.”

She pressed the button. The plane shook as one of the engines exploded, throwing her head back with a brutal snap.

“Berta-wihelm-nine, what are you doing?” The radio howled as the plane began diving towards the sea. “Berta-wihelm-nine, respond!”

“H-help!” Angela said. “This is Dr. Angela Ziegler, something happened with the plane!”

“Fräulein Ziegler? Wait, shit, this is that fancy Blackwatch plane. Listen, Fräulein, is Markus Gärtner there?”

“He’s unconscious. He hit his head.”

“Fuck, we have a woman at the helm. Fräulein, can you pull on the control stick?”

“I’m trying,” she lied. She waited for Torbjörn’s next signal.

“You need to pull up! Do it now, or you’ll crash into the sea!”

A series of bulbs lit up, telling Angela to move.

“Okay, I’ll try harder,” she said, undoing her belt.

“Do it now! Fräulein Ziegler!!”

The plane pitched forward more and more; Angela had to grab hold of the pilot’s door and haul herself up. Her arms burned with exertion, but she refused to yield. Her fingers went numb from grabbing the tiny nooks, but she reached the alcove. She grabbed the waterproof bag and the ‘carry with you’ box. She knelt on the ‘crash protection’ box, and pulled the rip tab.

The box cracked open with a massive burst of air. Built like an inflatable raft, it turned into a massive ball. It squeezed against Angela, engulfing her. Suddenly, the plane’s shaking and rattling were reduced to nothing. It became a little cocoon, an airbag for her entire body.

She barely had time to catch her breath before a secondary explosion ripped the plane apart, sucking her out into the air. Bile burned her throat; Angela clamped her hand over her mouth as the world spun wildly. A tiny parachute popped out, slowing her fall.

The plane fell from the sky in pieces. She watched it crash into the water, blowing up in a spectacular fireball. Thanks to the parachute and the inflatable crash ball, she hit the ocean with all the force of a small fender bender. But she had to move fast.

As soon as it touched the water, the not-plastic ball began dissolving. Angela tried to pull the rip cord of the ‘carry with you’ box, but it slipped through her numb, strained fingers. Ice cold water hit her back as the ball disintegrated, making her yelp. She pulled again, but couldn’t muster enough force. The entire ball vanished into the sea, and cold water forced its way down her throat. The shock gave her the strength to pull the rip tab.

The box burst open, knocking her head back, making her see stars. True to his word, Torbjörn had squeezed an inflatable boat into a tiny box. Angela’s wet clothes began to drag her to the bottom of the sea; she thrashed and kicked, throwing the bag into the boat, and dragged herself aboard, nearly flipping over twice.

Once she climbed in, Angela fell flat on her back. She could only lie down and alternate between gasping for breath and coughing up sea water. Her entire body became numb, first from pulling herself about the crashing plane, then to get onto the inflatable boat. Angela shivered; the frigid water chilled her to the bone, and the wind didn’t help.

She realized that somewhere, she had started crying. The plane falling from the sky, the icy grip of the water, the weight of her wet clothes dragging her down, she nearly died. It felt like a fluke that she had even survived! She remembered reading the plan, talking to her uncle about how dangerous the mission would be, and her chances of survival.

Angela didn’t laugh at the danger; she had embraced it. She even wanted to die. Every time she looked at her tattoos, every odd glance at them had brought back the memories of the people she hurt and killed, a reminder of the monstrous actions that had saved her life. She thought she’d meet death, and gently go into the darkness with scarcely a whimper.

But now she could only tremble and cry. She could still feel the freezing water pulling her down, she could feel it ripple underneath the boat’s thin plastic body.

Eventually, she summoned the energy to sit up and dry her tears. There were only a few slicks of burning jet fuel to show that a plane had crashed; soon they would burn out, leaving no trace of a crash, or of a survivor. She had to move, she had to continue the mission.

Angela looked about the boat. She found an electric engine, a waterproof map, flashlight, compass, and GPS tucked into a small compartment. With shaking hands, she set everything up.

Slowly, Angela got her bearings with the map and GPS. She found her location, and her destination: Egypt, due south. She turned on the engine, and set off.

The cold wind froze her to the bones. But the shocking cold kept her awake, fighting her exhaustion for her. The plane trip had gotten them close to the invading armada, putting her close to the beach. Angela reached land just as the sun started setting, and the temperature began dropping. It also marked a new challenge.

Thanks to many premature assaults launched by three different Hitlers, the coast of Egypt had been hardened against invasion. In the waning light, Angela saw the tops of barely submerged naval mines sticking out of the waves. She did her best to avoid them, but still bumped into many.

Fortunately, the boat proved too small and light to trip the mines. Still, each bump gave her a serious heart attack.

As she got closer to the shore, she saw dozens of tank traps on the beach. Made from steel bars, bolted and welded into giant jack shapes, they were designed to keep enemy armor from advancing, but couldn’t keep a small boat from reaching the shore. Angela slipped by them, beaching her boat on the shore. But the beach itself would surely be mined.

Fortunately, the tide provided a blessing. The sands shifted as the tide moved in and out, slowly exposing the buried mines; the mines had to be reburied every so often to remain hidden. If Angela had landed closer to the entrance of the Nile, she might have had to deal with freshly reburied mines. But she had landed kilometers away; the mines here hadn’t been reburied in quite some time. She saw bumps and raises in the sand, markings where the explosives could be.

Angela gathered up her bag, but froze. She looked out at the beach, and felt the same icy grip of dread and terror that nearly dragged her down to the bottom of the sea. She thought she would be better when she met death, but she had found out that she couldn’t handle it.

Taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart, she stepped onto the beach. She walked carefully in the dying light of the day, avoiding mounds of sand wherever they were. She kept her head down, looking only a meter ahead of her. Her heart slammed against her chest, pushing stress through her veins as she wove up the beach, avoiding anything she thought looked too big to be a natural sand drift.

Finally, she hit a sand dune. It felt like hours, but it couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes to cross the beach. Angela scrambled up the dune, and collapsed in the dirt and sand and grass of solid ground, her body flooded with sweet relief. She made it!

Just as she got to her feet, wondering where the defenders were, an Allied Humvee flew over a dune. It had two rows of flood lights, and all of them were on, turning the night into day. The Humvee slammed to a stop; doors opened and were slammed shut as the soldiers got out.

“Get down!” A woman yelled in accented English.

Angela knew the Allies used women soldiers, but she thought they were a minority.

“I am,” Angela yelled back, switching over to English as she knelt in the dirt. She was so rusty at the language, she hoped she still spoke it right.

“River Actual this is Dagger Five, we got a woman on the beaches,” a second woman said. She had an accent as well, one that Angela couldn’t immediately place.

“Identify yourself, Nazi,” a man yelled.

“My name is Angela,” she stammered, “and I am not a Nazi!”

Chapter Text

“’Not a Nazi,’” a small woman snorted. Angela heard a clear British accent. “Sounds like something a Nazi would say.”

Kneeling in the dirt and sand, Angela shielded her eyes against the flood lights, squinting to make things out. She saw four silhouettes, Allied soldiers. It sounded like there were three women, and one man. And they all had their guns pointed at her.

“Right, exactly that,” a second woman said. Angela heard a gentle rolled ‘R’ when the woman spoke. Could she be Spanish? “What do you think, boss?”

“Only Nazis live across the Mediterranean,” the lead woman said. She stood tall, taller than most women. “That’s all we need to know right now. Akande, keep a bead on her. Oxton, pat her down. Colomar, get me Actual on the radio.”

A big man advance on her, holding a massive machine gun in his hands, the kind used to lay down giant peels of suppressive fire. He was big, bald, and very muscular. He also had skin much blacker than the leader’s; he must come from further in Africa.

“On your feet,” he demanded. He had a thick accent, too.

As she awkwardly stood up, the British woman grabbed her and pushed her against the Humvee. The cheap metal hood almost burned her, but Angela did her best not to move; the big man with the big gun, Akande, made her stand still despite the hot metal.

“I wouldn’t make any sudden movements now, luv.” The British woman, Oxton, grinned. “Akande here has an issue with you Nazis.”

“We all got an issue with the hijos de puta Nazis,” the second woman said.

“Gee, I wonder why…?”  The leader groaned. Angela could hear her eyes roll. “And hit the floods, it’s killing my eyes.”

The flood lights snapped off, leaving them with the regular headlights. Angela blinked away afterimages as her eyes adjusted to the night. Oxton deftly patted her down.

“Only a pea shooter, boss,” Oxton said, holding up her pistol.

“Keep a hand on it. Cuff her.”

“Please, I wish to defect,” Angela stammered. “You have to take me to your commander. I have information that will help the Allies.”

“Shit, this changes the script,” the tall Sergeant growled.

With her eyes adjusting, Angela could make out the squad that captured her. They all wore sand-colored Allied fatigues with body armor, but also all had keffiyehs around their necks, either to keep them warm in the cool night air or to keep the sand from their faces.

The tall woman, the leader, had short black hair that just came down past her ears and brown skin; she must be a native of Egypt. She had a serious face and stood with purpose, holding her rifle tight. She struck the perfect image of an unflappable leader.

“Why do you want to defect?” Oxton, the British woman asked. “Thought you Nazis loved the Reich. Why come slum it up with us ‘blood traitors’ and Capitalists?”

Oxton was thin, brown haired, and had her sleeves rolled up to her biceps. She had tattoos up and down both arms; she even had tattoos on her hands. While Angela could see the tattoos, she couldn’t fully make them out; her eyes were still adjusting.

“Please, it’s imperative that I talk to your commander as soon as possible,” Angela pleaded. “I don’t have much time, the Nazis are planning an invasion.”

“Boss, there has been a lot of activity in the Mediterranean,” the second woman said. “My network is buzzing about it.”

Angela definitely heard a rolled ‘R.’  Looking at her, Angela saw that the woman had an undercut. One side of her head had been shaved to stubble, but the rest of her head had hair long enough to be put into a ponytail. She held a laptop, and had a radio on her shoulder.

Akande roughly pulled Angela’s wrists behind her back and sealed them tight with a zip tie; her wrists protested. He spun Angela around and pushed her down so she sat on the fender of the Humvee. Her heart beat faster, and fear bled into her veins.

“Spit it out, why did you run here?” Oxton asked, a casual but hard tone in her voice.

“I—I told you, I want to defect,” Angela said, trying to speak as calmly as she could. “I have information for the Allies. I must speak to your commander.”

“The Colonel is busy,” Akande said. “Tell us instead.”

“I mean no offense, but this extremely important,” Angela said. Every moment they spent here, the invasion grew closer. “I have to talk to them, now.”

The tall sergeant picked up her waterproof pack and started opening it.

“Please be careful, there is a very delicate machine in there!”

“Hold on,” Oxton said. She pulled out a flashlight and shined it in Angela’s face, blinding her again. Her other hand dipped to her combat vest. “I think I know that face.”

Angela yelped as Akande roughly grabbed her.

“Tell us what’s in the bag,” he demanded.

“It is a wunderwaffe,” she sputtered, “a tool that can brainwash you. Please, I need to be taken to your commander.”

“Oh, fuck me,” Oxton spat.

Oxton had pulled out a pack of cards, and held one up high. The Reich used something similar; they were playing cards, but along with the rank and suite, they had the faces of the Reich’s most dangerous enemies so they could be killed or captured on sight.

Angela stared at the card that held her picture. Someone made her the Queen of Spades.

The Spanish woman stared at the card, then grabbed the British woman’s hand, turning the flashlight back onto Angela’s face, blinding her yet again.

“Holy shit, this is Angela Ziegler. We caught the Red Angel of Verdun,” she gasped. “She’s Blackwatch’s second in command!”

Oxton pulled out another card, the King of Spades. Uncle Reinhardt’s face looked at her.

“You traveling with him?” Oxton pressed.

“No, I’m alone.”

“Got a boat on the beach; looks like a one-man,” the tall woman said, peering over the sand dune. “The fucking Red Angel? Shit.” She grumbled something in what Angela had to guess was Arabic. “Alright team, mount up. Colomar, get Actual’s attention; we got a VIP in custody, we’re bringing her in immediately.”

“Ten-four, boss,” Colomar said, grabbing her radio.

Akande led Angela into the Humvee. Oxton got in first, and pulled her in; Colomar got in next, talking on the radio. Akande got in the driver’s seat, while the leader rode shotgun; she held Angela’s bag.

“Actual is waiting for us back at base, boss,” Colomar said. “Checkpoints will give us a fast-lane in.”

The Humvee’s engine turned over, and they started driving.

“Shit, the Red fucking Angel,” Oxton said. “All I wanted was an easy night, and we get this shit dumped in our laps.”

“I told you not to say anything,” Akande said. “You jinxed us.”

“Yeah…shit, what’s that thing the Yanks always say? ‘The only easy day is yesterday.’” Oxton shook her head. “I hate it when the Yanks are right, they get too fucking smug ‘bout it.”

“I’m more interested in why the fucking Red Angel would run for it,” the Spanish woman, Colomar, said. “She’s number two in Blackwatch. Sure, they’re not the SS, but that’s still the upper echelons of the Reich.”

“Why not ask her?” Akande said.

“You think she’d talk? We’d have to stick her in a room, call in some help to crack her.”

“You do not have to torture me—”

“We don’t torture,” the sergeant snapped. “We leave that to you, not us.”

Use the scalpel like this, Fräulein. That’s it. Make it dance, watch him sing.

The memory from Verdun floated to her mind. Angela felt herself burning in shame. Damn the SS for forcing her hand.

“T-thank you for that,” she mumbled. “Please, I just need to talk to your commander. I will tell them everything.”

“This is the shortest interrogation ever,” Colomar chuckled. “We didn’t even get to Kafr El Sheikh.”

“Karf El…?” Angela’s stomach dropped; she recognized the city’s name from the invasion briefing. “We cannot go to Kafr El Sheikh!”

“That’s kinda where our base is, Nazi.”

“I am not a—! It doesn’t matter, Egypt will be invaded soon, and Kafr El Sheikh is a major target. We cannot stay there.”

That got a laugh from the squad.

“’Invaded,’” the sergeant smiled. “Egypt’s been standing against the Nazis since the forties. We’ll stand against you for another eighty years.”

“Please listen,” Angela snapped. “The Wehrmacht, Kriegsmarine, and Luftwaffe are planning the largest amphibious assault in German history; they’ll be attacking any hour now.”

“They trying to outdo us and the Yanks?” Oxton laughed. “What, they still sore ‘bout the Normandy landings?”

“Too bad the landings didn’t do anything but take back the beach,” Akande dramatically sighed. “It’s kind of like their women; they make a big show, put out a lot, but in the end, they just can’t satisfy a real man.”

“Hey, we got the Normandy and Brittany provinces,” Oxton snapped. “We freed nearly half of France!”

“But the goal was Paris. You only made it to Rouen before the Nazis dug their heels in with their Seine Defensive.”

“Low blow, Akande,” Oxton grumbled.

“Someone has to keep that British pride in check. God knows you won’t do it.”

“Please,” Angela said, “just call your commander. Tell them—“

“We’ve already called her,” the sergeant said.

“Hey, boss,” Colomar said, looking up from her laptop, “we might actually have a time crunch. My network that something is happening in the Mediterranean; lots of Nazi activity. Intel thinks the Kriegsmarine is having a surprise inspection by the Führer.”

“The Führer is there, and he wants to lead the invasion.”

“Akande, drive faster,” the sergeant hissed. “I think this is bigger than any of us.”

Lights flashed before them; they quickly came upon a city, a city that had to be Kafr El Sheikh. Angela tried to look out the window, but her captors blocked her view. She could only see some of the civilians as they passed by, as well as patrolling soldiers openly carrying weapons. Angela tried to swallow her nervousness.

From the invasion briefing, Angela knew that the Reich’s several failed attacks had turned the entire Nile Delta into a military bulwark. Kafr El Sheikh seemed to be even more entrenched. Akande stopped at multiple outposts as they made their way to the base, following other military vehicles that were given their own lane of traffic.

Just as Colomar said, they were waved through, directed around streets snarled with tiny cars; the Humvee never came to a full stop. Soon they reached a large fence; they had to have just arrived at the Kafr base. Angela’s stomach twisted in stress.

They were directed to a motor pool. Once they parked, the tall woman yanked Angela from the Humvee, leading the squad indoors. They walked through hallways until they reached a room. Angela recognized it as the command room; she found it oddly funny that despite eighty years of war, the Allies’ command room looked just like the Reich ones.

Maps and dozens of multi-monitored computers lined the walls, with soldiers in simple combat uniforms sitting in front of them; those uniforms had camouflage patterns and were colored like the desert, but without armor. A woman stood at the head of the room.

The woman wore a uniform like the officers in the room. The only difference was her shoulder patch showing her rank of an eagle. She had pure silver hair, and wrinkles lining her eyes. While there were others who were taller than her, she held herself with such composure that she seemed the biggest person in the room.  A scar ran across the right side of her face, stretching from the bottom of her nose upwards across her eye, an eye that was glassy and dead.

“Colonel,” the tall woman said, delivering a crisp salute. “Staff Sergeant Amari, reporting with a captured VIP and enemy intelligence. This is Angela Ziegler, the Red Angel of Verdun.”

The Colonel’s uniform lacked any campaign ribbons and medals. In fact, the only patches it had were her rank patch, and a name tag that also read “Amari.”

“Excellent work, Staff.” Colonel Amari returned the salute. “Where did you find her?”

“On the beach, about seven klicks west.”

“Colonel, ma’am?” Angela said. “Please, I have to talk to you. I have vital intelligence for the Allies.”

“She’s been dying to talk to you,” Sergeant Amari said dryly.

“Please,” Angela cut in. She had to make them listen! “The Reich is planning to invade, and I have a secret weapon of theirs! I want to defect!”

“They’re planning to invade?” Colonel Amari said.

“Yes. Please, time is of the essence.”

“And I wanted an easy day,” the Colonel growled. “This also complicates things; Allied intelligence says the Nazis have announced that the ‘good doctor’ Ziegler has died in a plane crash, along with some other Nazi scientist.”

“Wait, ma’am, is this new intel?” Colomar asked.

“MI-6 and the CIA just confirmed it five minutes ago.”

“Who confirmed it first?” Oxton asked.

“MI-6,” the Colonel smiled knowingly.

“Ha! British for the win!”

“Sergeant, the Reich says the Red Angel is dead. But if she’s standing here in front of us, this makes all of our lives more complicated.”

“I don’t mean to press you, but we don’t have much time,” Angela said. “Egypt is about to be invaded, and I have a weapon the Nazis are going to use against you, a wunderwaffen!”

The door to the command room burst open, and a woman ran in.

“Colonel,” the woman gasped, trying to catch her breath. “I hope I’m not too late.”

She had a uniform like the other officers, and carried no weapon. The woman had dark skin, but didn’t speak with the same accent as Akande. Could she from somewhere else? India? Something about her seemed so familiar; Angela could feel it dancing on the edge of her tongue.

“Vaswani, this is a surprise,” Colonel Amari said. “We rarely see you outside the engineering corp. What brings you here?”

“I just heard,” Vaswani gasped. “Is that…? It is you. I can’t believe it.”

“What, ya know her or something?” Oxton asked.

“Of course I do,” Vaswani said. “She’s the woman who saved my life.”

That made the room stop dead.

“She saved your life?” Sergeant Amari sputtered. “Her? The fucking Red Angel of Verdun? She’s Blackwatch, almost as bad as the SS!”

“Sayta, you have to be mistaken,” Colonel Amari insisted.

“I’m not, ma’am,” Sayta Vaswani said. “I’ve never been more serious.”

“She’s tortured dozens,” Akande said. “Killed many more!”

Angela bit her tongue. She knew how many people she had hurt and killed; they were on her skin, reduced to a feather tattoo to show her guilt, and right now, they felt as heavy as lead.

But something in the back of Angela’s mind tickled her. She gasped as realization hit her.

“I remember you! You were in Italy; what was it, two years ago? God, I’m sorry, I barely recognized you. You made it back safely!”

“All thanks to you,” Sayta smiled back.

“Sayta, why haven’t you told me this?” Colonel Amari asked, her voice hard.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but command classified my report.”

“Should you even be talking to me about this?”

“No ma’am, I really shouldn’t.”

“Then it looks like this day got a little more complicated,” Colonel Amari said. “Sergeant, if you and your squad don’t mind breaking a classified order, get us a debriefing room. The rest of you, back to work!”

The soldiers immediately returned to their duties, or at least did their best to look busy.

Sergeant Amari gently led Angela out of the command room; the Colonel walked with them, as did Sayta. They walked down a few hallways until Sergeant Amari opened a door for them. A simple room waited for them, with a large table and ten office chairs.

Akande undid her zip ties; Angela rubbed her wrists as she sat down. Colonel Amari sat at the head of the rectangular table, the Sergeant to her right, Sayta to her left.

“Sayta Vaswani is our best combat engineer,” she said, gesturing to the Indian woman. “She has designed the Delta’s newest defensive fortifications, and she has personally saved my life. I trust her completely. So hearing that you of all people saved her, it is a shock.

“I want to know how you saved her, and why you saved her. You’ll tell your side of the story, and if I don’t like it, I’ll throw you in the deepest hole you’d ever seen. But if Sayta says you’re lying, I’ll make you wish I only threw you in that hole.”

Angela nervously swallowed, but began.

Chapter Text

Angela ran through the Blackwatch barracks, her military issued long coat billowing behind her. Finding the right dorm, she pounded on the door.

“Wake up, please wake up, please…”

Brigitte opened the door with a yawn, her brown hair a mess. She slept in a sleeveless shirt that showed off her muscular arms. In that regard, she took after her father, Torbjörn. What she didn’t take after him was her height; she stood nearly two meters tall. Seeing the hard look on Angela’s face, she rubbed the rest of her sleep from her eyes.

“What’s happening?” Brigitte asked.

“Allied sappers tried to infiltrate the beach a few kilometers north of us. The Wehrmacht took them alive.”

“Will we be intercepting them?” She asked nervously.

Angela had helped raise Brigitte since she was a newborn. It didn’t matter that they didn’t share any blood, Brigitte was her sister, and Angela would do everything to protect Brigitte on her first Blackwatch mission. She’d never have to do what Angela did in Verdun.

“We are,” Angela said. “Get changed.”

Brigitte closed the door. Angela pulled out a cigarette to try and calm her fraying nerves. She smoked fast, nearly as fast as Brigitte changed. She ran out of her room in full Blackwatch uniform; black pants, gray blouse, red tie, jackboots, and a black long coat. Their blouses’ collar held their ranks, and the jacket’s shoulder had the Blackwatch patch stitched on it: a red circle with a bright white skull in the middle, and a red sword driven through the top of the skull.

Brigitte looked at her as Angela tossed away the cigarette, but she held her mouth. Given the news, and her visible stress, she didn’t give Angela grief for smoking like normal.

They made it to the motor pool, where two Blackwatch-branded military trucks waited for them. Blackwatch agents were running in as well, dressed in the same jackets as Angela and Brigitte, with guns held in tightened hands. One man jogged up to her.

“Scharführer Kistler,” Angela said, “thank you for the quick response.”

“Not a problem, ma’am,” Kistler curtly replied. He had a rough face, with light brown hair, and five o’clock shadow ready to turn into a beard. “What’s the report from Mockingbird?”

Brigitte perked up at the mention of her mother’s call-sign.

“Sappers were found on the defense lines. Local soldiers pinned them down and took them alive. No idea why; maybe they were bored, maybe they didn’t want to clean up the beach. Re-burying the mines is already a chore.”

The soldiers grunted their understanding at that.

“We’re to grab them from the Wehrmacht. Sergeant, you and your men will be on guard duty. Brigitte, you’ll be leading this; I’ll back you up. Let’s move.”

Kistler led his men to the flatbed trucks; two men peeled off to drive. Angela led Brigitte into the cab of the front truck. As soon as they were seated, the trucks pulled out, making their way through the base, barely stopping to let the boom gates raise for them. Soon they were speeding off into the night, headlights cutting through the gloom.

“I…I don’t want to kill anyone,” Brigitte mumbled.

Even in the blackened night Angela could see Brigitte’s anxiety and fear. Angela knew the feeling well; she felt the same on her first mission in Verdun, during the Uprising.

“Don’t worry,” Angela smiled, taking her hand. “Just remember your training, and make a grand entrance. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

Brigitte smiled her thanks as Angela gave her hand a squeeze.

The diver followed the twisted seaside road. Soon, they were at a spot of heavy activity; flashlights and portable floodlights turned the night into day. A group of dark-skinned men and woman were being pushed around by the Wehrmacht. There had to be about a dozen of the captured soldiers, hands raised to the black sky. The Reich soldiers, meanwhile, were laughing as they pushed them about with the barrels of their rifles.

The trucks stopped, and Angela got out of the cab. She waited for Brigitte and the Blackwatch agents to fall in by her side. She gave her sister a smile, and Brigitte took the lead.

“What’s going on here?” Brigitte asked, her voice filled with authority, her hands behind her back. Angela walked just a step behind her, holding herself steady.

“Fräulein,” one of the Wehrmacht men said. His had a flashlight, and turned it on Brigitte, illuminating her. Then he saw her patch. “We didn’t think Blackwatch would be here.”

“Of course I would be here,” Brigitte snapped. “Blackwatch cares very much about the boarders of the Reich. Now give me a report.”

The soldier traded a look with one of his friends. Angela knew the look well; they weren’t used to being addressed in such a way by a woman.

“Your report,” Brigitte said frostily. “I’m waiting.”

“I’m sorry, but—“

“Do you not see the patch on my collar?” Brigitte snapped, pointing for effect. “Two pips; truppführer. What are yours? Obergefreiter?”

“Ma’am,” Kistler said, taking a step forward, “let me show him respect.”

“Not yet, Scharführer.” Brigitte emphasized Kistler’s rank. Even Kistler outranked the soldier in front of them. “I believe he’s simply tired, and has yet to fully wake up.”

“Yes,” the soldier said tightly, “that’s it.”

“Exactly. Why else talk to an officer in such a manner?”

Angela chuckled; Brigitte handled herself well.

The soldier heard her chuckle, and turned to face her. His flashlight played across her face, and Angela squinted on reflex. The soldier saw her, and gasped.

“Angelo!” He yelled. “Angelo, get up here! Report to Fräulein Doctor!”

The soldiers pushed a young man forward. He took a look at Brigitte, but when he saw Angela, he gaped. Sometimes it paid to have a bad reputation; most soldiers were hesitant to take orders from a woman. But to be questioned by the Red Angel of Verdun…?

“We, uh, I saw some activity on the perimeter, by the surf,” the young man, Angelo, said.

As he talked, Angela walked around the captured men and women. They wore wet suits with combat vests, which held dozens of tools. In the dim light, she could only make out a few; insulated wire cutters, flashlights, and waterproof drills. They were combat engineers.

“I followed my training and called for a flare. They were clearing mines and tank traps, so we began shooting, forcing them to surrender. They were making good time, they’re very skilled. It was luck that I found them.”

“That doesn’t sound like luck,” Angela said.

The man paled.

“Yes,” Brigitte said. “It was your talents and skills as a soldier, not luck. You do the Reich proud; you are to be commended.”

The man smiled at that.

“Where are they from?” Angela asked.

“They say India, Fräulein Doctor.”

“Such a faraway nation. The Allies must be getting desperate to rely on Untermensch.”

She leaned in, examining one woman. The patch on her shoulder marked her as a Lieutenant; she would be the officer in charge. The Lieutenant glared at Angela with open hate.

“What are you thinking?” Brigitte asked.

“I think that Blackwatch will take it from here,” Angela said.

“You will?” Angelo stammered.

“I have a few medical experiments that I want to run,” she said, pasting a cruel smile on her lips. “They might eventually save lives, but for now, I need Untermensch lab rats to see if they’re worthy our time. Until I get the techniques right, the subjects might die; slowly.”

The soldiers laughed, and a few captured engineers paled; it seemed they knew some German. Still, Angela had to sell it. Her world truly was a stage, and the better she acted, the less scrutiny she’d fall under.

“Do you know who I am?” She asked the Lieutenant, switching over to English.

The Lieutenant swallowed. Before, she had wanted to attack Angela. But hearing that they would be experimented on clearly sapped her of any bravery.

“Y-you’re the Red Angel of Verdun.”

“Ah, you do know me,” she smiled. “Do not worry, the experiments I have in mind for you will not be quick.”

She turned, and nodded to Brigitte before walking back to the trucks.

“Ready the transports,” Brigitte ordered. “Soldiers, you’re free to go. Blackwatch will keep the peace, and take care of the necessary paperwork; you can have the night to yourselves. Oh, and soldier?”

The man who caught the Allied engineers looked up.

“Your service deserves reward,” she smiled. “Look forward to a commendation.”

“You should have jumped on a mine,” he laughed at the unfortunate men and women. The soldiers were even happier not to deal with any paperwork.

“Move them up,” Kistler snapped. “Hands up. Move!”

Following Kistler, the agents herding the prisoners along. The captured soldiers walked slowly, fitfully, no doubt dreading their future. Angela watched over them, until they were loaded into the trucks. Blackwatch agents sat with them, guarding them.

“We’re ready to go,” Brigitte said.

Nodding, Angela got back into the truck. The drivers cranked the engines and turned around. Angela felt her muscles minutely loosen; they had gotten the prisoners. Now they had to get them through the base.

Blackwatch didn’t have a full base, but rather a wing of the Wehrmacht base. That meant they still had to get past the patrolman. They pulled up to the boom barrier, where a soldier stood guard. He walked up to Angela’s side of the cab as they came to a stop.

“Can I see you ID?” He asked.

“I’m Dr. Ziegler,” she said, pulling out her ID card. “Let us in.”

“Oh, Fräulein Doctor! I’m sorry, but…but I’m under orders to check all trucks. Sorry, I just have to poke around a little.”

“We captured some Untermensch trying to probe our lines. I’m claiming them for myself; I have medical tests to run on them.”

“If you have a group of enemy soldiers, we’ll need to log it, make sure they’re all accounted for,” the guard said. “Prisoners have to be tagged, or at least tattooed.”

“Blackwatch will handle all the paperwork, just let us in.”

“I’m sorry, but protocol has to be followed. Just because you’re Blackwatch doesn’t make you an exception to that. I’m sorry, Fräulein Doctor.”

Angela glared at the man. Of course they had to follow procedure. She had hoped her reputation would carry them through the gates. But it didn’t seem to be working on this man. If he searched the trucks and wrote a report, it would be that much more difficult to make the Allied soldiers ‘disappear.’

Brigitte whispered something to the driver, and he laughed.

“I’ll take that bet,” he grinned, pulling out his wallet.

“Uh, I’m sorry?” The guard asked. “What bet?”

“Oh, just a running bet we make every so often,” Brigitte grinned. “The last man who got in her way can’t count past eight anymore.” She held up her hands, wiggling her fingers for effect. “I’m betting you’ll be stuck counting to seven.”

Angela did her best not to react to Brigitte’s tall tale. The guard, meanwhile, paled.

“Stand your ground,” the driver smiled at the guard, “I’m betting on eight.”

“Y-you wouldn’t dare,” he gasped.

“You know who I am,” Angela said. The truck’s height let her peer down at the guard. “And you know who we are. Blackwatch roots out corruption, without and within the Reich.”

“I’m loyal to the Reich,” he insisted.

“You have a funny way of showing it. I might have to test that loyalty.”

The guard swallowed, intent to stare her down. But he flinched.

“Y-you will file the proper paper work, yes?” He stammered.

“I’ll deliver it to you personally,” Angela said. “After I run my tests on the prisoners.”

Hesitantly, the soldier nodded. He reached into the guard booth, and raised the barrier. The driver put the truck in gear, and they pulled into the base.

“’He can’t count past eight?’” Angela asked Brigitte.

“It was the first thing that popped into my mind,” her sister said, smiling sheepishly.

“No, it’s good. It keeps paperwork and records in our hands.”

Brigitte’s smile grew bigger.

Soon they were at the pier, where Blackwatch had a torpedo boat docked, twenty-five meters long and nearly ten across. Built as a fast attack boat, it carried small number of torpedoes, with only enough room for a small crew. What it lacked in armaments, it made up for in speed. The lack of cargo room would make for tight quarters, especially for their prisoners.

Angela let Brigitte lead the way to the back of the truck. Blackwatch agents jumped out of the trucks. The prisoners, meanwhile, were beside themselves. Many were grim faced, some were crying, others slumped against the hard wooden benches, resigned to their fate.

“Get them on the boat,” Brigitte ordered.

“Move,” Kistler snapped, switching to English. “Now!”

The prisoners glared; some cried. Many stayed rooted in place, but the Lieutenant stood up first. Angela saw the woman eying Kistler’s gun intently. She gave Brigitte a quick tap.

“Watch that one,” Brigitte snapped.

Kistler turned his gun on the woman, and she froze. She sheepishly raised her hands, and got off the truck. The other soldiers hesitantly followed, eying the guns trained on them as they followed the Blackwatch agent’s orders, walking onto the boat with utmost reluctance.

“Get the trucks back. If anyone asks, we’re dumping their bodies,” Brigitte told the drivers as they boarded the boat. “We’ll make our own way back to the barracks.”

The boat’s engine turned over, and lines were cast off. They pushed out to the Adriatic Sea, but the boat’s engines were kept at a low growl, making the boat vibrate with pent-up power. Angela made her way to the bridge with Brigitte. The captain welcomed her into the cramped space, and she watched the helmsman carefully moved the boat about in the darkness. A screen on the dashboard glowed night vision green.

“Can you see?” Brigitte tensely asked.

“Well enough, ma’am,” the helmsman said. “The mines have changed in the last week, just taking it slow to play it safe.”

“And…I mean, you know where the mines are, yes?”

“We’ve got the maps with the updated mines, no need to worry.”

Angela stepped out to chain smoke a few cigarettes. The boat moved slowly through the waters, under the dim light of the stars; she knew how much power the engines had, she wanted them to cut lose to get this task done and over with. But she also knew that would only end up with them hitting a mine.

As she finished her first cigarette, Brigitte joined her on the deck. Her sister gave the cigarette a disapproving glare, but kept quiet. Angela could feel the minutes slip by as the boat moved through the dark water. She saw her sister wringing her hands.

“You’re doing great,” she smiled.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Brigitte mumbled.

“It never does, the first time. You just have to know you’re doing good.”

“Was it like this on your first mission?”

Angela bit her tongue. She looked down, and realized that she had started to run her hand over her forearm, tracing the feather tattoos inked to her skin.

“It was worse.”

The door to the bridge opened, and the captain walked out.

“We’re in open waters,” he said. “Just cleared the last mine.”

“Excellent,” Angela smiled. She stubbed out her cigarette. “Lead the way.”

Brigitte walked to the back of the boat, and climbed down the ladder. Angela followed, and saw the cargo hold, stuffed to the brim with the Allied soldiers. Kistler and his men kept their distance, and their guns drawn.

“Is this necessary?” Brigitte asked.

“Two of them made a break,” Kistler said. “We had to break it up, and quick.”

Two soldiers were being held up by their friends. One had a cut across his eye, the other struggled to stand; he must’ve gotten a blow to the stomach.

“And everything is fine?” Brigitte asked.

“Nothing a few ice packs won’t fix.”

“Great. We’re in the clear, just hit the open water. Get them up.”

Kistler nodded, and barked out a few orders. Angela let Brigitte go up the stairs first, and two Blackwatch soldiers came up with them. They stood on guard on the deck, and began herding the Allied soldiers when they got above deck.

Brigitte opened a secured box, and pulled out a large canvas bag. Angela couldn’t help but marvel at how easily Brigitte picked it up and heaved it into the ocean; the bag had to easily weighed thirty kilos. Brigitte held onto a long rope, and gave it a mighty pull. A burst of air went up, sounding very small in the open water.

The Allied soldiers were led to the side of the boat, where more agents threw canvas bags into the water. They pulled the ripcord, and the bags exploded into large, inflatable boats.

The soldiers stared at the boats with disbelief.

“The Nazis think we’re dumping your bodies out to sea,” Angela said in English.

“W-what?” The Allied Lieutenant stammered.

“We are giving you these boats. They can get you back to Allied waters.”

The Lieutenant stared at her, then back at the boats. The other Allied soldiers quietly talked amongst themselves. Angela couldn’t make it out, but she could tell they thought it all to be another trap.

“You have to move, we cannot stay here all night,” she said.

“You’re…helping us?” The Lieutenant said.

“Yes.”

“Why? Why you, of all people?”

The memory of Verdun popped into Angela’s head with frightening ease.

Use the scalpel like this, Fräulein. That’s it. Make it dance, watch him sing.

She became a doctor to help, never to hurt. Yet she had to in order to keep her cover in the damn Reich, all to buy her time to find a way to bring it all down.

“We have our reasons,” she said, making herself smile.

“You have to move,” Brigitte said. “There are electrical engines in the boats.”

The soldiers looked at them, then at the Blackwatch agents. Kistler and his men stood back, guns hanging from their straps, smoking. Kistler held up his hands in the universal symbol of “I don’t have a weapon, I’m not going to hurt you.”

The prisoners, clearly stunned by the turn of events, climbed down a side ladder and onto the boats. They turned on the small engines, and eying the boat hesitantly, floated away into the night waters. Brigitte watched them as they made their way to freedom, and Angela basked in the radiant feeling of finally being able to help, and not to hurt.

“Did we do good?” Brigitte asked, sighing in relief.

Angela put an arm around her sister.

“We did damn good,” she smiled. “Now for the best part: falsifying reports! You’re the daughter of Torbjörn Lindholm, the famed Nazi engineer, and you have big shoes to fill. We need to make you seem quite heroic. What do you want the Reich to honor you for?”

Chapter Text

“That,” Colonel Amari said, “was quite unexpected. Sayta, she didn’t lie, did she?”

“Not at all. It’s exactly what happened.”

A spark of hope lit up in Angela’s heart; they had to believe her, they had to now!

“I can barely believe any of this; a helpful, humble Nazi,” Colonel Amari said, shaking her head. Meanwhile, Akande stared in disbelief, Colomar glared at her as if to find a way to object, and Oxton had a look of awe on her face.

But Sergeant Amari gave Angela the strangest of looks. The sergeant looked like Angela had told her the sky was purple, then proved it. She looked equal parts confused, impressed, and taken aback.

“Still, I trust you, Sayta,” Colonel Amari continued. “If you say it’s true, it must be.”

The door opened and a soldier walked in, papers in hand. He delivered them to the Colonel, and whispered something in her ear.

“Put more drones in the air,” she said, skimming the papers. “Push them to the edge of our airspace; hopefully the clouds will clear up a bit.” The soldier nodded, and left.

“Is that about the mass of Nazis in the Mediterranean?” Colomar asked. “My network says something big is coming.”

“An invasion is coming,” Angela said. “Please, you have to get me out of Egypt.”

“Invade,” Sergeant Amari laughed. “They really think the fourth time is the charm?”

“You have to believe me,” Angela begged. “Heinrich Hitler wants to open a new front to the war, and he wants to do it as soon as possible.”

“So you defected to warn us of an invasion?”

“No, I want to defect because of a machine that was created.”

“Trying to get on our good side?” Oxton asked.

“Actually, this fits what we know about Blackwatch,” Colomar said. “Don’t get me wrong, we all know they’re the SS’ scrappy little brother, trying to show just how tough they are. They’ve committed atrocities and human rights violations like everyone in the Reich.”

Angela grimly looked at her tattoos.

“But there’s classified reports saying that they’ve also helped some people, too. Uh, reports that I may or may not have read,” Colomar stammered, looking at the Colonel.

“I have no idea to what you are referring to,” the Colonel coolly said.

“Thank you, ma’am. Sayta’s escape is just one strange trend of Blackwatch working against the Nazis. I mean, there are the Holocaust survivors that swear that Blackwatch smuggled them into Switzerland back when it was neutral and Nazi-free.”

“Then Blackwatch is working against the Nazis?” Colonel Amari asked.

“We always have been,” Angela said. “My family actually helped with the evacuation of some camps. We saved as many as we could, but it was not enough. It was never enough.”

“You mean that Blackwatch gathered up the prisoners,” Sergeant Amari sputtered, “and smuggled them into then-free Switzerland? How the hell did they pull that off? Scratch that, why would you do that? I thought we were all Untermensch trash to you.”

“Everyone in Blackwatch is a patriot,” she said. “We believe in a strong German state.”

“How is that any different from the fucking Nazis?” Sergeant Amari snorted.

“Because the Hitler family are incompetent monsters,” Angela spat. Just mentioning the Hitlers replaced her stress and fear with rage. “They ruin everything they touch, poison everything we love, all to rule atop a stack of corpses. Adolf Hitler started this madness, and nearly drove Germany into the ground, ruining military plans, economic growth, and manufacturing.

“Adolf Hitler loved the idea of a wunderwaffen so much, he actually prevented his own party from ejecting scientists and mathematicians. Yet he made them fight and compete for every single Reichsmark they could get. It’s a sick cosmic prank that they were able to make a small arsenal of atomic bombs.

“Then the Allies invade France, humiliating Hitler with false information. To drive the Allies back and soothe his ego, he unleashed those atomics on Britain, and Hamburg and Frankfort were lost in nuclear retaliation. It took all of Hitler’s inner circle to get him to sign the M.A.D. Pact during the Darkest Days, and they never agreed on anything.

“Hitler killed millions of his own people by putting them in camps, marching them into Russia, or condemning them starve after the Allies bombed every industrial center to Dresden. At first, Blackwatch believed in the lie of the Reich; they just wanted to replace Hitler, and install a better Führer. But as the atrocities grew, as Germany bled more and more, they realized that the Reich itself that must be changed.

“Nazism, fascism, is incompatible with peace. There will always be Untermensch, there will always be enemies that have to be fought, and there will be millions of people will be sacrificed to fight these endless wars. They have to be gotten rid of, from the stem to the root!”

Angela’s rant made her gasp for breath. Everyone at the table stared, taken aback by her outburst. Sergeant Amari seemed particularly surprised.

“Damn, never thought I’d hear someone badmouth their Führer,” Colomar laughed.

“He is not my damn Führer,” Angela snapped. “Blackwatch wants to overthrow Hitler and the Nazis. We want to rebuild Germany, to turn it into a country where we do not have to sacrifice entire generations of men, women, and children just to stroke a madman’s ego.”

“And what happens if you make that new Germany?” Sergeant Amari pressed. “You still want to make it a place for fellow Aryans?”

“Despite my appearances, I do not believe in the ‘Aryan Master Race’ drivel that the Hitlers love. Neither does anyone of rank in Blackwatch. We saved as many victims of the camps as we could. Remember, the first people Hitler killed were Germans.”

“You mean communists, unionists, and Jews,” Colomar said.

“Germans all the same. Many of our founding members lost loved ones in the initial purges. At first, overthrowing Hitler was for the good of all Germany. As the Reich expanded, as the atrocities increased, and as Germany bled more, it became for the good of Poland, then France, then Italy, then…then Switzerland.”

Angela always stammered when she talked of her conquered homeland.

“Now, more than ever,” she struggled to continue, “this is for the good of the world. Because if Heinrich Hitler is able to make everyone he is God, then the entire world is fucked.”

“This Nazi’s got the right idea,” Colomar said.

“I am not a Nazi,” Angela hissed, her jaw clenching in anger.

“Yeah, sure thing,” Colomar grinned. Angela’s fingernails dug into her palms. “This all fits the reports we have on Blackwatch, but I can’t figure out why they’d want to help Sayta.”

“Because it was the right thing to do,” Angela replied. “I despise torture. If we let the Nazis have them, I would have been forced to torture the Indians.”

“South Asians,” Sayta said, correcting her with a sigh.

“Oh my God, did I use the wrong phrase?” Angela gasped. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you! When you live in the Reich, you learn bad habits. It won’t happen again.”

Everyone at the table suddenly stared at Angela.

“Am I tripping balls here,” Oxton said, “or did a Nazi just politically correct herself?”

“There might be some truth to her rant,” the Colonel said. Her phone buzzed, and she typed out a response. “You said you wanted to defect because you had some machines?”

“Yes, I do,” Angela gasped, relief flooding her veins. “A scientist named Markus Gärtner created a new kind of technology. May I have my bag?”

Akande grudgingly handed her the waterproof bag. Angela pulled out her life’s work, and the wooden box that held Muninn. She opened it, revealing the ‘helmet.’ The rough adjustable straps flexed in her hand as she set it on the table.

“Markus and I were the brightest minds in the Reich. We were so talented, we were pulled from our regular duties to get a personal order from the Führer himself.”

“Aren’t you the Blackwatch heir apparent?” Sergeant Amari asked. “Why are you being ordered to do whatever wonder-waffle experiment the Hitlers want?”

“Because Germany lacks the manpower and resources to function as a true world power. Everyone has to have two or three specialties. Yes, I’m to be the head of Blackwatch should my uncle surrender the position, I was also a practicing doctor. Then the need of my medical and scientific skills outweighed that need, and I was ordered to be a research doctor.

“And because of my talents as a doctor, practicing and research, Hitler gave Markus and I very simple orders: find a way to save Reich soldiers. I created a device to heal nearly every fatal injury, and Markus created something he called ‘Muninn.’ He made it to cure PTSD, but he realized he could use it to brainwash, to push ideas and entire personalities into one’s head.”

“You can’t brainwash people, not like in the movies,” Sergeant Amari said.

“We can now. He perfected it and…and we used it,” Angela said, her mood crashing as shame overtook her. She looked at her tattoos. “Does everyone know Amélie Lacroix?”

Colonel Amari glared at her. The harsh gaze and the dead eye made Angela tremble.

“She was one of the most passionate, talented leaders the French Resistance had ever seen, and I’m lucky to have met her,” the Colonel said tightly. “What did you do to her?”

“Markus used his Muninn on her,” she stammered. “Markus showed that he could win the War and conquer the world. He made her kill her husband, Gérard, the Resistance leader.”

“You…you actually made a real, working brainwashing machine?” Colomar gasped. “Hostia, estamos cagados.”

“Olivia, you can’t believe this, can you?” Colonel Amari said.

“Do you know how many people in the intelligence community are scratching their heads over this Amélie thing? And when I say the intelligence community, I mean everyone. CIA, MI-6, KGB, shit, I even have a contact in the Japanese PSIA who got whiplash when Amélie killed her husband. I think we’ve got a really, really big deal here.”

Angela couldn’t help but be amazed that an enlisted woman could address a superior so frankly.

“What rank are you?” Angela asked.

“Officially?” Colomar chuckled. “I’m a corporal.”

“You seem skilled in intelligence work. You should not be at the front lines.”

“But I like killing Nazis,” she smiled.

“We need to stay focused,” Colonel Amari said. “We have a Nazi defector with technology that shouldn’t exist, and she says an invasion is coming. We need to act on this.”

“Anything from intel?” Colomar asked. “I haven’t gotten an update from my network yet.”

“There are heavy clouds rolling in, so our eyes in the sky are limited. Other than that, there’s too much information to draw a meaningful conclusion from.”

“Egypt has stood against the Nazis for eighty years,” Sayta added. “With the improvements I’ve made, we can even continue fighting after a nuclear detonation.”

“Let us hope that no one breaks the M.A.D. Pact,” Angela said. “Even if the Pact isn’t broken, it will be strained. Heinrich Hitler wants to attack Egypt, and use Muninn to make the defense force loyal to the Reich.

“He wants to secure Cairo itself, and from there, he would push out to the Middle East and take the oilfields, then conquer Russia itself, brainwashing everyone to fight for the Reich. Then he will turn his sights on the world.”

“Ma’am, if this brainwashing tech was able to get Amélie to kill her husband, it would be easy to get people to fight for the Nazis,” Colomar said.

“You seem pretty trusting all of a sudden,” Akande said.

“I don’t trust her. I’m just scared of what she has.”

“Yeah, that sounds scary as shit,” Oxton said. “Just one question: why the hell defect to Egypt? Why not make a run for Britain?”

“Because Nazi defenses are the thickest in the West. If I flew over the DMZ, I would be shot down, either by the Allies or the Nazis.”

“And flying over an invasion of Egypt is easier?” Sergeant Amari said.

“Nazi airspace will be filled today, the invasion provided the best cover to defecting.”

“It doesn’t matter what they throw at us, we’ll resist until the last,” Sergeant Amari said, pride in her voice.

“This ‘Muninn’ is the wonder waffle the Nazis need to conquer the world,” Sayta said. “We won’t be able to resist if we can be turned into Nazi automata.”

“And they will turn people into automata,” Angela said. “Markus has already made a dozen other Muninn devices in preparation for the invasion.”

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck!!” Colomar shouted.

“Fortunately, the programs they’re loaded with are outdated. I’m not sure how effective they will be, however they will not be able to make people truly believe in the Reich’s lies. At least, not yet.”

“Thank God almighty for small miracles,” Colomar groaned, collapsing in her chair.

“Then why do we have to get you out of Egypt?” Sergeant Amari asked. “If their attack requires this newer version of Muninn, Hitler wouldn’t have any way of winning. An invasion defies common sense.”

“Since when has common sense ever stopped a Hitler?” Angela snorted.

Akande broke out laughing. Now that she wasn’t being yelled at, and more importantly wasn’t looking down the barrel of a gun, Angela couldn’t help but be amazed at how warm and deep Akande’s voice sounded. It actually reminded her of her uncle; big, deep, and gentle.

“Maybe she isn’t a Nazi,” he roared, slapping the table. Even his grin seemed gentle. “No true German would laugh at their Führer.”

“I’m not German,” Angela smiled, “I’m Swiss.”

“I’m starting to like her,” Oxton grinned.

“She’s still done a lot to help the Nazis,” Sergeant Amari said. “Talk is cheap.”

“No need to tell me twice, sarge,” Oxton said, setting her arms on the table.

Now that they had proper lighting, Angela could see Oxton’s tattoos. She had tattoos going up her arms, with beautiful scrolls in the forefront. Her right arm read ‘Brighton,’ the left ‘Cambridge.’ Behind the scrolls were two mushroom clouds inked in ghastly detail. Above and below were scrolls that read ‘never forgive,’ and ‘never forget.’

“I may have the most up-to-date Muninn unit,” Angela continued, “but the Nazis have seized much of Markus’ work. Blackwatch fears that might be enough for the Nazis to replicate what they lost. If they can find a way to make a person truly believe, then the war is over.”

“This is a terror,” Colonel Amari hissed. “I’ll talk with Allied Command, transportation has to be arranged. Maisie, I’m sure you’ve got connections; reach out to London. Olivia, take the back channels. I want to push on every avenue of communication as fast as we can.”

“You actually believe her?” Sergeant Amari asked.

“What’s the first rule of gambling?”

“’Only gamble with what you can lose,’” the Sergeant answered.

“Exactly. If the Nazis can make such a machine, we can’t afford to turn it away.”

“But why would Hitler attack without his secret weapon?”

“Heinrich Hitler is a spoiled brat, just like his father and grandfather. He sees victory and does not want to wait for it,” Angela said. “Everyone remembers the Fifth Eastern War, yes? I do not know what the Allies call it, but call it ‘the One Week War.’”

“A good name for a shit-show,” Colomar snorted. “A lucky panzer blitz broke through the Soviet lines, but instead of waiting for reinforcements, Hitler ordered them on. You pushed too far, got swarmed, and lost everything. Typical fucking Hitler.”

“Exactly. He will not stop the invasion,” Angela said, panic inching into her voice. “He might even move it up! I need to be taken out of Egypt.”

“Why you?” Akande said. “We can just ship this Muninn thing out on a drone.”

“While I killed Markus, we shared the same laboratory. I’ve learned just by being around him; I’m the only Muninn expert in the world. But the Reich could reverse-engineer his findings. At the very least, his death gives me time to create a counter-weapon.”

“Then it’s settled,” Colonel Amari said. “Sergeant, get her a room and guard her. Sayta, bring the defenses to high alert.”

Akande pulled Angela to her feet, but gently this time. Sergeant Amari packed her bag, and escorted her through the base. Amari and Akande led Angela into a small, basic, one person room. A simple bed, desk, and window greeted her. The walls were painted a dull white, and bars were on the window. Amari closed the door behind her, leaving Angela alone to rub her cuffed wrists.

“I should be on a plane already,” she mumbled. “God, I should be on my way to France.”

The dream of escaping, defecting, felt so tantalizingly close that being stuck in the room felt like agony. Angela could feel her dream of opening her own hospital slipping a little further away.

Yet at the same time, it all made sense. Angela cursed herself; she should’ve known the Allies would take time to properly verify her claims, they’d never just immediately believe her. Angela felt like she should’ve known this, but the allure of defecting made her forget.

After escaping the Reich, after nearly drowning, she should be dead on her feet. But knowing a battle was coming filled Angela with a nervous energy that kept her from sleeping. She had been in the small room for scarcely a half hour when she heard a missile strike; she knew the sound well thanks to her service in Blackwatch.

Before the explosion faded, air raid sirens started screaming and distant gunfire rang out. From the window, Angela saw anti-air tracer fire stabbing at the skies. A feeling of calm dread filled her heart; the invasion had started.

“We need to move,” Sergeant Amari said, throwing the door open. She grabbed Angela’s shoulder and dragged her out to the hall, carrying Angela’s bag for her. Soldiers were running past them, shouting and yelling. Angela’s heart resumed its stressful beating in her chest.

“What do we do?” Akande asked, gripping his machine gun tighter.

“Shit,” Amari hissed. “Shit, shit, shit. We need to fight, but this is a VIP. Shit.”

She pulled out her radio.

“Colomar, Oxton, meet us in the command room. We’re getting orders from the Colonel.”

Holding Angela’s arm tightly, the tall sergeant led Angela through the base. If it wasn’t for Amari’s grip, Angela would have been dragged away by the deluge of soldiers running to their positions. They got to the command room, which became a hive of activity. Colonel Amari barked orders, the picture of a calm, cool, and determined commander.

“…anti-air focuses on bombers,” she yelled. “I need drones in the air to combat enemy UAVs. What’s the status of the fighter jets?”

“They’re scrambling. They’ll be airborne in minutes.”

“Tell them to move faster. Beach status?”

“They’re swarming us! This is the largest invasion we’ve ever seen!”

“Just like fucking Normandy,” Amari hissed. She turned and saw Sergeant Amari. “Sergeant, what’s the status of your squad?”

“They’re scrambling. They’ll be here soon.”

As soon as the Sergeant said that, Colomar ran into the room, laptop in hand, backpack falling off of one shoulder. Angela could see several power cords spilling from open zippers. Colomar had a radio clipped to the backpack, and had an earbud stuffed in her ear. With her one free hand, she held the attached line microphone up to her mouth.

“—off guard, we’re scrambling,” Colomar said. “Tell the network, I’ll be going silent. Update in twenty hours.”

She pulled the earbud from her ear, and set her bag down, straightening everything out.

“The Nazi was right,” she gasped. “Can’t fucking believe it, but she was right.”

Seconds later, Oxton ran in, zipping up her backpack.

“Fucking Hitler,” Oxton growled. “Didn’t even have time to finish all my calls.”

“Sergeant,” the Colonel said, “you have a big task: you need to leave Egypt.”

“Leave?” Sergeant Amari sputtered. “Ma’am, we have to defend Egypt, not evacuate.”

“We’re not running, you are. You have to secure Ziegler and get her to High Command.”

“But the battle has barely started.”

“This isn’t like the other half-assed attacks or harassing missions we’ve endured. Even with Sayta’s improvements, we’ll be pushed back to Cairo; I can feel it. Remember what we should gamble with?”

“Only what we can afford to lose.”

“That’s right. If Ziegler was right about this invasion, then she must be right about this Muninn device. We can’t let the Nazis recover it, otherwise we’ll lose everything. And we can’t fly Ziegler out, it’s not safe enough for that.”

“The Nazis won’t stop here! They’ll burn Cairo!”

“We can afford to lose a city, even if it’s Cairo. We can’t afford to lose our free will.”

“Mother, please,” Sergeant Amari begged. “Cairo is my home. I can’t leave now.”

“I know, Fareeha, I know,” Colonel Amari said, her voice catching, going soft. “But if this Muninn is what Ziegler says it is, it’s bigger than the atom bomb. A discovery like this will change the world, and if the Nazis regain it, nothing good will come of it. You must get Ziegler out of Egypt, and to Allied High Command. That’s an order.”

“But—”

“Now, sergeant!” The Colonel snapped, the hard edge returning to her voice.

Sergeant Amari looked at her mother. Her jaw trembled, and Angela could see the sergeant struggling to contain herself; her mother seemed to be struggling as well. Finally, she brought herself to her full height, and saluted.

“Kill some Nazis for me,” her voice thick with emotion and forced calm.

“I’ll kill them all for you,” her mother smiled. “There’s a Humvee in the motor pool. Go.”

“Squad, move out,” Sergeant Amari barked. “We’re gearing up at the armory.”

Amari led Angela and her squad through crowded halls, Colomar to Angela’s left and Oxton to her right, and Akande behind her. They took a few turns, and walked into an armory.

“Go in heavy,” Sergeant Amari ordered. Angela could hear her still struggling to talk with a calm voice. “We can ditch gear, but we can’t pull it out of our asses. Ziegler, take a bag and stuff it with whatever you can grab; we need your hands.”

Amari finally undid her handcuffs, and Akande shoved an external frame backpack into her hands. Pushed along, she stuffed it full of MREs, water purification kits, and medical kits; she could still do some good with them. She fumbled with the backpack as she tried to fill it; Akande reached out and held the pack for her as Angela got everything zipped up.

“Thanks,” she smiled. Akande nodded.

She finished, and turned to see Amari standing in front of a rack full of ammunition. The tall woman leaned on the rack, her arms trembling.

Akande walked over and put a hand on Amari’s shoulder; Angela could see the gentleness.

“I’m okay,” Amari mumbled. “We need to leave.”

The sergeant led the way out the door and to the motor pool. The sounds of war filled the air, filling Angela with stress, and a sad familiarity. With the battle unfolding, there were not a lot of Humvees left. But some soldiers guarded one.

“Sergeant, we got orders from the Colonel to reserve this for you,” they said, saluting. “Rumor is you’re ditching Kafr El Sheikh.”

“We’re securing Nazi intelligence and a VIP,” Sergeant Amari corrected them.

“What kind of intelligence?”

“We got God’s anti-son-of-a-bitch machine,” Oxton grinned. “The Nazis kinda want it.”

The soldiers laughed as the squad piled in. Amari took the driver’s seat, Colomar rode shotgun, while Akande and Oxton sat in the back with Angela, leaving the turret empty. Amari turned the engine over, and they pulled out of the motor pool into the streets of Kafr El Sheikh.

Pandemonium ruled. Civilians were running to shelters, turning the roads into a sea of humans. Amari barely had enough space to drive the Humvee without crushing someone.

“Shit,” Amari cursed as she pounded the wheel. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“What’s the plan, boss?” Colomar asked. “We’re not in a good spot here.”

Bombs exploded, maybe a block or two from them. Angela yelled along with the civilians, and dust bellowed through the streets. Amari took a corner at a dangerous speed.

“Should we follow the Nile south?” Oxton asked, yelling over the screaming. “Might get kinda rough, but we’ll get to Cairo; we could fly out from there.”

“Still too close to the action,” Amari hissed, laying on the Humvee’s horn. She got maybe a few centimeters of space to drive through. “The Nazis might launch bombing runs; we’ll get caught in a barrage, die a horrible death, and the Nazis get their tech back.”

“If it means killing a few ‘Untermensch,’ they will launch kill missions,” Angela said, heart pounding in her chest as Amari swerved around a group of people. “They do things like that in the Balkans all the time.”

“And this fucking blitzkrieg might push us out of Cairo,” Akande hissed. A whistling sound announced the arrival of a missile; it exploded not far from them, and sent a plume of ash and dust out of a street, covering the Humvee. It got into the cabin, making Angela cough. “There’s no friendly place south after that.”

“Then what’s the plan?” Oxton asked. Another missile exploded nearby, making the Humvee skip along the ground. Angela pressed her hands against her ears.

“South is a no-go,” Amari said, regaining control. “Thing is, we can’t go west, either.”

“Across the desert? I thought you Egyptian rats loved the sand,” Akande said.

“I can handle sand,” Amari chuckled. “But the Nazis still own Tunis and Algiers, and we don’t have the equipment or supplies to cross the desert. We’ll get ground down, we’ll die horrible deaths, and then the Nazis get their tech back.”

“Hey boss, is there an option for us to not die a horrible death?” Colomar asked.

“I second that shit,” Oxton said.

“Get in line,” Akande grunted.

“There’s only one way left,” Amari gnashed her teeth. “We have to go northeast, across the Middle East coast, Turkey, and the USSR, all while avoiding both Nazis and Soviets.”

“You want to go near the Russians?” Angela said, her brow wrinkling. “I thought the Soviets hated the Allies, especially when the M.A.D. Pact was signed.”

“Oh don’t worry, they still hate us,” Amari said. “But we don’t have a choice. We need to get you to Allied high command, and we can’t fail. We go north-northeast, then break across Nazi Europe to high command in France.”

“It might not be much,” Angela said, swaying with the Humvee, “but Blackwatch has safe houses across Europe. I can take you to them, it’ll make crossing Europe easy.”

“Don’t jinx it by saying it’s easy,” Akande snapped.

“Even if we go with it,” Oxton said, “this plan still fucking sucks.”

“Yes, but this is a ninety-five percent suck,” Amari said. “And that’s better than a plan that sucks one-hundred percent. Colomar, get on heads and see if we can get out of the city.”

“Been on it for a while, boss,” she said. An earbud ran from her ear to a radio. “There’s a caravan of civilians fleeing northeast. Take this turn, we’ll link up with them in a klick.”

The Humvee shot through the streets of Kafr El Sheikh. Angela looked out the window, watching countless families running for their lives, fleeing to shelters, or trying to find a way out of the city. Just seeing Kafr El Sheikh attacked was a grim reminder of what the Nazis could do when they unleashed their full might upon a single target. It reminded her of what happened to Switzerland.

Chapter Text

“Dinner is ready,” mother said. “Angela, did you wash your hands?”

“Of course I did, mommy,” Angela said, running to the table.

“Be honest with me,” her mother said. She spoke firmly, but had a smile on her face.

“I did,” Angela said, holding as straight as she could. “I washed my hands.”

“How long ago did you wash them?”

Angela faltered, squirming in place.

“Angela…?”

“An hour ago?” She said sheepishly.

“You better go wash them again,” her mother said. “We can’t be eating with dirty hands now, can we?”

Pouting, Angela went to the kitchen where her father got a handful of plates.

“Your mother is good at spotting lies,” he chuckled.

“But I did wash my hands,” Angela said. “I didn’t lie.”

“Yes, but that was an hour ago. That’s the same as not washing your hands.” He leaned over to kiss her forehead. “Try not to make a habit of stretching the truth, little Angel. That’s something best left for the Nazis.”

Angela went to the sink. Just as she reached out to turn the water on, the phone rang.

“Darn. Angela, can you get that? My hands are full,” her father asked as he carried the food to the table.

Angela ran to the phone and picked it up.

“Ziegler household,” she said, as her father had instructed her.

“Angela? This is your uncle.”

“Uncle Reinhardt!” Angela beamed. “I’ve missed you!”

“I’ve missed you, too, little one” he said.

Her uncle spoke in a neutral tone, his voice at odds with his normally boisterous tone. It felt so odd, it gave Angela pause.

“Angela, is your father there? I need to speak with him right away.”

“He is, but he’s got dinner in his hands.”

“Then put me on speakerphone. Please, we have to move fast.”

“Uncle Reinhardt, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m sorry, little Angel, but this is important.”

Angela pressed the button for the speakerphone, and carried it to the dining room.

“Daddy, Uncle Reinhardt is on speakerphone.”

“Reinhardt, what is it?” Her father quickly wiped his hands on a dish cloth. “You know you shouldn’t be calling us out of the blue like this. Is this line even secured?”

“Ja, it is secure,” her uncle said. “It isn’t normal to use this, but I’m out of options. We just received our orders.”

“Is the glorious Reich demanding the Swiss surrender again?”

“No, they’re invading.”

Her father grew deathly pale.

“Reinhardt, this isn’t the damned time for any sick pranks.”

“You think I would joke about this?” Her uncle said. “This orders are from the top. The Führer himself demands it.”

“Hitler the second must be losing his mind in his old age. Or do we have his syphilis to blame from this? That much hasn’t changed from father to son.”

“Does it matter? You must get your family to safety.”

“Switzerland is a fortress, we’ve been safe from the Nazis since the forties. Besides, isn’t the army bogged down in the east?”

“There has been an agreement with Russia,” Reinhardt said. “The Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact is back in effect. The Third Eastern War has ended.”

That made her father and mother stop and gape.

“What? They’re back to the Molotov Pact? But Hitler and Stalin hate each other. Hell, they can barely agree to a cease-fire for two goddamn weeks, let alone dropping all hostilities.”

“I don’t know why Stalin agreed to it, but it has been ratified. As of an hour ago, the Pact is back in place, there is peace between the Reich and the USSR, and there is no Eastern Front. We are to take all available forces and march on Switzerland from all sides.”

“But how can Stalin even trust Hitler enough to sign it? They’ve been at each other’s throats since their fathers were alive; they’ve hated each other since they were both tykes! Hell, this is the third Eastern War they’ve had since the forties.”

“There are rumors that Stalin’s grasp on power is being tested. It is possible there might be another Russian Revolution; he could be using this pause to clean house.”

“Another purge in Russia? That’s at least the fourth one this decade. And the eighties were supposed to be a more peaceful time.”

“It doesn’t matter what is happening in Russia, what matters is that the Wehrmacht and the Luftwaffe are mobilizing for an invasion, and you need to get to safety.”

“Reinhardt, how did you find out about this?” Her father asked. “You were just promoted to Blackwatch Commander, yes, but this…this has to go above you.”

Angela grabbed her mother’s hand, fear taking root. Her mother pulled her in close, hugging her so tight it felt like she would be crushed; Angela didn’t care.

“I’ve been ordered to draft invasion plans,” her uncle Reinhardt said tightly. “The upper echelons want to see if Blackwatch can be used for more than policing the Reich. They want this to test my leadership, to give Blackwatch more visibility and power.”

“Reinhardt, you can’t.”

“You think the Nazis care about what I want?” He laughed darkly. “I have to. Thanks to Blackwatch, I’ve avoided the SS for years, and the numerous purges to keep the ‘undesirables’ out, but this is something I can’t escape. If I hesitate for even a second…”

“Where…where will we be safe?”

“The invasion is an envelopment, a blitz for Zurich. That much of the plan has been solidified; everything else is still in the works. Avoid Zurich, and you will most likely be safe.”

“Reinhardt…” Her father stammered. He shook his head. “You’re the best friend I could have ever asked for. I know things haven’t been easy, with your family being German and we being Swiss, but—“

“I will stop you right there,” her uncle said. “Things are dark, yes, but we don’t have to go talking like we won’t see each other again. We must believe that we’ll see each other again. Besides, I haven’t seen my goddaughter in such a long time.”

“Thank you,” her father said. “Thank you so much…I, we best get going.”

“Move fast,” her uncle said. “The blitz is set to begin within three hours. Hitler won’t accept any slower moving plan.”

The phone clicked as her uncle hung up the line. Soon the phone began beeping, a fast busy. Her father slowly hit the button to end their side of the call. Despite being held by her mother, cold fear took hold of Angela. Seeing her father so scared made her even more scared.

“Angela,” her father said, kneeling down. “Angela, my angel, listen to me. Things are about to become very difficult. They will be downright terrifying. But they will get better; you have to have hope that things will get better.”

“But how?” She said, tears dotting her eyes.

“It is always darkest before dawn, my angel. We have to be strong; I need you to be strong. Do you understand?”

“No. Daddy, what’s going on?” She cried. “What’s going to happen?”

“I’m not sure. Angela, it is natural to become scared. Fear is the world’s way of telling us when we have to be brave. It is scary now, but we must be brave.”

“But I don’t know how to be brave.”

“That’s fine, your mother and I will teach you. We’ll give you everything you need to survive. Now, go to your room. Pack as many clothes as you can. We have to move fast.”

Angela sat in the back of the car, clutching her stuffed puppy. Her father drove, while her mother read a map by flashlight.

The night sky flashed, burning lines of fire lit it up, helped with occasional massive explosions. Sounds of war echoed through the night, making her flinch with each brutal blossom of light, or echo of thunder.

“Daddy, I’m scared.”

“I know, little one, I know,” he said. “We all get scared, even your father. But remember what I’m telling you: when we get scared, that means it is time to be brave.”

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace safer than home.”

“But we’ve never been there before.”

“Mommy and daddy have friends who own a summer house,” her mother said. “We’re going there for the time.”

“And that’s in the forest?”

“When people get older, they like to get away from the weariness of the world,” her mother said. “All this talk of Nazis this, Soviets that, British whats-its, and American meddling, it wears them down. They go to houses like these to disconnect for a bit, to turn off the sounds of the world and let themselves relax.”

“Why is there even a war?”

“Because a bad man thought he would do a better job running the world,” her father said. “Some Germans were fools for thinking he was right, and here we are.”

“But Uncle Reinhardt is German. Is he a fool?”

“I said ‘some’ Germans were fools; not all. Reinhardt and his family were the ones who saw the dangers of Adolf Hitler, but by the time everyone was ready to listen to them, it was too late. By then, it was against the law to say anything bad about Hitler.”

“But he says bad things about Hitler all the time.”

“That’s because of Blackwatch,” her father said. “They pretend like they’re good Nazi soldiers, and it lets them get away with things like that. They pretend to be bad so they don’t have to actually be bad.”

“Then how do you know Uncle Reinhardt?”

“Our families go back, little one. Back when the War broke out, Germany was doing very, very, very bad things to many people. Putting them in camps, but not the fun ones. They were trying to kill them.

“Uncle Reinhardt’s family and Blackwatch wanted to save them. So they worked with a man named Oskar Schindler, and they saved many of the people the Nazis were trying to kill. They sent them to families like ours so we can save them, send them to safety.”

“Did we save them?”

“Not enough, little one. It was never enough.”

“Dear!” Her mother snapped.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” her father said. “When you get in the business of saving people, you will always feel that you need to save more. We did save many of them, but the ones we couldn’t…it drains us.”

“But we did the best we could,” her mother hastily added. “We will continue to fight in our own ways.”

“Is that what we’re going to do?” Angela asked. “Fight in our own ways?”

“That’s exactly it,” her mother smiled. “Your Uncle Reinhardt fights in his own way, so we must, too. Take a left; we’re here.”

The morning came, but the explosions never stopped. Angela tried to play outside the cabin, but it all felt so empty. None of her friends were there; it was just her, several books, some chalk, and a ball to throw around. Eventually her mother called her in for food. After eating, she went back out to run and try to play more. She threw a ball around, and played hopscotch. After lunch, she took one of the few books she brought with her and read in the yard. She read until the night, then after dinner she read some more, until she had to go to bed.

The days passed like that. For a while, Angela liked being out of school. But the explosions still echoed across the woods, and occasionally planes would roar overhead, making the trees shake, her ears hurt, and forcing her to run to hide under the bed she slept in.

The planes brought with them massive explosions; sometimes Angela could see the fireballs peaking over the treetops, even though she squeezed herself under her bed. Her mother eventually joined her under the bed, holding her tightly, humming and singing lullabies. It made Angela sick to hear her mother so worried and scared, but she could never bring herself to ask her to stop.

“We’re safe here,” her mother said when the bombing grew even worse. “We’re safe.”

In a few days, Angela grew used to the noises of war.

One morning, Angela woke for breakfast, only to find her parents sitting in the kitchen, a small crank radio on the table. They clutched each other’s hands.

“…south, and from the east,” the radio crackled. “Switzerland has been liberated, Jewish resistance crushed beneath the treads of the panzers. From the skies, we rain bombs to shatter the lies the Jews had built this place with. No longer will the Aryan be held here, captive from our glorious purpose. No longer will the Jews count the money of the world, stockpiled in—“

Her mother turned the radio off, crying.

“Mommy?” Angela mumbled. Seeing her parents cry felt like the end of the world. “What happened?”

“Angela, come here,” she said. Something about her mother made Angela start to cry. Her mother scooped her up. “Things…things will get worse. Things will get scary. But we must remain strong.”

“We must stay brave,” her father said, taking her hand.

“What happened?” She cried.

“The Nazis won. They came from the north, the east, and the south. They overwhelmed us, overran our defenses. They took Switzerland.”

“Thank God they didn’t go M.A.D.,” her mother said through her tears. “Thank God no one else got bombed.”

“But they did drop bombs,” Angela said.

“But they didn’t drop the bomb. We didn’t have to suffer like America, Britain, or the USSR had to suffer.”

“Don’t forget that Germany and Japan were also bombed,” her father said.

“God, I never thought I’d miss the Darkest Days; I never thought I’d miss the time when we thought the entire world would be destroyed in nuclear fire.”

“That’s because we got through it,” her father said. “We thought the entire world was going to be destroyed, but it didn’t. That’s how we can look back and think it was all nothing, because we got through it. We’ll get through this, too. We’ll get through it just like how we got through the Darkest Days.”

“What happened with the Darkest Days?” Angela asked.

“Everyone, the Allies and Axis, they were all about to attack each other with atom bombs. Fortunately, some men on every side came to their senses and realized the danger those bombs caused; not just for them, but for the future of the world. They came together in secret to create the M.A.D. Pact, and they were able to pressure their leaders into signing it.

“Now, if one nation uses a nuclear weapon, the other sides will destroy everything with them. That’s what M.A.D. stands for: Mutually Assured Destruction. It’s a strange peace, allowing some war but not others, but it’s held since the fifties.”

“Honey, what do we do now?” Her mother asked.

Her father stared at the silent radio.

“Now?” He sighed. “Now we must meet our new masters.”

“What do you mean?”

“When we married, Reinhardt gave me a present; a promise. Should the worst come to pass and Switzerland fell under the rule of Nazi Germany, he would look after us. He’d do everything in his power to keep us safe, and being in command of Blackwatch gives him much power. But if we want to be safe, there are things we have to do.”

“You want us to give ourselves up to the Nazis?” Her mother said, voice full of disbelief.

“We don’t have a choice. The Nazis will begin a purge of all who resist; we have to stay on their good side, and have hope that Reinhardt will be able to put in a good word for us.”

“We’ll be traitors,” she sneered.

“Better a traitor than lined up and shot, or sent to a camp.”

“We can’t call Reinhardt. We don’t know if he even made it through the—“

“We have to have hope!” Her father snapped. “Reinhardt survived the Second Eastern War, and now the Third. He’s survived SS purges for God knows how long. He won’t perish from this, we have to believe that!

“We have to meet the Nazis, and show that we can be good little goose stepping citizens. We have to have hope that Reinhardt will find us, put in a good word for us, and help keep us safe.”

Her mother looked away, tears in her eyes. Her father took Angela’s hand.

“My dearest angel, I’m so, so, so very sorry. Things will become very difficult. Things will become even scarier than they’ve been. But do you remember why we get scared?”

“So we know when to be brave?”

“That’s exactly it. We’re all scared, even your mother and I. But now, we know that we have to be brave. We will find our own way of fighting back. But we have to be safe, first.”

He kissed her on her forehead, and tussled her hair.

“Go pack your things, my little angel. We must meet our fear head on.”

Angela shook with fright. It felt like she would throw up, even with an empty stomach. She fiddled with the seatbelt as her father and mother drove into a city.

“I don’t want to do this,” she said.

“I know,” her mother said. Reaching from the front seat, she gently grabbed Angela’s leg, just to be reassuring. “Neither I, nor your father want to do this.”

“Can’t we go back?”

“We can’t stay in that cabin forever. We have to meet our fears; we can’t run from them.”

As they drove closer to the city, smoke filled the air. There were some gunshots, but  random ones. Angela screamed and squeezed her stuffed puppy as the gunshots rang out. They turned a corner, and came face to face with a group of tanks.

“Driver, stop,” a voice bellowed through a bullhorn.

Her father hit the brakes, making the tires scream. Angela couldn’t help but cry out.

“Turn off the car and throw the keys out of the window.”

Her father obeyed the voice on the bullhorn.

“Get out of the car. Slowly.”

“My daughter is in the back seat,” he yelled.

“Then bring her. Move slowly.”

Together, as a family, they all left the car. Angela’s mother gently picked her up, and Angela held onto her for dear life.

“Walk to the checkpoint.”

As they walked forward, black-dressed soldiers approached them, machine guns slung over their shoulders, casually pointing at the ground.

“What do we have here?” One solder asked. “A family looking to run to the Reich for protection?”

“We’re here to welcome the Reich,” her father said.

“If you wanted to welcome us, why did you run to the hills?”

“Because we don’t have our own panzer.” Her father jerked his thumb to their car. “That doesn’t carry much armor.”

“Ha! Got that right!” The soldier said, barking out rough laughter. “Don’t you worry, this will be the first bright day for Switzerland. Heil Hitler.”

“Heil Hitler,” her parents said.

“What, no ‘Heil Hitler’ from the little one?” The soldier asked.

“This is too much excitement for her, especially seeing panzers,” her mother said. “She’s only seven.”

“Seven? Ah, my own little one is six,” the soldier said. “I can’t wait to see her again.”

“I don’t mean to rush anything,” her father said, “but would you happen to send word to one of your commanders?”

“You think a commander has time for a family?”

“This one does. I’m a personal friend of Reinhardt Wilhelm, Commander of Blackwatch.”

“Blackwatch?” The soldier laughed. “Oh yes, I bet you absolutely know him.”

He turned around, yelling at the assembled soldiers by the tanks.

“Marko, this man claims to be friends with your Commander.”

Another soldier jogged forward. He wore black, but on his shoulders was a strange patch. It wasn’t a swastika or the electric ‘SS,’ but rather a red circle. In the circle was a skull, with a red sword driven into its forehead.

“Marko, can you tell me if this man that he needs to—“

“Oh, you’re the Zieglers,” he said. “We’ve got a lookout notice for you. Commander Wilhelm is looking for you.”

“Wha—Blackwatch knows them?” The first soldier sputtered.

“They’ve been providing us with discreet information on Switzerland. It’s proven invaluable in the invasion.”

“Uh, then…I’m glad we found them.”

“We’re glad, too,” the Blackwatch man said. Angela could tell that this man didn’t trust the soldier’s words. “Return to your post, soldier; Blackwatch will take it from here.”

The soldier slunk away, and the Blackwatch man led them through the checkpoint.

“Sorry, you’ll have to leave your car,” he said. “One of my men will grab your things.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. We’ll get you into a safe house; Reinhardt has been asking for you every few hours.”

“He’s safe, then?” Her father asked.

“He was perfectly fine in the invasion, even from the spearhead.”

“When death comes for him, Reinhardt would be too stubborn to pick up on its hints,” her father bitterly laughed.

“Isn’t that the damned truth?” The Blackwatch man laughed. “He’ll outlive us all, and from the frontlines, to boot.”

He brought them to a small house. It seemed to be a shed more than anything else, but it had been cleared out and filled with bulky computers and radio equipment.

“This is a safe room,” the Blackwatch man said. “There’s no bugs here, but you can’t speak too loud. No cursing you-know-who or anything like that.”

“Thank you.”

The man nodded, and closed the door behind him. Angela’s father walked to one of the radios in the room.

“Daddy, why did we have to say ‘heil Hitler—'“

“Angela, darling, we have to change how we think and how we act,” her mother said. “This is the first lesson: you must do whatever you can to blend in. If you blend in, they won’t suspect you. If they don’t suspect you, they won’t send you to a camp; they won’t kill you.”

“This is doublethink, my little angel,” her father added.

“What’s doublethink?”

“Believing that two mutually contradicting beliefs are correct.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You’ll have to. And you’ll have to learn it fast.”

Her father picked up a radio, and talked into it.

“This is the Zieglers. Reinhardt, are you there? Over.”

Her father barely let off the radio’s call button when it crackled to life.

“Is that you?” Uncle Reinhardt said. “God, it is good to hear your voice. Over.”

“The some to you, old friend,” her father said. “We’re safe. We were picked up by a checkpoint outside of Zurich. Over.”

“I’ll be getting the report soon,” Uncle Reinhardt said. “Listen, this is a secure line, fully encrypted; no one will be eavesdropping. You must be good Nazi citizens. You must teach Angela how to doublethink, how to fool others, how to lie, and look like a model Nazi girl. This is how you save yourselves. Do you understand? Over.”

“We understand. We’re working with Angela. Over.”

“Thank God. My men will set you up with a place to live. I’ll visit when able, but it won’t be for a while. Over.”

“No need to apologize, invasions are never clean affairs. We’ll wait for you, over.”

“Good. I must return to work. I’ll let you know when I can talk and visit. Out.”

Her father put the microphone down. He took several seconds to compose himself.

“Angela, we have so many things to teach you,” he finally said, his voice and eyes filled with emotions. Angela suddenly felt like crying. “They will be hard lessons, with plenty of things you don’t want to do. We’ll have to be hard on you, and I’m so, so sorry that it has to be this way.

“But we don’t have the time to start them now. Please, for now, stay quiet. Let us do the talking. Then we’ll work on teaching you how to survive this damned world.”

“I, I think I get it.”

“You don’t. Not now. But we’ll keep you safe. Your Uncle Reinhardt will help you, too. But for now, we have to act like we’re good Nazi citizens. Your mother and I will have to say some very mean, hateful things. Things that will upset you. It pains us to say them, but this is to save us. Please don’t think any less of us.”

Chapter Text

Angela last slept before she killed Markus, crashed the plane, and defected. It felt like a lifetime had passed since then. Amari and her squad traveled with the caravan of civilians, driving in shifts throughout the night.

And yet, Angela couldn’t sleep.

I’m getting more and more paranoid, she thought. It would be so easy for some trigger-happy Nazi to launch a few missiles at this caravan.

She looked out the window, watching tired, scared faces peer through windows of cars, trucks, and vans. Many were crying, and their tears weren’t being drowned out by the noise of the caravan. Shock and sadness filled the air.

I should be in France, making a counter to Muninn. I should be there, making a hospital. My hospital. Oh God I should already be there, be free.

The sun slowly started to rise above the horizon. Angela looked through the rear window; black smoke and flashes of light dotted the horizon as explosives detonated, missiles launched, and gun batteries stabbed the skies as the battle unfolded.

And still they drove. Through crowded urban streets, overflowing city roads, steep rural banks with tall weeds, the soldiers drove on. The Humvee couldn’t drive on the banks of the road without running over dozens of people, forcing them to stay on the congested road.

“Hey Fareeha,” Oxton said. She sat next to Angela. “I thought the plan was to avoid being stuck in a refugee conga line.”

Dozens of sedans, vans, pickup trucks, and flatbed trucks packed the road, stuffed with belongings. Angela saw clothes, boxes of food, bottles of water, even tapestries stuffed in the cars and trucks. With the invasion, people grabbed what they could, and ran. For every vehicle, there were three or four families on foot, carrying their meager belongings.

“At least we got out at the right time,” Colomar said, tapping at her laptop. “My network says the Nazis are going after civilians, especially down the Nile.”

“Then we made the right choice,” Amari sighed from the driver’s seat.

“Don’t say that shit, Sarge,” Akande snapped. “You’ll jinx us.”

“I didn’t say shit. I’m just saying we made the right choice.”

“Speaking of choices,” Oxton said, “we gotta do something about this Humvee.”

“What do you mean, ‘do something about the Humvee?’” Colomar asked.

“Come on, we got a Humvee with a goddamn turret up top,” the Brit said, jerking her thumb at the roof-mounted gun. “We stick out like a sore thumb. Best case scenario, we get branded as deserters and captured; at worst, we’re fragged first.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Sergeant Amari hissed. “I’m coming up with something.”

“Any idea what that ‘something’ will be?” Akande asked.

“Fuck if I know, but one thing’s for certain: fleeing civilians will bring out the jackals. It’s not our objective, but we have to protect the civilians. Can’t let these people be picked on by any prick with a gun.”

“Sorry,” Angela said, “what do you mean, ‘jackals?’”

“Armed scumbags looking to make some easy money,” she replied.

“But why—“

Gunfire cut Angela off, making her jump. Men, women, and children screamed. Traffic quickly jammed to a stop.

“Dammit! Wish I said ‘a million pounds,’” Amari spat, killing the Humvee’s engine. “Those assholes didn’t wait.”

“A-are those the Nazis?” Angela stammered.

“No, jackals,” Akande said. He pointed ahead of them. There were a few men that Angela could barely make out. “No uniforms, and those look like cheap guns. They’re looking to steal.”

“Oh,” Angela said, her heart slowing. “That’s good. But what are we going to do?”

“It’s not our mission, but I’m not letting anyone get taken by those fuckers,” Amari said. “Form up. We take out the scavengers, and secure the civilians.”

“What about the Package?” Akande asked, pointing to Angela. “Who’s gonna watch her?”

“You just volunteered. Keep her close, keep her safe. Colomar, you stay with the Humvee, get on heads, and call out targets.”

“Solid copy, boss,” Colomar said, climbing up to the turret as Akande got down.

“Oxton, you’re with me. Let’s rock.”

“But why are these people doing this?” Angela asked. “They should be fighting Nazis, not trying to steal from their countrymen.”

“Why does the Red Angel of Verdun have a better opinion of people than us?” Oxton asked.

“We don’t have time for this,” Sergeant Amari snapped. “Those are war profiteers, and we’re going to stop them. Now let’s move!”

The three jumped out of the Humvee. Akande pulled Angela out of the truck; she barely had time to grab the backpack she filled with medical supplies.

Chaos reigned outside the truck. There were waves of people running from the gunfire, weaving between the cars and clogging the sides of the street, almost bouncing off the cars as they ran away. Hearing the panic made Angela’s heart jump, pumping adrenaline to wake her up.

Amari blazed the trail, rifle at the ready, Oxton behind her. Akande pushed Angela forward so she followed the Brit. Angela rummaged through an aid kit for ear plugs. They moved through the tight spaces between the cars, somehow not getting stuck.

Bullets rang out as men shot wildly. Now that Angela knew they weren’t Nazis, she felt calmer, but not by much. It had been a long time since she was in a gunfight, but it wasn’t long enough for her liking.

“Twenty meters up,” Colomar said over the radio. “Hostiles are on a flatbed truck, over.”

“Got a count, over?”

“Ten, say again, ten hostiles. Small arms, soft targets, over.”

Angela peaked around Oxton’s shoulder. Just as Colomar said, there were ten men on a flatbed truck laden with the belongings a family had hastily packed up. But the thick traffic boxed the truck into the middle of the road. The men yelled at each other, trying to find a way to get away with their ill-gotten gains.

Amari waved everyone down behind an SUV.

“We keep this clean, we make it quick,” the sergeant said. “Akande, pin them down. Oxton, you’re maneuvering with me. Colomar, you’re on over watch, keep us posted. Hooah?”

“Hooah,” Akande grinned

“Oxton, try to be careful.”

“You know I love playing with fire, love,” Oxton cheered.

With that, Oxton bolted across the street, firing blindly. That got the jackals to duck for cover. Once they were in cover, they shot at her. Oxton slid behind a car. Bullets slapped it, but the thick engine block kept her safe.

Angela could see Oxton laughing; laughing at being shot at!

She jumped as Akande’s gun went off above her head, the earplugs saving her hearing. She spun around, and saw that the big man had set up his gun on the hood of the SUV. He fired in short, controlled bursts. Two men were cut down, screaming. The rest went into hiding. That let Amari to move up to Oxton.

The squad moved like magic. The looters were hiding from Akande, but they didn’t see Amari moving to flank. The tall woman picked off the men exposed to her. When she got to Oxton, the Brit ran forward while she took cover. Angela leaned up to watch them.

A big hand grabbed her by the shoulder, dragging her behind the SUV. She yelped.

“Keep your head on a swivel,” Akande said. “We can’t get bogged down like those assholes.”

As the bullets flew, some looters threw down their guns and tried to run. Amari carefully aimed and fired, letting Oxton run to encircle them. And Akande laid down peals of fire, pinning the looters down. Then Sergeant Amari moved forward again.

But one looter peeked up, and saw her. He raised his rifle.

“Look out!” Angela yelled.

A burst of fire hit the sergeant, sending her sprawling.

“Shit, Fareeha got hit,” Akande yelled.

Angela saw Amari crawling behind a car, her left shoulder bleeding heavily.

“Can you keep them pinned down?” Angela asked Akande.

“What do you mean?” The big man growled, shooting in longer bursts.

“Sergeant Amari is hurt, I need to get to her.”

“You’re the asset,” Akande spat. “You’re the reason we got this mission.”

“But—“

“The sergeant knows the risks,” he said, cutting her off. “You come first, even over us.”

Angela turned at Amari. She leaned against the car’s tire, hand against her wound to try and stop the flow of blood.

She got shot in the shoulder, Angela thought, squinting to see clearly. She could have a clipped artery. She could bleed out in under a minute.

Surrounded by gunfire, Angela realized how scared she had gotten. She felt like a little girl, terrified, but her father’s words still came back to her.

“We get scared to know when we should be brave.”

“I’m a doctor,” she whispered, “called to serve. If I’m to make my own hospital, I start here.”

Gritting her teeth, Angela grabbed her bag and bolted out into the open.

“Ziegler!” Akande bellowed. “Get back here!”

Angela ignored him, running as fast as she could. She weaved between cars, her blood pounding in her ears, adrenaline burning her veins, her heart beating like it would explode, her lungs straining to pull in so much air, she had to move!

“Colomar, get up here, Ziegler went rogue,” she heard Akande spit, but he sounded a million miles away.

Bullets from the looters whizzed around her, hitting cars and shattering glass, Angela swore she felt the heat of a bullet fly over her shoulder. She focused on getting to Amari, and somehow stayed just a step ahead of the gunfire.

The run couldn’t have been more than twenty meters, but it felt like a kilometer. She slid next the sergeant, tearing open a medical kit.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Amari gasped.

“I’m a doctor,” she replied, putting on latex gloves. “I’m saving your life.”

“Get your hands off me, Red Angel,” the sergeant spat, slapping her hand away.

I am sick and fucking tired of that goddamn name!

She pressed a gloved hand against the sergeant’s wound. Amari screamed and thrashed.

“I am a doctor,” she yelled, ignoring the woman’s pained screams; she heard worse in Verdun. “A damn good one, too. Let me work!”

Angela grabbed a syringe of local anesthesia and jabbed it into her arm. Amari sluggishly tried to fight her off. Angela could tell her sluggishness wasn’t from the anesthesia, but blood loss.

She unzipped Amari’s body armor, deftly pulling it off. She cut open the rest of her uniform to better get at the injury, leaving Amari in a t-shirt and sports bra, then she raided the medical kit. Angela pulled out forceps, gauze rolls, and scalpels. Medical equipment had long been standardized, even across allegiances; she knew everything the kit had.

A sharp whistling exploded next to Angela, her backpack slammed against her, knocking her to the ground, making her scream. She got shot! Her hands went to her back, but felt nothing.

She hadn’t gotten shot, the backpack and aid kits took the bullet. Fresh terror pumped through her veins.

“The Muninn,” she gasped, grabbing the pack.

The bullet hit the upper part of the backpack, hitting aid kits instead of the stolen box. The bullet shredded the molded plastic kits, shattering them and destroying the various rolls of gauze, pads, bandages, and disinfectants, yet because of the kits, the bullet didn’t hit her. Angela moved further behind the car to protect herself, and turned her attention back to Amari.

Working helped sooth her nerves. Angela cleaned the wound, and blood continued to gush out; yet somehow the bullet had not clipped Amari’s aorta, a small miracle. Still, she couldn’t leave the bullet in, it might fragment and send metal pieces into Amari’s heart.

Feet pounded the ground. Angela looked up, and saw Colomar running up to her.

“What’s going on?” Amari mumbled.

“Goddamn doctor here fucked our plans,” Colomar spat, letting lose with her rifle. Bullets slammed into the car, forcing her down. “We need to cover you, get you back to the Humvee.”

“I’m working on her, she can’t be moved,” Angela said.

“We’d never be in this crap if you stayed put, puta!”

“And your sergeant would be dead,” she yelled back, grabbing a set of forceps. “Let me save her life.”

She peered at the wound and found the bullet. Angela deftly pulled it out, getting a sluggish reaction from the sergeant.

“Oxton, move up,” Colomar yelled. Akande’s massive gun roared again. “I got you covered.”

Amari needed to get to a hospital, and she needed it now. She would be dead in a matter of minutes. But Angela had her life’s work.

Tearing off the bloody gloves, she opened the waterproof bag and pulled out her technological panacea, her Caduceus. She built it to be a handheld device, shaped like a spear, almost 30 centimeters long. She made the cover out of transparent plastic so she could troubleshoot any physical problem, which also showed the inner workings of the device.

“Hold still,” Angela ordered as she loaded a cartridge of nanoparticles.

She turned her Caduceus on. Small LEDs lit up as it powered up, and the inner gears and mechanizations began to spin. Her Caduceus began pulling in air to purify. It released a steady stream of aerosolized nanoparticles onto Amari’s injured shoulder.

The nanomachines scanned the sergeant’s wound, and wirelessly talked with the Caduceus. Angela also coded the nanoparticles to release a small amount of morphine so the patient would relax.

Despite the blood loss and morphine, Amari’s eyes bulged out of her head when she saw her ruined shoulder pull itself back together. To her, the red meat of her shoulder bubbled, and began knitting itself back up. But to Angela, she saw the nanoparticles reassembling themselves into a replication of the injured woman’s flesh.

“What the fuck is going on?” Colomar demanded, looking down at her sergeant.

Veins sealed, muscles regrew, sinew reknit itself. Soon Amari didn’t even have a scar.

Her Caduceus beeped; it used up a full cartridge of nanoparticles. Angela had eleven left.

“What was that?” Amari stammered.

“My life’s work,” she smiled. “I found a way to heal the body.”

The gunfire stopped. Feet pounded the ground as Akande and Oxton ran up to them.

“Holy shit Fareeha, you okay?” Oxton gasped.

“I am. I feel great,” Sergeant Amari slurred. She stretched her arm, and Angela could hear the joint crack, pop into place. “What’s the status?”

“All hostiles are down,”  Akande said. “Area is secure.”

“What the fuck is that thing?” Colomar demanded.

“My Caduceus,” Angela said proudly, holding the small device up. “As the two greatest medical minds, Markus and I were tasked with finding a way to save soldiers. He decided to heal the mind, and I found a way to healing the body.”

“That’s some pretty fancy tech for a Nazi,” Colomar said.

“I am not a Nazi!” Angela snapped, anger replacing pride in a second.

“Don’t call the pretty lady that,” Sergeant Amari garbled, her head lolling about.

“Boss,” Oxton asked, “are you okay?”

“Feel fuzzy…” Amari tried to get up, but only succeeded in falling down.

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” Angela said, putting a gentle hand on Amari to keep her seated. “She needs to lie down.”

“If the sarge is out of it, I’m next in the chain,” Akande said. He slung his machine gun over his shoulder and bent down to pick up the wounded sergeant. “I’ll get her to the Humvee, we lay her out, and hunker down. Oxton, run point. Colomar, cover me and the Asset.”

“Stop, I have to give her an IV,” Angela protested.

“We’ll hook her up when we’re back in the truck,” the big man said, easily slinging the wounded woman over his shoulders. “We can’t stay out here, there might be more enemies.”

“I’ll keep an eye on our Nazi, make sure she doesn’t run on us again,” Colomar said.

Angela glared at Colomar, who grinned at seeing her so riled up.

Angela sat in the Humvee with Colomar, glaring at her every so often, but kept watch over Amari in the back. Colomar, meanwhile, watched her from the front seat, tapped at her laptop while they waited for the sergeant to come to.

Soon Amari groaned, waking up. Akande laid her out on the backseat of the Humvee, which let Angela hook an IV drip up to one of the roof handles.

“Hey, the boss is awake,” Colomar said, closing her laptop. “How you feeling?”

“Hungover,” Amari groaned, sitting up. She pulled at her ruined t-shirt and sports bra.

“And your shoulder?” Angela asked, gently pulling the IV out of her arm.

“Shoulder? Ugh, wait, Dr. Ziegler…?” She mumbled. “Can’t be right, I dreamt I got shot.”

“You did,” Angela said. “But I saved you.”

“Hold on, you mean that really happened? That was your Cad…cad-what?”

“Caduceus,” Angela smiled, gently correcting her. “And yes, it did happen. You took a bad hit and lost a lot of blood. The IVs should help you recover.”

“Do the Nazis have this tech?” Amari asked.

“No. I worked on this by myself, and I destroyed my lab and my research before I defected,” Angela said. “The only place this still exists is in my head. Still, my Caduceus could always use adjustments. Tell me, how do you feel?”

“My arm itches like hell,” Amari hissed, scratching at her shoulder. “Feels like I got ants running under my skin.”

“That’s the nanoparticles. They act as scaffolding, sealing the wound while promoting stem cell creation. The stem cells slowly replace the nanoparticles until everything is healed, or they use up their supply of power. They break themselves down and are flushed out of the body.”

“How long would this last?”

“It varies based on the wound. For you, at least a week.”

“Better than dying.” Amari rolled her shoulder. “This is so strange. I tore my rotator cuff a few years ago. I got it fixed, but it always gave me trouble, little stabbing pain when I tried to raise my arm above shoulder height. But it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“You have full range of motion?”

“Completely pain-free. Other than the itching, that is.”

“Excellent!” Angela smiled. “Because they promote stem cell creation, the nanoparticles heal everything they can until they’re fully used up. I can add ‘chronic pain’ to the list of things it fixes.”

“You mean the sarge was a test subject to you?” Colomar pressed.

“N-no! I didn’t…!” Angela gasped, her face paling. “I mean, I tested my Caduceus in a laboratory, on mice, but I would never test it on a human!”

“I thought the Nazis were big on human experimentation,” Amari said.

“I’m not a Nazi,” Angela protested. “The Reich doesn’t teach it, but I live by the Hippocratic Oath. I didn’t mean to say I experimented on you, I simply haven’t had the time to properly test the healing effects on old injuries.”

Amari traded looks with Colomar, who then glared at Angela. Angela felt hate warm warmed her veins as Colomar so clearly glared at her, judged her.

“I didn’t use you,” she snapped. “I wanted to help you. I became a doctor to save lives, and I wanted to save yours.”

“And this thing does all this stuff by itself?” Amari slowly asked, rolling her shoulder again. “You can just zap an injury, and make it go away?”

“Yes, but I still need to give it nanoparticles. For small injuries, I don’t use a full cartridge. The more I heal, the more nanoparticles I use. It took one cartridge to fully heal you.”

“Well, you got any extra?” The sergeant asked. “I tweaked my knee a while back, could use a little of that.”

“You serious, boss?” Colomar gasped.

“I have eleven cartridges left, but I want to ration them,” Angela said, grateful to be interrupting Colomar. “The nanomachines are very difficult to make. When I destroyed my laboratory, I destroyed the only means of their production; at least, until I can recreate my laboratory, hopefully with the Allies. I’d like to save the other cartridges for emergencies.”

“Good idea,” Amari said. She paused for a second, as if arguing with herself over something, but finally spoke. “Thank you. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you.”

“You’re welcome, Sergeant Amari,” Angela smiled.

“N-no need for the sergeant part,” she stammered.

Colomar scoffed at that. Angela ignored her.

“Then you’re welcome, Amari. Please, call me Angela. I don’t like being called ‘Nazi.’”

As she said that, Angela glared at Colomar. The soldier woman snorted and rolled her eyes, muttering something in Spanish that Angela assumed had to be a curse of some kind.

“Yeah, I get that,” Amari laughed. “How long was I out?”

“About seven hours,” Colomar said. “We stopped for the evening. We got some refugees hailing us as heroes.”

“I don’t understand,” Angela said. “There was no one else to fight for them. You did what any soldier would do.”

“I know my people. They’re probably trying to shower us with gifts, right?”

“They are,” Colomar said. “We’ve got dozens of families offering to make us dinner.”

“Figured as much,” she said, opening the Humvee door. “Where are we?”

“We’re along the Mediterranean, almost a hundred klicks out.”

“Damn, we hauled ass.” Amari paused. “And Kafr El Sheikh …?”

“Still fighting,” Colomar smiled. “My network is keeping me updated.”

“You should be behind a computer, not in the field,” Amari said. “Right, let’s get up and crack open some MREs. Wait, the civilians are probably cooking for us, right?”

“Akande is helping them, actually.”

“He doesn’t look like the cooking kind,” Angela said.

“You’ll find we’re full of plenty of surprises.” Amari grabbed her bloodstained uniform. She stopped when she saw that Angela cut it open to treat her. She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a cheap camouflage jacket.

“And Angela,” she said, adjusting her rifle sling, “this time you really need to stick with us. We can’t let you get carried away by an angry mob.”

“Hopefully they won’t hear this damned German accent of mine,” Angela sighed.

Amari paused, then went back to her bag. She pulled out a keffiyeh and wrapped it around Angela’s head, covering most of her hair. Amari even took a second to tuck a few errant strands of hair behind her ear.

Angela knew of Amari’s strength when the tall woman grabbed her arm back in Kafr El Sheikh. But now, Amari’s touch felt gentle as she tied the keffiyeh in place, her hands strong and warm as she tucked her blonde hair back. Angela shivered.

“There,” Amari said. “Keep that on, hopefully it’ll do the trick for now.”

Angela nodded, stowing her Caduceus in one of the aid kits and brought it with her, just in case she needed it.

Colomar led them along. With the convoy stopped, most of the cars had moved off the road, and the families had gathered to share whatever meager food they had. Angela couldn’t understand a word of what was said, but the tone seemed cheerful.

“Are you smiling?” Colomar asked, accusation in her voice.

“I’m sorry, but this takes me back to Switzerland. My family was spared from the worst of the invasion, but we had so little food; for years, we ate soup for almost every meal. My father and our neighbors all cooked together, so we could share what we had.

“Looking back, I could see the strain it caused. But as a girl, it was fun to eat with my friends. We knew things were bad, but for an hour or two, we got to play and eat together. I’ve come to love having soup.”

“You picked the right trip for an all-soup diet,” Amari said. “We’ll have our fill here.”

“Please don’t play with your shoulder.”

Amari blinked, realizing she started scratching, digging her nails deep into her skin.

“Damn, hope I’m not messing this up,” she said, putting her hand to her side.

“It’s fine. The nanoparticles should be able to handle some itching, but I want to give them all the time they need. We can’t exactly take you to a hospital in case they break down.”

“Isn’t that right?” Amari laughed. “Ooh, got a whiff of cooking. Akande must’ve found some good stuff.”

Angela could smell a fire and sizzling meat. She saw Akande laughing and chatting with some men, helping them grill next to some parked cars. A group of women stood by them, stirring a very large pot of soup.

The food’s fragrance filled Angela’s nose, making her stomach growl. She wished she knew what kind of spices were being used.

“Our fearless warrior of justice returns,” Akande laughed. “How are you feeling, sarge?”

“Little hungover, but really damn good. This isn’t looted, is it?”

“Of course not. These fine gentlemen run a few halal shops; they were able to grab some beef before they ran.”

“That’s good, I couldn’t imagine letting any food go to waste,” Angela said.

Colomar gave her a surprised look. Angela glared back at her. She wasn’t a spoiled German, she grew up a starving Swiss. And the smell of the spices started driving her mad. Angela had been so focused on her exhaustion, she forgot how hungry she had gotten.

“Yes, it’d be a shame,” Akande said, unperturbed. “We were able to jury-rig a smoker, so we’re making jerky as well. And these charming ladies are making lentil soup.”

“Sounds divine,” Amari said. “Where’s Lena?”

“She’s patrolling the edges, trying to make some friends and scope out possible threats.”

A hand tugged at Angela’s shirt. She turned around and saw a little girl, maybe seven years old. She had dark and dirty hair, with dirt and grime covering her face and muting the colors of her clothes. It seemed that the girl fled just as the Nazis began their bombing runs. She looked tiny, but she wasn’t thin. It seemed that the Allies kept food flowing through Cairo better than the Nazis could feed their own half-starved masses.

“Doctor?” Angela barely understood her; the girl must have only started learning English. But she pointed at the bright red aid kit.

“Yes, doctor,” she said, pointing to herself.

The girl grabbed her hand, trying to pull her away. Amari said to stay with them, but the girl clearly looked upset.

Angela double-checked Amari’s keffiyeh, making sure it had been wrapped around her head tightly, and slipped away, following the girl as she weaved through the parked cars and trucks.

The girl led her to a family that sat beside a parked car, huddling around a boy who couldn’t be more than twelve. He lay on a sleeping bag, bundled up with heavy blankets, sweating heavily and shaking.

Angela ran to his side. The mother and father glared at her, but seeing the red kit with the white cross, they gasped in relief.

“What happened?” Angela asked, pulling the blanket back.

“One of those bastards shot my son,” the father cried. “We were running, glass was breaking, and…and he cried, and screamed…”

Angela saw a bandage tied tight on his arm. Putting on a pair of gloves, she gently peeled it back, examining the wound. The boy had certainly been shot, but fortunately the bullet wasn’t lodged in his arm; it looked like a clean-through wound. Unfortunately, the wound wasn’t cleaned properly, and had already gotten heavily infected.

That explains the sweating and shivering.

She undid the bandage and began cleaning it with iodine. She trimmed some flesh that threatened to turn gangrenous, and lanced it. It proved to be too large to simply cover with a bandage, so Angela sutured it, and applied a layer of antimicrobial ointment. The boy still needed an antibiotic pill the kit had.

“Water?” She asked.

His mother gave her a bottle. She tilted the boy’s head up, placed the pill in his mouth, and gently poured some water into his mouth. Reflex made him swallow. Rummaging through her kit, she found a small paper envelope. Placing seven pills in it, she gave it to his mother.

“Give him one a day,” she said.

“One a day,” the mother smiled. “Oh, bless you, doctor. Bless you!”

As Angela packed up, more hands were pulling at her. A line had formed behind her.

“Doctor,” men and women pleaded. “Please. Doctor. Help us.”

Gathering her supplies, she followed the first man. He led her to a girl who cherished an arm that had swelled to almost double its original size. Ugly discoloration covered the swelling area, signs that her arm had been broken.

Angela gently eased the girl’s arm into a neutral position, pulled out her Caduceus, and gave her a short dose of nanoparticles. The girl sighed in relief; she even managed to move her fingers. The nanoparticles had fully set the girl’s arm.

“Doctor, doctor…”

Angela packed her kit, ready to work. Just as she started moving, she heard a woman’s scream of pain. Rushing to the sound, she saw a heavily pregnant woman lying on a mat, dress hiked up, clutching a her husband’s hand.

“Easy,” Angela said, showing the red-and-white medical bag. She pulled out a syringe of anesthesia. “For the pain.”

The mother nodded violently, and she gently injected her.

“Do you have clean blankets?” She asked the husband. “No? What about newspapers? Fresh newspapers? Bring them here.”

A few people were running to help her; it seemed being a doctor drew a crowd. Soon Angela had dozens of freshly printed newspapers; they would work in lieu of clean linen. She eased the mother back, propping her up with a few nearby blankets.

“Breathe,” she said, taking a big breath to demonstrate. “Breathe. Push!”

They didn’t have to wait long. The woman breathed, cried, and pushed, and the baby came into a waiting section of a Kafr El Sheikh newspaper, screaming and wailing. The mother and father were crying from joy, endlessly thanking Angela even as she cleaned everything up.

“Please, what’s your name?” The joyous father asked her.

“Angela.”

“Angela,” he smiled, tears cutting through the dirt and grime on his face. He gently handed the baby to Angela. “Then this is Angel!”

“Oh, thank you…” She stammered, tears spilling from her eyes.

But Angela couldn’t stay with the new family; there were still people in need of help. A surge of energy filled her, every ounce of exhaustion and hunger vanished, and her heart sang.

This is what I was meant to do, she thought as she went to the next patient. I was made to heal the sick, the wounded, to care for them all. Oh, this must be what it feels like to have my own hospital. I can’t wait to build it!

Angela smiled as she worked, happy to be easing the suffering.

She went from family to family, healing men, women, and children with light and heavy cuts, broken bones, and infected wounds. She remained hard at work when a loud commotion broke out in the crowd behind her.

“Move it, come on,” Oxton grunted. Angela looked up; the tiny woman struggled to push her way through the crowd, but Amari made much better headway.

“Angela! Where are you?” The tall sergeant yelled.

“Please don’t yell, you’ll startle my patient.”

Amari and Oxton came to a stop. Amari seemed particularly taken aback, eyes going wide as she watched Angela gently pull a large shrapnel piece from a woman’s arm.

“I, I told you to stay close to me,” she stammered.

“And leave these people to suffer?”  Angela said. “I have a duty to help them.”

“Damn, this is strange,” Oxton whistled. “Never thought I’d see an Egyptian being helped by a—”

“Lena,” Amari snapped. “Don’t call her that! Not out loud!”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Olivia, Akande, cancel off the search,” she said, speaking into her radio. “We found our VIP. She’s playing Red Cross with the civilians, over.”

“Seriously?” Colomar said. “The Red Angel of Verdun isn’t cutting—”

Amari hammered the call button, cutting Olivia off with a burst of loud radio chirps.

“She’s helping people, nothing more. We don’t call her that, over.”

“Solid copy. Over,” Colomar groaned.

“Good. Meet us back at the convoy for dinner. Out.”

Angela cleaned the shrapnel wounds with a few alcohol wipes. She went to patching the woman up with her Caduceus, took off her latex gloves, and gave her some antibiotic pills.

“Do we have to leave?” She asked. “There are dozens of people who need my help.”

That got Amari to look at her in surprise.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to stay and help,” the sergeant said, “but we have our mission, and that’s more important. I’m sorry, but we have to get you to Allied High Command.”

Realization poured over Angela. Of course Markus’ damn Muninn would be the bigger than healing the wounded, but she hadn’t made such a difference in her entire life.

I can get addicted to helping people.

“You’re right,” she sighed, turning to the refugees. “Sorry, I have to go.”

People begged her to stay as she gathered her belongings, but Angela tore herself away, following Oxton and Amari. Her time in Verdun gave her the ability to ignore pleading, but that pleading had been for her to stop; this time, they begged for her to continue her good work. Angela felt like something would break inside of her, she had never had to deal with this.

She checked her Caduceus as she packed up. With all of the work she had done, she had used up another cartridge. She slid the third into place.

“You only have a few cartridges of those nano-magic-things, right?” Amari asked.

“It’s not magic, it’s nanotechnology. And yes, I was only able to make twelve.”

“But…you used it so carelessly.”

“What do you mean?” Angela asked, her brow wrinkling.

“I mean, those cartridges must be expensive, hard to make. I thought you’d be saving it for something really important.”

“But this is important. I built my Caduceus it to help heal any injury, and there are dozens injured people in need of aid. This is why I became a doctor, to help everyone.”

Amari stared at her.

“Then how many cartridges did you use?”

“Just one. Small injuries need less particles, so I can stretch it out. It’s only when it comes to gunshot wounds that more are needed.”

“Well, there’s plenty of pain here,” Amari mumbled, breaking eye contact.

“Exactly.” Angela’s eyes drifted to the tattoos on her wrists. “I don’t want this to look like I’m trying to undo what I’ve done, I’m doing this because I truly want to make the world a little better, Amari.”

“Fareeha,” she stammered.

“Sorry?”

“It’s my first name. You…don’t have to call me Amari,” the sergeant said. “Saying that makes me feel like you’re my prisoner.”

“Am I not?”

“No, you’re a VIP that we have to deliver to High Command. And aside from a damn habit of going rogue, you proved that you can be a major help.”

Angela smiled at that.

Help. Yes, that’s all I ever wanted to do.

Angela thought back to when she was a little girl, and she had pledged to herself to overcome the challenges of living in the Third Reich. It felt like a great weight lifted from her shoulders.

I’m living my dream. This is what’s waiting me in France.

“Thank you for believing me, Fareeha.”

“Now stay close to me. I mean it, I have to keep you safe.”

They made their way back to the massive crowd of food. A line dozens long stretched from the chefs, waiting to be served, but it moved quickly. The women spooned out lentil soup, while the men passed out cut-up beef. Angela got a cheap Styrofoam plate, and the chefs filled it with food.

It all smelled heavenly, and the first spork full of lentil soup danced on her tongue. It felt heavy on pepper, but the thin blend of spices was so much better than the German food she had to eat endlessly in the Reich.

“We get some food,” Fareeha said, walking back to the Humvee, “we eat, catch some shut-eye, then it’s back on the road at first light.”

“No rest for the bloody wicked, eh?” Oxton chuckled, digging into her food.

“Sadly, you’re right. Especially with this shitty assignment.”

Colomar and Akande made their way back, carrying a full plate of food each.

“You said she was helping to heal people?” Colomar asked. “She wasn’t…?”

“No, Olivia, she wasn’t experimenting on them,” Fareeha sighed.

“Man, the Red Angel of Verdun isn’t all that,” she sighed, sitting down.

“I’d like it if you would stop calling me that,” Angela huffed.

“Then what else should we call you?”

“I told you my name,” she said sharply. “You can call me Angela.”

“Let me guess,” Colomar wickedly grinned. “You’re trying to make up for all the innocent blood you spilled, eh? Let me tell you, this little excursion doesn’t change anything.”

“Colomar, drop it,” Fareeha snapped.

“What? She needs reminding.”

“I don’t need reminding,” Angela said, looking at her tattoos. “I know exactly what I’ve done, and I know that I can’t be forgiven. I just wanted to add some good in the world, any at all. Not to make up for my sins, but in spite of it.”

“We have an eloquent Angel,” Akande chuckled, digging into the lentil soup.

“And she’s got some nice ink, too,” Oxton said. She slid up next to Angela to look at her tattoos, but got a bit too close for comfort. Angela yelped.

“I like those! Are each done by different artists?”

“Uh—please, I don’t feel comfortable sharing this,” Angela stammered, blushing heavily.

“Ah, sorry,” Oxton said, moving back. “I’ve been dying to get a better look at your ink, it looks so good.”

“She’s got a fascination with tattoos,” Fareeha laughed.

“These beauts kind of give it away, yeah?” Oxton smiled, holding up her tattoo covered arms. “Sorry, my curiosity got the better of me.”

“T-then thank you, but I don’t want to be sharing these,” Angela said.

“Fair enough,” Oxton said, holding her hands up as if to say ‘no big deal.’

“Everyone, eat up, we need to catch as much sleep as possible,” Fareeha said. “We’ll be making a hard push to Turkey.”

“Still think this is a bad idea,” Colomar grumbled.

“That’s nice, but this is our only chance to get Angela to Allied High Command in Free France that doesn’t involve traveling the other way around the world.”

“Damn Nazis,” Akande spat.

“Speaking of which, no more calling the VIP that,” Fareeha said. “She’s a defector. She saved Sayta back in Italy, she risked her life to save mine, and she spent nearly an hour helping out refugees. She deserves better from us.”

“You got it, boss.” But Angela could hear the resentment in Colomar’s voice.

“You’ve certainly been a big help,” Akande smiled. “Aside from running away in the middle of a firefight, that is.”

“Thank you,” Angela said to the soldiers. “Is there something else I can call you?”

“I’m Lena,” Oxton said. “You probably know Akande by now.”

“You white people have a hard time with my last name,” the big man grinned, “so you can just use my given.”

“He’s right about that,” Lena nodded. “And that’s Olivia.”

“Just call me Sombra,” the Spanish woman said flatly.

“She can be a drama queen,” Akande laughed. “’Sombra’ is her screen name.”

“That sounds…wait, are you part of counter-intelligence?”

“I used to be,” Olivia said, “but I like wet work more.”

“Yes, we have heard of you,” Angela gasped. “You’re responsible for the Reichstag data breach four years ago, aren’t you? You’re the reason the Nazis outlawed physical connections to the Reich intranet near combat zones.”

“So good to know the Nazi chica fears me,” Olivia grinned.

“Well, the SS might hate you, but Blackwatch loves you. The SS purged much of its hardware, and we were able to install our own monitoring software on the replacements. We’re able to keep an eye on dozens of Nazi activities because of that breach! Thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for you, I did it to shut the Reich down,” she snapped.

“And we use it to help further destabilize the Reich. We both want the same thing.”

Grumbling, Olivia went back to picking at her slice of beef.

“Bag your trash when you’re done,” Fareeha said, getting up. “We sleep in shifts, I want wheels up at daybreak. Lena, you got first watch, I’ll scope the area out a bit. Colomar, you’re with me.”

Lena climbed into the Humvee’s turret, and Olivia followed Fareeha through the mess of refugees. Akande grabbed shotgun, lowered the seat to a recline, and within a few seconds, began snoring.

Angela sat with her back to wheel of the vehicle, fiddling with her Caduceus. She knew she should be trying to sleep, but she still felt too wired to sleep, too filled with adrenaline from helping the injured.

“I’d work on getting some sleep,” Fareeha said.

That snapped Angela back to reality. The sergeant had walked up to the Humvee.

“Aren’t you patrolling?” Angela asked.

“Yes, I just finished.”

“Oh.”

Fareeha pointed at the ground next to Angela, quietly asking permission. Angela nodded.

“I…I can’t sleep,” Angela said. “Not now. I’m still too energetic.”

“You’re not a real soldier then,” Fareeha laughed, sitting next to her. “Real soldiers are able to clock out at a moment’s notice. Take a look at Akande.”

“I’m not a soldier,” Angela agreed. “I’m a doctor. At least, I try to be when the Reich does not make me do other things.”

“Do they let you be a doctor in Blackwatch?”

“Exclusively. That’s what I love about it. Other than always trying to destroy the Reich.”

“How did they recruit you into Blackwatch? It can’t have been easy.”

“I was actually groomed for it,” Angela said. “You know that my uncle, Reinhardt, is the Commander. I grew up with him, and he knew I was prime Blackwatch material.”

“That must be one hell of a story.”

“I’m afraid it is not,” Angela sighed. “It’s too dark to make a good story.”

“What isn’t dark in this rotten world?” Fareeha snorted.

“You’re playing with your shoulder again.”

Fareeha realized she was digging at her shoulder again.

“I’m going to knock out,” she stammered. “I suggest you do the same.”

But try as she might, Angela couldn’t get to sleep. Her mind was drawn to Blackwatch, when she was first introduced to the agency.

Chapter Text

The bell rang, ending another school day; Angela couldn’t wait to get out of her uniform.

“Remember girls, there’s a biology test next week,” Frau Kuefer smiled. “You don’t have to study, just have a good weekend. Heil Hitler.”

Angela managed to mouth the phrase, letting others say it for her. Bile still rose in her throat; it made her remember the day Uncle Reinhardt took her in, the day her parents…

No, not now. This wasn’t the time or place for that. She had to push that feeling down deep where it wouldn’t surface. She couldn’t let others see it; they could report her.

Now that she lived with Uncle Reinhardt, she got to go to an all-girls school in Berlin. Angela didn’t miss the boys; they were loud, unruly, and brash. But the girls were hardly better.

“It was a long day, wasn’t it?” Brown-haired Heidi said as she gathered her books.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Angela said, closing her backpack.

“Ugh, I am so not looking forward to that test,” Heidi groaned, following Angela out.

Angela wondered what made Heidi her friend. When she moved in two years ago, Heidi just started following her around. Heidi didn’t ask to be friends like Angela’s real friends did back it Switzerland, she just stuck by Angela until everyone else thought they were friends.

“Why not?” Angela said. “It’s just about the circulatory system; it’s easy.”

“It’s just so much work. You remember how hard Frau Kuefer grilled us this week.”

“It was just a few questions. I had tougher quizzes in Switzerland.”

“How can you say that? It was brutal! Most of the girls couldn’t pass.”

Fascists think women need to be in the kitchen, popping out babies, her mother had taught her. They think men should be manly men, and women should stay home and tend the hearth.

That made Angela’s heart catch in her throat. Down, back down. Not here, not now.

But her mother had been right. Why did they even go to school? Angela learned more by reading old textbooks at home. Did they do this it to wean them from learning? Groom them into being good Nazi wives and have lots of Nazi babies? The only thing the school truly taught well were a plethora of housekeeping skills.

Angela looked around the hallway. The ceilings were so tall, the polished floor shined, the metal lockers were shiny and new, the lights weren’t yellowed, wood paneling had been stained to a beautiful aged color, everything in this school had to be shiny, expensive, and new. This wasn’t like her old school. Everyone here had been dedicated to the Reich. Every girl was daughter to a high ranking Nazi. Everyone here was rich. She was the only non-German, enrolled only because of her Uncle’s rank.

“Well, I want to be a doctor,” Angela forced herself to say. “I have to study for that.”

“I’ll say. I can never drag you out anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” she lied, “but there’s so much work, so much to learn.”

“Ugh, I know. Homework is brutal.”

“Homework is easy. I’m reading other books on anatomy to learn more,” Angela said. “I want to be the best doctor in the Reich. I have to start now.”

“Wow, you’re so dedicated,” Heidi said, smiling her sincerity. “I’m jealous.”

You’ll have to be a better doctor than any other man, her mother had told her. You’ll have to fight harder than anyone else to prove that you’re not just a woman playing for fun.

“You just have to put some work into it,” Angela said.

As they walked by the cafeteria, Heidi ran in, grabbed a small parfait, and ran out. She didn’t have to pay; it even lay on a silver platter.

“I guess you’re right, but there’s so much going on,” Heidi said.

Heidi looked at her parfait as she talked; she didn’t see Angela glare at her as she casually picked out the fruit with a silver spoon. “Lisa Ehrlichmann is having a sleep over this weekend, but Uta Beyer’s parents are going to Algiers, so that means she’s having a sleep over as well. And football season is starting, the boys at the other school want our support.”

Heidi threw the half-finished parfait away; she had only picked the berries from it. It had been over sixty years since the atom bombs fell in the Darkest Days, but crops still failed from the miniature nuclear winter. And Angela knew all too well that the Reich heavily rationed food in Switzerland, monitoring the calories they sent in so they could control the starving population.

Angela had seen the boys of her old school fight for something as simple as a half-rotten apple. She remembered the horrible thing she did when the hunger set upon her. Seeing Heidi so carelessly throw away food made her want to scream.

“You’re such a charitable socialite,” she hissed, trying not to stare death at Heidi.

“Why, thank you!” Her ‘friend’ beamed. “We all have our strengths.”

The one good thing about Heidi is that Angela didn’t need to be careful with sarcasm.

“Speaking of strengths, have you got your eyes on any of the boys?” Heidi gushed.

“Please, I’m too busy learning,” Angela said, her skin roiling at the thought.

“You have to be interested in some boy! I mean, you’re such a beautiful Aryan. Your hair is so blonde, I’m jealous. All you need is a little makeup, and you could have your pick!”

“Let a little traitor like that have her pick of what?”

Angela groaned. Lea and her clique were blocking her path. They all had blonde hair; many from a bottle. While the school had uniforms, button down blouses and pleated skirts, Lea and her clique altered theirs, mostly undoing the top buttons. They stood as if they were posing, trying to emulate a model they saw in a magazine for lonely Nazi housewives.

“Hello, Lea,” Angela sighed. “Do you mind? I need to get home.”

“You don’t have a home,” Lea said. “Don’t you remember? We crushed your pathetic home seven years ago. And where were you?”

“I get the feeling you’ll tell me no matter what I say,” Angela deadpanned.

“You were hiding in the woods. That’s what my father said. Hiding. In the woods.”

On cue, her clique chuckled.

“And you tricked the Reich by pretending to be good Aryans. Your parents even lied to Blackwatch. I guess that comes naturally to the Swiss.” Lea made a show of carelessly shrugging. “The Jews brainwashed you to resent your Aryan blood. Such a shame.”

Those weren’t insults to her. But Angela had to be like the other girls; a loyal Nazi.

“Oh, Lea,” Angela smiled. “I don’t think you could miss the point any harder if you tried. Do you know what my family did?”

“They betrayed the Reich, you Swiss bitch!” Lea looked like she’d been slapped.

“You must’ve spent a lot of time thinking that line up,” Angela snapped. “Didn’t you read the report? My parents did betray the Reich, and they’ve been dealt with. Or did your attention run out after reading so many words? I’ve proven my loyalty to the Reich, Lea. Is yours as fake as your hair?”

“My hair is as blonde as any Aryan’s!”

“Please. I can see your roots.”

Lea’s eyes bulged out of their sockets. Burning beet red, she stormed off to the nearest bathroom, her clique hot on her heels.

“Angela,” Heidi gasped, hounding her every step, “that was amazing.”

“The bitch deserves worse,” she growled, storming away. Just thinking of her parents, of what she had to do, of having to spit on them made her veins burn with rage and shame, her hands shake.

“Lea is going to be bleaching her hair until it falls out,” Heidi laughed.

Finally they reached the front of the school. Drivers were waiting with luxury sedans for the girls. Angela saw Phillipp, her driver, and waved. He smiled back and tilted his driver’s cap. As a Blackwatch man, he had been her driver since her uncle took her in.

“See you next week!” Heidi waved as she went to her own chauffeur.

Angela couldn’t say anything. She got into her car, closing the door  by herself, and buckled up.

“We have twenty-two minutes to get home,” Phillipp said, getting in.

“Thank you,” Angela said. She could already feel the tears spilling out despite her efforts.

She pressed her face into her backpack. She cried and screamed, while Phillipp keep his peace. This had become their ritual, one well-worn and well-rehearsed. As she cried, Angela dimly wondered if her parents were still alive. She did her best to banish the thought; it would be better if they were dead.

“Five minutes to home,” Phillipp said.

“Thank you,” Angela sniffled.

She had to dry her tears; there might be prying eyes watching her before she got to the safety of her new home. Phillipp handed her a box of tissues as she readied herself.

Phillipp pulled up to Uncle Reinhardt’s house. The Commander of Blackwatch had to have an enormous house. Reinhardt’s mansion stood three stories tall, made from reclaimed stones from ruined castles around Germany that made it seem centuries old even though it couldn’t be older than Angela herself. The driveway had been formed from a large oval, big enough to fit three cars under the front door’s brick canopy.

“Thank you, Phillipp,” she mumbled, getting out.

“You’re welcome, Angela,” he said, tipping his hat.

She made her way inside. The interior had been made from all reclaimed wood, just to make it seem that much older and more prestigious than it truly was.

“Hi, Uncle Reinhardt.”

“Hello, Angela,” her bearded uncle smiled. He sat at the massive dining room table, reading something important. He spotted her eyes, and his face wrinkled in concern. “I know that look. Bad day at school?”

“They’re all bad.”

“Some must be less bad than others.”

“They’re all bad,” Angela insisted.

Her uncle got up, and gently put his hands on her shoulders. Despite her growth spurts, she still barely came up to his chest. His hands completely enveloped her shoulders.

“I know how hard it is to live in the Reich,” he said. “And I know that every single damned time you have to say ‘Heil Hitler,’ you feel like screaming. But you can’t think every day can’t be met, can’t be pushed against. You have to find a little joy to help you get by, otherwise you’re like a gear with no oil. You’ll squeak and squirm, and eventually you’ll break.”

Angela glowered, staring at the floor. She could still see her parents being dragged away.

“I once knew a woman who was like you,” he smiled. “A smart, beautiful woman whom I loved very much. Every day she pretend to be a good Nazi tore her down a little on the inside. Everything was too much for her to bear, and eventually, she had enough of it.”

“What happened to her?” Angela asked. “Did she escape?”

“In her own words, yes.”

“Where did she go?” She pressed.

“She said to Heaven. I found her hanging in the empty room on the second floor.”

“Oh,” Angela gasped. “Oh, God.”

“Yes, ‘oh God.’” Suddenly Angela could see the age in her uncle’s eyes, how his blonde hair had starting to turn silver in a few places. “You have to find some good in this world, Angela. You can’t think every day is a grind, because the grind will win. Was the sunrise beautiful? Perhaps you spied a herd of deer in the woods. Or maybe you have a ‘friend’ you can relax around, even just a little.”

Angela thought of Heidi. She didn’t have to watch her tongue much with her.

“Just something to think about,” he smiled. “Do you have any homework to do?”

“Yes, but it’s so easy, I can do it in a few minutes.”

“Ah, so good to know the Reich cares about the future of our girls,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “And what about your extra-curricular work, your doctor studies?”

“I’ll be reading a few chapters in the old medical books you gave me.”

“’Old!’ They might be old in print, but the information there is still top of the line,” he boasted. “And when Pernkopf releases new editions, you’ll get those before anyone else.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Dr. Ziegler,” Uncle Reinhardt beamed.

That made Angela smile. She couldn’t wait to be called that.

“But that can wait, at least for a little,” he said. “Tonight is a Blackwatch night; we’re inducting a new member in our upper ranks. He’s been with us for some years, and we need a man of his caliber to help us. But more importantly, I want you there too, Dr. Ziegler.”

“Why me? I’m only fourteen years old.”

“Because I want you to join Blackwatch one day. I want you in my inner circle, as someone I can trust and count on. You’re a smart girl, Angela. I can see the greatness in you, and I want to help mold you into that capable woman I know you are.”

Her heart swelled with pride. She had seen the members of Blackwatch before, the true inner circle. She wanted to join them as badly as she wanted to be a doctor.

“You don’t have to plan the downfall of the Reich tonight,” he chuckled. “I just want you to be there, to listen to the meeting, to get a feel of what it is we do.”

“Alright, I can do that.”

“Thank you,” her uncle said. “This is supposed to be an evening where the Blackwatch men drink and gossip about manly things while the women compare housekeeping tidbits. You don’t have to truly dress up, but a nice blouse is needed. So you’ll have to find something other than that ratty sweater you love to wear around the house.”

“Uncle!” But Angela could see her uncle laughing, which made her laugh as well.

Angela wore one of her nicest crème blouses and a light green skirt. As the sun began to set, cars drove up to the front doors. Drivers let uniformed men and women out, and she helped her uncle welcome them in at the front door.

“Is this why you want me to join Blackwatch?” She asked. “To have another woman in power?”

“I want you in Blackwatch because I can see your potential,” he said, smiling and shaking hands. He spoke to her quietly, carefully, in case they were being surveilled. Gatherings such as this drew attention. “We recruit women because of their abilities and talents, but frankly, we’re not in a position to turn them away. You know that to be in Blackwatch you have to at least despise the Führer, yes?”

“I thought you had to hate the Nazis,” Angela said after politely shaking a man’s hand.

“No, one must hate the Hitlers. Did you know that when Blackwatch was first formed, they wanted to unseat Hitler and install a new Führer?”

“A new Führer? But why? I thought we wanted to overthrow the Reich.”

“Back then, too many people were swept up in the rise of the Nazis. Yet some thought Hitler would run it to the ground. Time proved them right, but they were wrong in another way.

“The early Blackwatch thought the Nazi party would be stronger without Hitler. But they soon realized that the Nazi party was enabling Hitler, letting his unrestrained madness poison Germany, bleeding the country white. They realized that to make a strong Germany, the Reich had to be overthrown. So to join the lower ranks of Nachwatche, you must hate the Führer. Secretly, of course.”

“Do we still have men who believe in the Reich? Are…are there Nazis in Blackwatch?”

“We have plenty,” he nodded. “Sadly, we need the manpower. They’ve seen how bad the Hitlers are for everyone, but they still think the Reich can be saved. They have their uses, but they can never raise any higher. To truly rise in the ranks, you have to hate fascism in all its forms. Again, secretly.”

He paused, shaking hands and quickly talking with a couple. Angela smiled and introduced herself; when they passed, her uncle turned back to her.

“We rely on women because too many men have swallowed the lie the Reich teaches; that because they’re Aryan, they’re owed the world. Money, power, women, everything. And there are many women who believe that their lives are all about being good Nazi wives, and nothing more.”

Angela thought of Lea and her clique, Nazi trophy wives in training.

“But there are many women who despise that lie, making them prime recruits. Bluntly, we can’t turn these women away; we can’t afford to lose their skills and talents.”

“You think I’m one of those women?”

“I know you are. That’s why I want you here, to see how Blackwatch works, so you can lend your talents to us, and make Blackwatch stronger, strong enough to make a new Germany.”

Angela’s heart swelled.

“Ah, Torbjörn!” Her uncle roared at an approaching man. “There you are!”

The man, Torbjörn, stood surprisingly short. He had to be a little shorter than Angela, but he seemed to be built like a brick wall, with thick muscles and a long, braided blonde beard. His Blackwatch dress uniform strained against his muscles.

“Reinhardt!” The man had a voice as big as her uncle’s. “Good to see you out of work!”

“You brought your wife?” her uncle asked. “The baby must be due any day now, isn’t he?”

Torbjörn walked arm in arm with a slight woman in a full dress. She stood taller than her husband, which struck Angela as strange; most men despised the idea of having a taller wife.

Like Torbjörn, she had blonde hair, but stood very thin. The biggest thing about her was her belly.

“We actually don’t know if it’s a boy or girl,” she said with a smile. “Torbjörn and I want it to be a surprise.”

“Ingrid, what do you mean? Torbjörn is too much of a planner to leave things to chance.”

“It’s because of that planning we’re doing this,” Torbjörn said. “When Ingrid found out she was pregnant, I wanted to make toys, but I didn’t know if I should make them for a boy or a girl, so I made both. Then it was designing and building new rooms, for both a boy and a girl.”

“Soon he was drafting new wings for the house,” Ingrid said, “one for a boy, one for a girl.”

“She put her foot down after that,” Torbjörn smiled. “So it’ll be a surprise.”

“Then let’s hope the baby comes tonight, so we can welcome it into the world Blackwatch style,” her uncle laughed. “We even have the future greatest doctor in the Reich!”

“Oh, is this her?” Ingrid asked, smiling at Angela.

“Go ahead, Dr. Ziegler,” her uncle beamed, “don’t be shy.”

“I, I’m Angela. I’m not a doctor,” she laughed. “Not yet.”

“You soon will be,” Torbjörn said. “Your uncle won’t take anything less than the best.”

“Because I know the best when I see it,” Uncle Reinhardt said. “Make yourselves at home. Ingrid, we have Blackwatch personnel who can help you with anything. Don’t work too hard.”

“Oh, I won’t,” she said with a huff. “This child is restless. It’s giving me such a hard time, I’m not looking forward to having it grow up.”

“Don’t tell me you’re only having one child. The Reich needs more, we have lebensraum now!”

“But is the Reich ready for such energetic children?” Ingrid laughed.

Torbjörn and his wife moved past, and they went back to welcoming more people. Soon, every ranking Blackwatch member filled the house.

“Go grab something to nibble on,” Uncle Reinhardt said. “We’ll be starting soon.”

Angela nodded, and went to the kitchen. Every time she walked into it, she mentally compared it to her home in Switzerland. Both the kitchen and dining room as big as the entire house she used to live in.

Food trays dotted the long counter tops. Fortunately, most of it had been eaten. She hated seeing food being wasted! Just thinking about throwing food out made her think of Heidi, and how she threw half that parfait away without even thinking of it. So many people in the Reich were going hungry; she used to be one. She used to live on soup.

Angela filled a plate and ate as she moved through the crowd, stopping to reply to the Blackwatch members who were polite enough to talk to her. They might be in Uncle Reinhardt’s house, but they had to put on the airs of being Nazi aristocrats. On nights like this, there were always some prying eyes and ears listening and watching from outside.

“Gentlemen,” her uncle boomed, “please come to the basement, cigars and stiff drinks are ready. Ladies, we have a drawing room for your gossiping; your husbands will be returned shortly.”

Laughing, the guests went downstairs. Angela saw Blackwatch men and women standing guard at the stairwell, scanning invitation cards and checking names off a list. No one uninvited would be allowed down into the secure basement. She smiled and waved at the security guards, who let her through with a smile.

“Thank Christ that dog and pony show is over,” one woman groaned as she reached the safety of the basement. “Couldn’t fucking stand being the good Nazi wife anymore.”

“Right? Who knew being that vapid could be so exhausting?”

Angela couldn’t help but laugh as the women switched from ‘good Nazi wife’ to ‘jaded agitator.’ She wanted to be like them one day, minus the ‘wife’ part; she couldn’t imagine having a man touch her, let alone a Nazi.

Despite her uncle saying a separate room was available for the women, both the assembled men and women filed into the main meeting room. Angela waited with Uncle Reinhardt for everyone to take a seat.

“You ready?” He asked.

“Not really.”

“Good, I’d be worried if you knew exactly what to do,” he laughed. “Here’s a little tip about us adults: we have no idea what we’re doing. We’re just good at making it up as we go.”

That made her feel much better. He walked her into the room, towards the head of the large table. Nearly three dozen men and women sat at the table. Torbjörn glared at her; it seemed he had only been polite as a front, or at least knew better to keep whatever distrust he had out of public eyes.

“Let’s get started.” Her uncle sat down. “We’re welcoming two new members to our ranks: Torbjörn Lindholm and his wife Ingrid. Torbjörn is a gifted engineer, and Ingrid is dedicated to counter-intelligence, training counter-spies in Sweden. Maybe someday she can become Blackwatch spymaster! And of course, we welcome their new addition, whom is due any day.”

Everyone clapped for the happy couple.

“Now, onto the next order of—“

“Hold on a minute,” Torbjörn demanded. He pointed at Angela. “What’s she doing here?”

“She’s my goddaughter, and she’s the next thing I want to bring up.”

“Oh, so Angela Ziegler is ‘just here?’ The Reich blasted the story of how she came into your care; how much of that is fact, and how much is fiction?”

Angela saw her parents face down on the ground with armed men kneeling on them, guns pointed at the back of their heads. Her heart pounded in her chest, this was the moment they all knew would come.

“Torbjörn, you’re my friend,” Uncle Reinhardt said tensely, “but you overstep yourself.”

“Easy for you to say, you don’t have a family to look after.”

Her mother and father screamed, then black bags were brutally pulled over their heads. Bound by hands and feet, they were dragged out of the house, screaming. Angela bit her lip to keep from screaming. She bit so hard, she tasted blood in her mouth. She wasn’t able to move, she couldn’t move, otherwise she’d start screaming.

“I understand you’re worried for your child. However, Angela is my goddaughter. I’d never bring her down if there was even the slightest chance of her not being loyal to Blackwatch.”

“She needs to go,” Torbjörn sneered. “We’ve all sacrificed much. She can’t just waltz in.”

“She’s sacrificed everything—!”

“It’s fine,” she mumbled, tears blotting her eyes. “I’ll leave.”

“Angela, please…”

But she already bolted for the door, pushing past the Blackwatch guards, running up the stairs. She had a small safe room on the third floor; it had no windows, and the butlers and maids who doubled as counter-spies swept it every other day.

The room had a futon and a small TV, but Angela ignored the TV and fell on the futon, burying her face in one of the pillows, just as the screaming and crying broke from her chest, the memory of what she’d done filling her with such pain and sadness, it felt as if she had just committed the foul act minutes ago instead of years. Angela cried, her body shaking with grief and sorrow, until someone knocked at the door.

“Can I come in?” Ingrid asked.

Angela didn’t say no, she could only try to stop the tears as Ingrid let herself in.

“Oof, did you really have to run to the third floor?” Ingrid gasped, holding her belly.

“What is it?” Angela mumbled. “Want to point and laugh at the good little Nazi girl?”

“I wanted to talk to Angela,” Ingrid said. She pointed to the futon. “May I? Please?”

Angela nodded. She dried her tears and snot on the back of her hand.

“Thank you,” Ingrid sighed. “God, I thought that trip up would make my water break.”

“Are you that close?”

“I’m sure I’m closer than I think,” Ingrid laughed. “You’re a smart girl. I’m not going to insult you with idle chatter, so I apologize for seeming brusque. Do you know why I’m here?”

“You want me to know that Blackwatch hates me.”

“What? No! That can’t be further from the truth.”

“Is it to tell me why I can’t be trusted?”

“Because of what Torbjörn said? We all know what you did; it was a very public story. The Reich spun it as a glorious example of Swiss assimilation, you know you’ve gotten infamy for that.”

“Then why are you here?” She asked, trying to stop the new wave of tears.

“Do you really think Reinhardt would’ve taken you in if you were truly a loyal Nazi?” Ingrid asked. “Did you know he named you his legal heir?”

“W-what? He did?”

“You didn’t? That shouldn’t surprise me; Reinhardt is the kind who keeps backup plans for backup plans. If anything were to happen to him, you’d inherit everything. That’s how much he loves you.”

“Why?”

“You should ask Reinhardt yourself,” Ingrid smiled. “But it’s clear he trusts you. He trusts you so much, he’d bring you down to a proper Blackwatch meeting before you’re of age.”

“So Torbjörn is jealous I got to go to a meeting?”

“Good Heavens, no! Torbjörn is getting more paranoid every day. Care to guess why?”

Ingrid tapped her belly.

“Torbjörn is a very passionate man. When we first started dating, he insisted he do everything for me; his way of proving his chivalry. When we married, he still went out of his way to woo me like we were dating. And when I told him I was pregnant…God, he was so happy, he nearly cried for a full day.

“So when the SS decided to audit us the week after, he damn near threatened to tear them all down. Reinhardt had to physically restrain him so the SS agent could interrogate me. Since then, he’s been looking out for me and our child to the point where he’s obsessive. I have to tell him to stop planning for the apocalypse!

“I don’t mean to make excuses for him. Torbjörn is the kind of man to move heaven and earth to protect the ones he loves. And until tonight, he saw you as a possible threat to the ones he loves.”

“What do you mean, ‘until tonight?’”

“You ran away at a good time; Reinhardt and Torbjörn got into a real good shouting match. Reinhardt told Torbjörn the truth about your parents, of what really happened, and I’ve never seen him deflate so fast. He’s beside himself for making such an accusation; he’s doing his best not to cry for making you cry.”

Angela’s throat dried up, and her heart hammered in her ears. Shame burned at her.

“Uncle Reinhardt…he told everyone?”

“It was the only way to get Torbjörn to stop. I know it’s not what you would want, but others were probably thinking the same thing; Torbjörn was the one to put it to words.”

Ingrid wrapped her arms around Angela.

“Angela, I can’t even begin to understand what you’ve gone through. And I’m so sorry that you had to do what you did. Your parents loved you so very much, they did the only thing that could save your life. That’s proof of their love. Always remember that.

“And if you can, forgive Torbjörn. He’s only looking after his family, like your family looked after you. No, like your family looks after you. Reinhardt is your family, and you’re his.”

Angela buried her head into Ingrid’s shoulder. It felt like having her mother back.

“Ah, I know,” Ingrid smiled. “Torbjörn and I will only have one child. We can’t bring any more into this damned Reich. She’ll be alone in this world. But if she had a sister…”

“You…” Angela gasped, staring at Ingrid. “You want me to be a sister?”

“A god-sister, if you will,” Ingrid smiled. “Reinhardt will be her godfather; you’re proof at how good he is at that. But that means my daughter will have two men in her family. She needs another woman to balance all that testosterone out.”

“Wait, a daughter? You said you didn’t know if you were having a boy or girl.”

“I can feel that I’m going to have a daughter. Call it a woman’s intuition,” Ingrid winked.

“I’d love to have a sister.” Angela couldn’t help but smile. “What will her name be?”

“I’m partial to Brigitte.”

“And what name does Torbjörn have in mind?”

“He can have Brigitte, or he can go pound sand.”

“Did you tell him that?” Angela laughed.

“Word for word!”

Chapter Text

“Hey, time to get up.”

Angela groaned as a firm hand shook her awake. She rubbed her eyes; she had fallen asleep in the back of the Humvee, and felt a little cramped. Fareeha shook her again.

“I’m up,” Angela croaked.

“Good, we need to move. Akande got a fire going, he heated up some left overs.”

Angela pulled herself out of the Humvee, her body stiff and aching. But the smell of warm food perked her up; just as Fareeha said, Akande had got a little fire going just behind the Humvee. Behind him, the sun began to rise.

“Nice of you to join us,” he smiled warmly, holding a small pot over the fire.

“Ugh.”

“Not much of a morning person, are you?” He laughed.

“I didn’t sleep well.”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” he said. “It took me a few months before I learned how to nap at the drop of a hat.”

He handed her a metal plate, along with a spoon. Warmed beef and lentils tickled her nose, and Angela both felt and heard her stomach rumble.

“Thank you,” she smiled.

“My pleasure,” Akande smiled back. He handed out a few more plates to the rest of the squad, and took one himself. They all ate sitting on the ground. “This probably isn’t what you expected, is it?”

“No, not in the least,” Angela admitted. “To be honest, I thought I’d be whisked off to Free France as soon as I defected.”

“Please,” Olivia snorted, “your defection messed a lot of our shit up.”

“I know that, but the mission was put together so quickly, so fast…” Angela shook her head. “We didn’t have time to plan how my defection would go. Hitler wanted to invade within the week.”

“That’s even more unreasonable,” Olivia laughed.

“And the fact they actually got their shit together for this invasion is a little chilling,” Fareeha said. “Eat up, we need to move.”

Angela saw how fast the soldiers were eating, so she stuffed her mouth. Lena grabbed the dishes and rinsed them out, Akande put out the fire, and Fareeha climbed into the driver’s seat. Angela got in, and they were soon pulling out onto the road, getting a head start on some of the civilians as they drove along the Mediterranean.

“Any news on Kafr El Sheikh?” Fareeha asked. She maneuvered them around some of the slower moving traffic, avoiding the families on foot.

“Hey, boss? Fareeha?” Olivia said. “You shouldn’t kick yourself for leaving. Your mother is the toughest bitch in the hemisphere; she’ll be fine.”

“This isn’t about my mother.”

“Really now?” Akande said, giving her a knowing look. “Really…?”

“Fine, it is a little about my mother,” Fareeha sighed. She honked, and a car moved for her. “But the Nazis could be expanding. We might need to change our plans to stay off their radar.”

“I’ve got my network keeping an eye on them,” Olivia said, looking at her laptop. “The Nazis are trying to take the suburbs, pin Cairo in, but our defenses are holding so far.”

“What ‘bout the world?” Lena asked. “The Allies aren’t breaking M.A.D. are they?”

“There’s a whole lot of bluster from the Brits, but what else is new?” Olivia sighed. “The Yanks raised their DEFCON level and the Russkies are mobilizing, but there’s no indication that anyone will go nuclear.”

“It’s funny,” Angela chuckled. “Somehow, nuclear bombs became too impersonal. We can’t just press a button and erase a city; we have to invade and kill our enemies in person to show all of our hatred and scorn.”

“Yeah, an eighty year war builds up a lot of hate,” Fareeha laughed. “Olivia, are you able to scan the Nazi radio frequencies?”

“Trying, but they’ve changed their encryption keys,” Olivia hissed, typing away at her laptop. “It’ll take some time, might have to send this out to my network to see if they can help.”

“May I?” Angela asked. “I memorized a few keys before I defected.”

Olivia glared at her, but handed her the laptop. Angela typed them out.

“Thanks,” Olivia said flatly as she took it back. “That got me access, I’ll take a listen.”

She slipped some earbuds on, and got to eavesdropping. Angela’s stomach still twisted into painful in knots; they were still prime targets for Nazis with itchy trigger fingers.

“There are a lot of civvies out here,” Akande said, looking at the long line of parked cars and camped out families.

“Damn right,” Fareeha hissed. “We really need to ditch this Humvee.”

“I’m surprised we haven’t run out of gas,” Angela said. “I thought Allied trucks were gluttons with fuel; the German ones certainly do.”

“We got a few spare cans in back. But we need to keep an eye open for a gas station.”

“Guess gas prices will jump,” Lena said. “Think ration cards will work?”

“Doubt it. Rations are only good as long as there’s a government that will accept them. Thanks to the Nazis, Egypt is more worried about being overrun than making good—”

“Shit!” Olivia spat. “Get off the road, we got drones incoming!”

Fareeha brutally pulled the Humvee off the road and hit the gas. Angela held onto one of the door handles as they rolled over the rough ground. It felt like crashing the plane all over again, being barely able to move, being battered about by careless physics.

“Missiles incoming,” Akande yelled, jumping down from the turret. “Brace!”

Angela ducked her head between her knees and pushed all the air out of lungs. The air shrieked as the missile flew in, then the world rumbled as it battered the Humvee about like a child’s toy. The tires screamed for purchase as they skipped along the ground.

“That’s it, we ditch the Humvee,” Fareeha said, slamming on the brakes. “Get out!”

“We can’t abandon the truck,” Angela protested. “We can’t walk all the way.”

“We’re the only military vehicle in the area! We got a target on our back!”

Fareeha and her squad were already jumping out. Angela made sure her backpack had her Caduceus and the Muninn unit. Fareeha grabbed her by the collar and pulled her out.

“Fix it later,” she spat. “We need to move.”

“They spotted the Humvee,” Olivia shouted, waving the radio. “Run!”

Fareeha dragged her along, but Angela quickly got to running. Lena blazed a trail into the side of the road through nearly thigh-high thistles, Akande and Olivia right behind her.

“Down!”

Something tackled Angela, then the world exploded. It felt like someone hit her in the solar plexus with a massive sledgehammer, her head felt like it would pop.

Her ears rang and the world swam as Angela struggled to come to. Intellectually, she knew a missile blew them up, but the thought felt distant, detached from reality. She could only lay on the ground, crushed by a smothering weight on top of her.

Burst eardrums, concussion, if I was close enough, burns in the lungs, Angela though, her mind idly running down a list of possible injuries.

Eventually, the weight rolled off. Blinking, Angela rolled onto her back. She realized it wasn’t a weight, but rather Fareeha shielding her with her body. She stared as the Egyptian knelt on the ground, stunned as well.

“Move,” Fareeha mumbled. Angela barely heard her. “Got to move. They’re coming around, secure the Package, come on. Akande. Shit. Squad! Sound off!”

“Somehow I’m alive,” Akande groaned. He limped over to a lolling about Olivia, who clutched her head. “But I wish I wasn’t.”

“Lena. Lena? Lena, where you?” Fareeha called, reaching down to pull Angela up.

Angela could barely stand. The Humvee had been reduced to a burning husk. She looked up and saw far away plane wheeling around to make another pass.

“Lena? Oh Allah.” Fareeha spun her around.

Lena lay splayed out on the ground, a metal piece of the Humvee sticking out through her body, piercing her back to stomach. Her mouth open in a silent scream, but she made no noises.

“Allah! Lena, hang in there,” Fareeha said. She tried to pull her backpack off and accidentally jabbed the piece of metal. That finally got a reaction from Lena; she howled and screamed. It chilled Angela’s blood.

Such screaming…it’s like Verdun…

“Angela, you have to help her,” Fareeha begged.

“We don’t have time,” Akande shouted, his voice loud yet calm. He had Olivia slung over his shoulders like she weighed nothing. “The Nazis are coming around, we need to move further off the road.”

“Lena needs my help,” Angela protested.

“If we stop to help her, we’ll be sitting ducks. We need to move her.”

“We can’t move her, have you seen what happened to her?”

“Either we move her and live, or we stay here and die,” he spat.

“If we move her, we could kill her!” Angela insisted.

“Angela, grab her hand,” Fareeha said.

“What?” She sputtered.

“Akande is right, we need to move. We have to keep you safe above all else; you’re the VIP. Lena…Lena knows this. Please.”

Lena sobbed uncontrollably. Her hands were clutching her stomach, holding the piece of metal that had punched through her body. Stomach acid mixed with the blood in the dirt.

“Angela,” Fareeha snapped. “There’s a tree line twenty meters away. We need to move.”

“Lena might not last that long.”

“We don’t have a choice! Grab her hand!”

Cursing, Angela grabbed Lena’s left arm.

“Lena,” Fareeha said, “I am so, so sorry.”

Together, they lifted her in a two-man carry. Lena screamed as Akande led the way, carrying Olivia like an odd-shaped backpack. Lena screamed over the peels of gunfire as the Nazis attacked again. She screamed until she passed out, either from the pain or blood loss.

Angela bit her lip until she tasted copper.

Oh God, I’m torturing this woman…I don’t want to get another tattoo because of this, I just want to help her oh God…

It seemed like forever, but they got to the tree line.

“Can you save her?” Fareeha pressed, setting Lena down.

“I don’t know,” Angela replied, digging through her bag.

“Can you save her??”

“I don’t know!” She said, opening the aid kits. “But I can try.”

Angela pulled out her Caduceus; it sat in its rugged carrying case, unaffected from the blast. As she held it, Angela paused.

I don’t even know if this will work, she realized. I wanted have it cure any injury, but this…God, this is so far beyond what I made for this release version. Replicating organs, this is too far.

Looking down at Lena’s unconscious body, seeing her blood pool out and mix with the dirt, Angela took a deep breath.

If I want to run my own hospital, I will have to make tough decisions like this.

“Akande, I need you to pull the bar out,” she said. “Lay her on her side. Quick, she’s losing a lot of blood. Fareeha, hook up this IV.”

Akande set Olivia down, then grabbed the bar. Angela took a bitter solace in knowing the Brit had lost unconscious; pulling the bar out would bring a fresh wave of unbearable pain.

“Slowly now,” she said. Blood poured out as Akande gently pulled the bar. “Stop. Hold it there.”

Peering into the wound looked much worse than she thought. The bar had punched through Masie’s gastrointestional tract, tearing it all up; one kidney simply burst, and her intestines were leaking digestive juices. Gritting her teeth, Angela activated her Caduceus. It began to seal up Lena’s ruptured intestines, then began recreating the burst kidney.

It stopped, giving a sad-sounding beep.

“What happened?” Fareeha demanded.

“I’m out of nanoparticles,” Angela said, rummaging through her bag. She pulled another cartridge out and reloaded her Caduceus. It knit organs up and sealed flesh, blessedly working as she wanted it to. The particles slowly pulled the gaping wound closed. Soon it knit together abdominal muscles, re-building her skin until it ran out of particles again. Sadly, the Caduceus couldn’t save Lena’s stomach and back tattoos.

“That’s magic,” Akande gasped.

“Not magic, just sufficiently advanced technology. Roll her over.”

Akande pulled the rest of the shrapnel out of Lena. Her Caduceus went to knitting together the ribs that were pulverized, and reattaching the muscles that connected to them. It sputtered, and sadly bleated; another cartridge used, another inserted. Lena soon breathed deep, shallow breathes as the Caduceus finished its job.

“I’m glad it’s working,” Angela sighed.

“You didn’t think it would work?” Olivia spat, crawling over.

“I didn’t build it to replace organs. Maybe a release version or two out, but not now.”

“Akande, Olivia, how are you?” Fareeha asked.

“Rattled and shook, but I’ll live,” Olivia said.

“Stunned, but ready for more,” he sighed.

“Good,” Fareeha gasped. She looked out of the tree line. Nazi planes were still sweeping up and down the road, blowing up cars and scattering civilians. “Fucking Nazis.”

“We have to help those poor people,” Angela said.

“No, we need to move,” Fareeha said. “You’re the VIP. You come above—”

Lena bolted up, screaming. There were no words, just her howling at the top of her lungs in endless agony. Her eyes were bulging out of her head, her hands scratched at her stomach, trying to tear at her own skin. Angela screamed, but Lena screamed louder.

“Hold her!” Akande called, jumping at her.

He grabbed her hands, and pinned them to the ground. Lena thrashed; Fareeha jumped on her legs, trying to pin her down as Lena kept screaming and kicking until she ran out of air, unable to breathe. Tears leaked from her unblinking eyes.

“Angela, help,” Fareeha begged, struggling to hold her.

Angela dove through the aid kit. She gave Lena a dose of ketamine to dull the pain, and propofol to keep her under. Lena quickly passed out, and Angela let herself collapse. Her arms were shaking, her heart pounded, her shirt clung to her thanks to a thin layer of cold sweat that dotted her skin, either from the missile, Lena’s reaction, or both.

“What the fuck was that?” Fareeha demanded.

“…I don’t know,” Angela mumbled.

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t know?!’” Olivia spat.

“I mean I don’t know,” Angela yelled. “My Caduceus was built to assist medical practices, never replace it. This could be the nanoparticles knitting nerves back together.”

“You used it on me just fine,” Fareeha said.

“You only had a bullet wound. Lena was skewered by a piece of shrapnel.”

“Are there side effects?” Akande quietly asked.

Angela felt everyone’s eyes drilling into her.

“For small doses, there are none,” she mumbled, steadying herself. “But for larger doses, it’s always possible the body could reject the particles.”

“Lena’s body could spit that shit out?” Olivia pressed.

“There’s always a chance! I built it to minimize rejection, but I never expected to be healing a wound this big, or using this many particles. It should be fine.”

“’Should’ doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence, Nazi,” Olivia growled.

What is wrong with this bitch?

The shock and fear in Angela’s breast turned to hatred.

“This is uncharted medical territory. I never expected to be healing something like this.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Fareeha said. “How good is Nazi facial recognition?”

“I don’t know how to compare it, but they can pick out individual faces in a crowd.”

“If they spot her,” Akande said, “they’ll probably send a drone after us.”

“I doubt the Nazis will be looking for dead doctors,” Fareeha said. “But we can’t risk it. Put my keffiyeh on, and keep it on. Olivia, is that’s enough to confuse cameras?”

Olivia took out a water bottle, and mixed up some mud. She reached for Angela’s face, but she pulled back, trying to push Olivia away.

“We can’t take any chances,” Fareeha said, gently taking her arm.

Gritting her teeth, Angela let Olivia muddy her face up. Something told her the Spanish woman wasn’t being gentle on purpose.

“Should be good for now,” Olivia said flatly.

“Akande, get some branches for a stretcher,” Fareeha said. “I got a blanket somewhere in my bag.”

Akande nodded, and pulled out a collapsible shovel; one side had a blade on it. He went to a tree and quickly chopped two branches off. With Fareeha’s blanket, they made a stretcher.

“Olivia, you’re on point,” Fareeha said, taking the front of the stretcher. “Let us know if the Nazis are planning to shoot more fish in this damn barrel. Angela, keep an eye on Lena.”

They started walking, staying in cover under the trees. But everyone’s eyes drifted towards the sky every so often, wary of another drone strike.

Angela scanned Lena with her Caduceus. But she also used three cartridges to save Lena, and she didn’t know if the seven remaining cartridges would hurt her more.

The tree line lasted three kilometers. By then exhaustion had set in, and even Akande called for a break. While the Nazis had grown bored of their sick little game and left the skies, no one ventured out from the cover of the trees. Angela kept Lena unconscious with more shots.

“What are our options, boss?” Olivia asked as they all sat down.

“We need a fucking car,” she said, draining a canteen. Fareeha looked past the end of the tree line; a small city less than a kilometer away. “I hate to say it, but we need to loot one.”

“Good thing we’re the good guys,” Akande chuckled darkly.

“That doesn’t excuse us for looting.”

I wish I had those unwavering morals, Angela thought. But then she paused. If I had such morals, I would’ve been killed long ago.

“Come on boss, we need this more than they do,” Olivia protested.

“I know, but I hate to ruin someone’s day,” Fareeha said. “We also need to rest. Everyone get some shut-eye, I’ll take first watch. Akande, you’re with me on finding a car; we move at sundown. Olivia, you’ll watch over Lena and Angela.”

“Sounds good,” Akande said. He stretched out on the ground, and put his keffiyeh over his eyes. Olivia curled up next to him, and within seconds, they were sleeping. Angela wanted to sleep, but the brutal attack left her wired. Besides, she had to check on Lena.

“They seem friendly,” Angela said, nodding towards Akande and Olivia.

“They’re together, kind of.”

“How are they ‘kind of’ together?”

“They got drunk one night and hooked up,” Fareeha said. “I thought they’d be awkward about it, but they’re professional.”

“Don’t the Allies have regulations against such relationships?”

“Of course, but only when we’re on-duty. Off-duty is a different story. They only get like this when something bad happens; I let it slide because it’s good for them. The Allies are putting a big premium on mental health and taking care of each other emotionally.”

“The Reich is not like that,” Angela chuckled darkly. “‘Laxity in the noble profession of the soldier,’ they call it. What made the Allies allow this?’”

“Veteran suicide rates.”

Angela’s blood turned to ice. Veteran suicides plagued the Reich. She could still hear the order that Heinrich Hitler gave her and Markus: find a way to save Reich soldiers. That led Angela to make her Caduceus, and is what pushed Markus to his Muninn.

“I…I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine. We did the whole ‘don’t talk about it’ shit, and it only killed more of us,” Fareeha said. “They started fighting the mental health stigma around twenty years ago. It’s still a work in progress, but things are much better. I assume the Nazis don’t have anything like that?”

“Not outside of Blackwatch. ‘Laxity in the noble profession of the soldier,’ remember? They have to be the biggest, toughest man around.”

“Fucking Nazis,” Fareeha chuckled.

Angela chuckled too, but couldn’t help but worry about Lena.

She woke up screaming. She could have acute stress disorder, if not full-blown PTSD.

Then Angela remembered that she had the means of curing PTSD.

“H-how do you keep healthy?” Angela asked. “Mentally, I mean.”

“Damn, sometimes I don’t know,” Fareeha snorted. “I’ve been having a lot of trouble…”

She drifted off, and Angela didn’t know what to say.

“You need to get some sleep,” Fareeha said finally. “This is a shitty day.”

“I’ll try,” she mumbled. “Lena is okay for now, but wake me if something happens.”

Lena shifted, groaning, making Angela and Fareeha pause. But she stayed down. The drugs kept her knocked out, but couldn’t save her from a nightmare.

Angela tried to sleep, but only succeeded in napping on-and-off from until sundown. In the dying light of the night, she watched Fareeha and Akande load up.

“We need to keep a low profile,” she said.

“No guns unless we can help it. I know the name of the game,” Akande replied.

“Good.” Fareeha took a second to compose herself. “Let’s find a car.”

The two broke from the tree line, jogging through the thistle. Olivia sat by Lena, rifle at the ready. Her laptop sat nearby, scanning radio frequencies, screen dimmed.

“Guess I should thank you,” Olivia said.

“What do you mean?” Angela asked, checking on Lena.

“For the radio keys. We wouldn’t have ditched the Humvee in time.”

“You’re welcome. I’m just glad we were all able to get to safety and save Lena.”

“You really want me to say it, do you?”

“Say it? Say what?”

“You want me to say ‘thank you’ for saving Lena,” Olivia said.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I don’t have to? Right. Well, here it is. Thanks for saving her.”

“Why are you doing this? I didn’t save Lena to get you to say ‘thank you,’ or to get on your good side. I was doing it to save her life.”

“You’re pretty idealistic for a Nazi.”

“Don’t call me that,” Angela snapped. “I saved her because it was the right thing to do!”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“What’s your problem?” She demanded. “You jumped to my defense in Kafr El Sheikh.”

“I ‘jumped to your defense’ because we need this damn tech your friend created,” Olivia snapped. “And because you’re the missing piece to this whole Amélie puzzle.”

“Markus was not my—”

“I did it because we could use you to fuck the Nazis,” Olivia spat. “I don’t want to gossip with a defector, I want to kill the damn Reich and every fucking Nazi I can find. My job is to deliver you to High Command, not to be your friend, got it?”

“I’m glad I know where you stand,” Angela hissed, hate warming her veins.

“You asked, I told. If my answers frighten you, don’t ask scary questions.”

“I’ll remember that. Also, fuck you.”

The hatred in her voice surprised Angela. But Olivia didn’t even blink.

“Right back at you, Nazi chica.”

“Olivia, we’re approaching the tree line,” the radio buzzed. In the distance, headlight cut through the night.

“I see you, boss.” She turned to Angela. “Let’s get Lena ready.”

With Olivia, she picked the unconscious Brit up. The headlights got closer, and Angela saw that Fareeha found a white van, one that held multiple rows of seats. It bounced over the rough ground and came to a stop. The sliding door pulled open, and Akande got out.

“Let me in first,” Angela said. “I will keep an eye on Lena.”

Olivia glared at her.

“This isn’t the time,” Akande said to a still glowering Olivia.

“I’m a doctor,” she gasped. “Let me work!”

“Drop that shit right now,” Fareeha yelled from the driver’s seat. “She saved my life, Lena’s life, and the lives of dozens of civilians; she’s not going to kill or torture anyone.”

Olivia spat, but let Angela by. She climbed into the van, and took the stretcher to help move Lena into the back row. There wasn’t much space, but Angela could keep an eye on the Brit and stay away from Olivia.

Before she could sit back in her seat, Akande gently took her hand.

“Thank you for saving her,” he smiled. In the darkness, Angela heard it more than she saw it. “I’d…I’d never live with myself seeing her die like that. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Akande let go, and walked to the front of the van’s shotgun seat. Olivia grumbled something, but got in. She sat in the row in front of Angela and Lena, behind Fareeha and Akande.

“We’re still taking shifts,” Fareeha said, driving away. “Olivia, you’re next.”

Angela waited until they were on the road before checking her bag. She could see the wooden box holding Markus’ Muninn, waiting to be used.

It didn’t seem to take very long for Fareeha to pull over and switch with Olivia.

“How’s she doing?” Fareeha asked, getting in the row ahead of Lena.

“Please stop playing with your shoulder,” Angela gently asked.

Fareeha noticed she dug her nails in to scratch the nanoparticle healed flesh.

“Sorry,” she said. “It sneaks up on me.”

“It’s fine. I’ve been keeping Lena under.”

“Good,” Fareeha yawned. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“Thank you for trusting me with her.”

Fareeha smiled, then stretched out to sleep.

Olivia is too busy with driving to watch me, and Akande is sound asleep.

Angela opened the Muninn box, setting the plastic helmet on Lena’s head. She turned Markus’ laptop on; the laptop looked undamaged, aside from a cracked screen. She opened the Muninn program, struggling with the atrocious user interface.

It scanned Lena’s brain, and immediately highlighted areas with increased activity, areas that matched previous brain scans of mental trauma.

I shouldn’t be doing this, Angela thought, bile rising in her throat. Lena hasn’t given me permission to do this. This is an amoral surgery.

But Lena needed help; help meant therapy, and therapy needed time, doctors, even medication. They didn’t have any of that.

They only had the Muninn.

Lena grumbled, tossing in her sleep. Angela pressed the ‘start’ button.

Chapter Text

Angela walked into the lab, and started to take her jacket off.

“Ah, finally decided to join me, have you Angela?”

She groaned. She shared laboratory space with Markus on and off for nearly ten years, and he still treated her like a child. Worse still, she had to keep up the act of being a good Nazi woman, subservient to a man. A camp waited for her otherwise.

“I ran into my sister on the way—“

“Bah, it doesn’t matter!” Markus said. “Our subject is here, I need you to see this.”

Angela walked through the lab. Her tables were covered with various bits of neatly stacked equipment, everything kept clean and orderly. Markus’ side of the lab, however, seemed to be a permanent and utter mess, filled with the bones of what Markus called his ‘Muninn.’

“Are you still finding a cure for PTSD? We’ll have to update the Führer soon.”

“There are so many things my Muninn can cure, my Angel,” Markus said, leaning over his computer keyboard. He remained a hunched over stick of a man who blamed his women problems on the very women he drove away with his charmingly repulsive personality.

“Do you mean that PTSD won’t be the only thing it can fix?” She asked, her skin roiling from Markus’ terrible advance on her.

“I can’t let my tech be limited by just one mental quirk. We’ve gotten a generous grant from the Führer, yes, but I need more money for my research,” he said. “Just like with your Caduceus, my Muninn works, but isn’t fully complete. I need more funding, more resources.”

“Then how will you get more funding?”

“You have the backings of Blackwatch; I have to provide results,” Markus said. He turned to leer at her. “Are you feeling generous with your grant, Angel?”

Bad enough Markus had gotten grants and trials for this Muninn. Besides, Blackwatch already had an asset to spy on Markus: Angela herself.

“Sadly, Blackwatch hasn’t given me enough of a grant as well,” she sighed dramatically. “Like you, I could do with more Reichsmarks.”

“Don’t be like that,” Markus pouted. He reached out and took her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “There has to be something you can lend me.”

It wasn’t the first time Markus touched her. Angela had gotten good at hiding her revulsion.

“I wish there was,” she said, gently pulling her hand away. She flashed a smile at Markus; he liked it when she smiled. “But it’s not.”

“Then I have to secure funding myself,” he said, gazing at her radiant smile. “Fortunately, I might have a way to impress the Schutzstaffel.”

“The SS are offering you funding?” Angela blinked.

“I’ve been pestering them,” he said, turning back to his computer. “They set strict requirements on me, but I’m meeting them. The first is to show them repeatable results with rehabilitating troops. Come, this time I’m testing Sebastian, I want you to see this. Maybe after you’d let me take you to dinner, yes?”

Doing her best not to groan, she peered over Markus’ shoulder at the computer screen he hunched before. The screen showed a live video of a soldier. A nurse hooked him up to various machines that read his body reactions, EEG, EKG, the works.

“Now Sebastian, I’m going to ask you several questions,” Markus said, speaking into a microphone. “I might go quiet for a minute or two as I go over some data. It doesn’t mean you’re doing a bad job or anything.” He clicked off the microphone and turned to Angela. “Queue up his first session, I have it prepped on that workstation over there.”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Excellent. I’ll make a doctor of you yet.”

Hate and annoyance bloomed in Angela’s heart.

I’m already a doctor, the best on the continent! Hell, I know nearly as much about Muninn as you do!

Angela’s lectures were the ramblings of a man trying to impress her. Her studies were from notes, scraps of thrown out paper, scribbling on a blackboard he ordered her to wash and clean up after him. Her tests were Markus trying to impress her. She taught herself about the new field of science without any help from the man who made it.

Still, she bit her tongue and buried her hate deep in her breast, hiding it in the deepest part of her so it wouldn’t get her in trouble.

“Okay Sebastian,” Markus said to the patient. “Can you tell us about your nightmare?”

“It was the Fifth Eastern War; the One Week War,” Sebastian said. “I was a tank driver.”

The on-screen widgets read his brainwaves, pulse, and glucose levels. So far, so normal.

“A week of hell. We were to push through Soviet lines, break them in one point instead of breaking the entire defensive front. We would penetrate ten kilometers into the USSR and wait for support. But we were doing so good, the Führer made us push further.”

Angela did her best not to snort. More lives devoured by the damned Hitler family.

“We were out of everything. Fuel, ammo, food, water…That’s when things went to shit.”

“Thank you, Sebastian. Please, give us a minute.” Markus clicked the microphone off. “Pull up the video from him first session. Hurry along now.”

Despite being ordered about, Angela couldn’t help but feel curious; Markus had always been secretive about his results. She went and cast the video to one of the TVs in the office.

“We…we were to push through the line, only go about ten kilometers,” Sebastian on the TV said. The various widgets showed that his brainwave levels and heart rate were off the charts.

“We were only supposed to go a little further, but the Führer…the damned Führer, he made us go on! He should’ve known that we needed support!”

Angela couldn’t help but think the old Sebastian would’ve made a good Blackwatch recruit.

“God, Angela, look at that,” Markus gushed. Angela did her best not to flinch as Markus pawed at her arm, caressing her. “Those brainwaves, he’s having panic attack after panic attack. But look at him now! Look! Watch!” He clicked on the microphone. “You said you lost your best friend, yes?”

“Thorsten,” Sebastian said sadly. “Yes, I did. God, he was a good man.”

The widgets barely moved.

“Thank you, please hold on.” Markus turned to her. “The next video, Angela! Hurry!”

“Thorsten. I told him not to get out of the tank,” the recording of Sebastian cried. “I told him we were safe there. But he went out. I should’ve made him stay!”

Yet the Sebastian being tested now could’ve been telling them about the weather instead of the most traumatic day of his life.

“God, look at that,” Markus gushed. “All that trauma, gone…”

Despite her gut twisting in a deeply unsettling way, Angela couldn’t help but be impressed. Sebastian truly seemed at ease.

“Can you describe the last day of the war?” Markus asked Sebastian.

“We were in full retreat then,” Sebastian sighed. “It was a rout. We pushed on too hard, too fast, and the Ruskies fought back. Thorsten had to leave the tank; debris got caught in the turret. He got out to get it unclogged, and Thorsten got shot. Damn that Slavic bastard.”

Driven by her own curiosity, Angela queued up another video of the original Sebastian.

“Thorsten…I held him. I held him, I tried to get his brains back in his head. Fuck, why did he have to get out of the tank? We were safe! Why—“

Filled with shame and disgust, Angela stopped the clip. She might hate every Nazi, but she couldn’t relish in their torment, not like how they relished torturing others.

“Can you see it, Angela? I’ve cured that man,” Markus beamed. “I’ve done it again!”

Angela had to agree. There wasn’t the slightest hint of trauma that was resurfacing.

“Thank you, Sebastian,” Markus said to the microphone. “That will be all today.”

“You’re welcome, Herr Doctor. Does that mean we can start my treatment?”

“Treatment?” Markus asked. “Why are you so anxious getting a treatment?”

“I wouldn’t say anxious, but I like it. I’ve been getting the best sleep of my life.”

“And, for the record, how were you sleeping before?”

“Absolutely terrible,” he groaned. “I was reliving that damned week every day.”

Sebastian might as well have been telling them the score of last week’s football game.

“Sadly, we don’t have any more treatments for you,” Markus said. “But I can guarantee that you’ll keep getting the best sleep of your life.”

Grinning, Sebastian began taking off the skull cap. Markus ended the video stream.

“I’ve done it, my Angel,” he grinned. “I’ve edited a human mind, not once, but several times. I can change how a man thinks, how he feels, how he acts. God, I’m better than Einstein!”

Contempt washed over Angela, and she had to almost physically restrain herself from talking back. But at the same time, he deserved to brag. Markus found a way to cure PTSD.

“Does that mean we’ll be treating more soldiers?” She forced herself to say.

“That was the biggest hurdle the SS set in front of me, to say nothing of the requirements the Führer wanted,” he said. “But I’m destined for greatness; this test proves it. No, what I’m looking forward to is the SS’ next challenge.”

Her stomach dropped. Suddenly, Angela dreaded hearing what Markus would say next.

“What do they want you to do?” She asked, doing her best to banish her nervousness and to sound excited for the pathetic Markus.

“They want me to use my Muninn on a French mind, to make them more pliable.”

That got Angela’s attention, and her dread.

“I thought Muninn was made to cure PTSD.”

“That’s what the original goal of the Führer Heinrich Hitler’s grant was, yes, but there’s so much more it can do. I can cure so many things with my Muninn, including the malady of resistance.

“The people who resist us, their minds are clearly broken. It’s obvious us Aryans are the true rulers of the world. It’s clear the Reich will last a thousand years. They’re fighting against the inevitable; isn’t that madness? Isn’t that a sickness of the mind? Resisting the natural order of the world, doesn’t that prove that they’re mentally broken?

“I’m to re-forge their minds, make them reborn, realize the truth and glory of the Reich.”

If Markus could cure PTSD, what would stop him from turning everyone in Europe into loyal fascists? What would keep him from turning her into the Red Angel of Verdun, a monster of cruelty? What kept Markus from making her marry a man, or marrying Markus himself?

Suddenly, Angela’s mouth went very dry. Her heart pushed stress through her veins.

“D-do you think the SS would actually accept your project?” She made herself say. “They don’t like asking for help. I could let Blackwatch take care of it; I can put in a good word for you.”

“I don’t want a second-fiddle organization,” he hissed. “I want the best. But with this, they’ll have to listen to me; they’ll give me the French prisoner I’ll need.”

Markus fell so far into his daydream he could be disassociating.

“I’ll show them what Muninn can do. I’m the greatest mind since Newton! God, I have to start writing my request. Angela, save this recording,  and search the drive for the other recordings, pre- and post-treatment. Organize this for me, Angela, I have to share this!”

The plane touched down on the tarmac, and Angela breathed a sigh of relief.

“Don’t like flying?” Markus grinned.

“We’re a few kilometers from Allied-Controlled France,” she said, opening another airline bottle of Riesling wine. “Planes have been shot at before.”

“Don’t worry. Soon, all this will be a thing of the past,” Markus boasted.

Angela downed the tiny bottle, and finished her cigarette. She spent the entire flight chain smoking and drinking to try to kill her nerves. This shouldn’t be happening.

As she expected, Markus monopolized her time, used her as his personal secretary, all to appease the fickle SS. Yet despite her attempts to sabotage everything, the SS had somehow moved his request along. Angela went along with Markus because Blackwatch needed to know about Muninn.

Why am I so nervous? Angela thought. Could it be working with the SS without backup? Or could it be Markus actually succeeding in this harebrained scheme of his? I need more wine.

A team of SS men, and two SS women, waited for them as they exited. Angela knew the SS had integrated, but it seemed strange seeing the women agents. She idly wondered if they were gophers and assistants, or were actual agents, full-time interrogators.

“Welcome to France,” the SS man said. “I am Schiffer.”

“Thank you for having me. I’m Dr. Markus Gärtner. This is my assistant, Angela Ziegler.”

It must be the wine; Angela suddenly wanted to scream. She wasn’t an assistant! She bit her tongue and put on a strong face in front of the SS.

Markus held out his hand. Schiffer didn’t budge. Markus waited.

“And thank you for having me as well,” Angela said, clearing her throat. “I know that Blackwatch and the SS don’t see eye-to-eye, but I hope we can overcome this. For the Reich.”

“Yes, for the Reich,” Schiffer said. He still didn’t shake Markus’ hand, but he finally let the awkward moment die. The women grabbed their suitcases, escorting them to a waiting truck.

“You’ll get a small laboratory,” Schiffer said. “We expect you to work fast.”

“My work is ready. All I need is a subject,” Markus said as he climbed into the truck.

“Yes. A subject,” Schiffer grunted as they drove. “Let me be blunt. I don’t believe this ‘Muninn’ will work. I can’t believe the SS is wasting our precious time with this, and frankly, the faster this fails, the faster we can get back to protecting the Reich from its enemies.”

Angela drank too much on the flight; she squirmed in her seat. Fortunately, for the first time she could remember, she felt glad that all eyes were on Markus and not her.

“And I believe you’ll change your tune when you see the results,” Markus said.

“That I doubt,” Schiffer said. “But I’m an optimist at heart. If this works as you say, our jobs will be easier. I hope to eat those words, Doctor; I just don’t think it’ll happen.”

“You’re an optimist, but not a gambler?”

“I deal with facts, with things that can be measured and weighed. All you’ve done is make enough noise to make the SS want to gamble, if only to shut you up.”

“So how is the border of the Reich and Allied-Controlled France?” Angela asked before the real hair-pulling began. “I’ve never been to this part of Europe.”

“That’s right, you’ve only gotten as far as Verdun, haven’t you?”

“And a few parts of Paris,” she forced herself say. “Only for a vacation.”

“A damn shame. If you left Blackwatch for the SS, we would’ve deployed you all over. They might’ve even called you the Scourge of France. How’s that for a title?”

One I’d never want, Angela thought, her skin crawling.

“It doesn’t have the same ring as ‘the Red Angel of Verdun,’” she smiled instead.

“That’s true,” Schiffer laughed. “And having a catchy name is what truly matters. No one remembers Christian Szell, but they’re terrified of ‘the White Haired Angel.’

“The DMZ is hardened, yet violence breaks out every so often. The Allied dogs often sneak across and lay ambushes, or plant car bombs. Of course, we send saboteurs back to them to retaliate. All this back and forth, it’s a dance at this point.”

“Then who’s the French loyalist I’ll be given?” Markus asked. The truck pulled up to a simple, windowless building. Angela knew an SS outpost when she saw one.

“Listen well,” Schiffer said coldly as they walked to a nondescript door. “We’ve captured Amélie Lacroix, the wife of Gérard Lacroix. Both are high-ranking leaders in the French terrorist army. We’re taking a very big risk in letting you use her for your damned mad science experiment.”

“If you captured her, she’s already dead,” Angela sighed, playing the role of a good Nazi.

Unmarked, token guards were at the door. Seeing Schiffer, they saluted and opened the door. He saluted back out of pure reflex. No one paid Angela any mind, except to leer at her rear.

“That…is true,” Schiffer grudgingly admitted. “But it took a lot of effort to capture her.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll turn her into a true believer,” Markus promised.

The building looked like a simple office instead of an SS black site. The only differences were the occasional pictures of the three Führers; Adolph, Alois, and Heinrich. Eventually, Schiffer led them to a door. It wasn’t a laboratory, rather a tiny observation and torture room, kept apart by a pane of one-way glass. Torture. Angela almost chuckled; ‘torture’ was so twelve years ago. Today, they said ‘enhanced interrogation techniques.’

“Such a small space,” Markus grumbled.

“Be grateful you have any space at all,” Schiffer snapped.

Thankfully, they traveled light. Markus brought a small wooden box that held the only existing copy of his Muninn. Angela brought a laptop. On the other side of the one-way glass, a soldier wheeled a woman in. She had been strapped to a high-backed chair; her arms, legs, and head secured by thick leather straps.

Amélie Lacroix had long black hair, smoky eyes, and sharp cheekbones, possibly from malnutrition. The Reich often targeted Allied food shipments, causing low-grade starvation.

“Come along, Angela,” Markus said. “Let’s get started.”

Angela took a second to contain her temper. She just had to deal with this shit for a few weeks, then she’d be able to bitch with Brigitte over bottles of wine. God, she missed her sister.

She followed him into the interrogation room. Amélie’s head had been strapped to the chair, but she swiveled her eyes to see them. She didn’t react with Markus, but seeing Angela, she gasped and struggled against her restrains.

“Looks like she knows you,” Markus said.

“Yes, it looks like she does,” Angela said. Time to look like a good Nazi. She hoped she wouldn’t overdo it. “Do you know me, French whore?”

“You’re Angela Ziegler,” Amélie said in rough German. “The Red Angel of Verdun.”

“Ah, so you do know,” Angela said instead, forcing a smile.

“France always remembers our enemies,” she spat. “What do you want with me?”

“We want to cure you,” Markus said. He set his box on the room’s table. He pulled the helmet out, and set it on Amélie’s head.

“I’m not sick,” Amélie said, struggling. The restrains held her still.

“Nonsense, resisting the Reich is madness,” Markus said, typing at his laptop. “Let’s see how we can cure your mental malady.”

Markus pressed a button on his laptop, and Amélie gasped.

“W-what are…stop, I—I can’t,” she babbled. “My legs, where are my legs, please, what are you doing?” Tears leaked from her eyes as her body began to horribly twitch.

“Is this…normal?” Angela asked, trying to keep the horror from her voice.

“This isn’t like when I treated those soldiers, my Angel,” Markus grinned. “I’m digitizing her mind, scrubbing her brain clean. Once it’s uploaded, I can fit her to my template.”

“P-p-p-p-p-p-please,” Amélie babbled, drool forming at her mouth. She struggled, but the straps held her tight. “Dark, que faites-vous? Je ne veux pas y aller, où m'emmènes-tu arrêter je ne veux pas de ça—“

Amélie started crying and screaming, begging in French. Her voice stammered as she gasped and begged, but Markus didn’t stop. Sick to her stomach, Angela knew she’d have to get another feather tattoo.

Angela looked at the scribbled loose leaf pages; Markus made very disjointed notes. It made learning from them a bitch. She lit another cigarette just as Markus opened the door.

“Ugh, do you have to smoke in here?” He coughed, waving the smoke away. “You’re too pretty to indulge in such an ugly habit.”

Angela stuffed her cigarette out; she wasn’t in the mood to argue. The only thing she wanted to do was to lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling until she felt something else.

“Come along, our French whore is ready,” Markus said.

She looked into the guarded torture room. Amélie sat limp, her head lolled to the side, drooling. Her eyes were unfocused, occasionally blinking from the most basic, reptilian part of her brain. She had been fitted with a feeding tube, hooked up to two different IVs, and catheterized.

Angela looked away in shame, rubbing her wrist. Her new tattoo still felt raw. One more feather tattoo, and she’d have enough for another full wing. Looking at Amélie made her want to get another feather, finish her little penance project.

“I’ve been making improvements to the templates I’ve been pushing into her brain.”

Anger suddenly flashed in Angela’s veins. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to kill Markus, damn the consequences.

“I’ve been re-making her mind the entire week,” he continued. “I learned much from the soldiers, but tinkering with this French whore gave me an idea. I’m onto something, I know it.”

“How so?” Angela forced herself to say as evenly as she could.

“Despite my best efforts, true belief is beyond me for now; there’s too many interconnections in the mind to change, the sickness of resistance runs too deep,” Markus grumbled. “I’ll need to make a better template for that, but for now, I can make her follow orders like a loyal soldier. Come along.”

Angela stuck a cigarette into the corner of her mouth, just to trick her brain into releasing some soothing serotonin, and followed Markus into the interrogation room. Markus started undoing the harnesses keeping Amélie locked in place and taking the Muninn helmet off.

“Herr Doctor, is that such a good idea?” The room’s guard asked.

“You’ll see,” Markus smiled. Soon, he had Amélie unbound, an absolute limp wreck. “This morning, she was a blank slate, a tabula rasa. With the newest template I gave her, she’s a soldier, only following orders. But soon, she’ll be able to do so much more.”

Markus handed Angela his red notebook. It was filled with his tiny handwritten scrawl, all of it encoded. He gave her an open page, where there were a list of unencrypted words.

“Read the lines,” he smiled. “They’re code words; they’ll activate her.”

Fighting her hesitation, she read from his small notebook.

“Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight Car.”

As soon as she spoke the last word, Amélie sat upright. Her vacant expression vanished; she had a hard neutral look on her face, looking dead ahead. She sat with perfect posture. The change came so suddenly, Angela and the guard took a step back.

“Angela, finish the activation,” Markus implored.

Looking at the book, she read the next line.

“Soldier?”

“Ready to comply,” Amélie said, and in French-accented German, too.

Angela stared in horror. What have they done?

“I still can’t get rid of that damnable accent!” Markus groused. “It’s too well buried in the brain. But at least she’s speaking German. Angela, what would you like our loyal soldier to do?”

Amélie sat perfectly still. She barely blinked as Markus pulled the feeding tube and IVs out of her. With a trembling hand, Angela pulled out some bills from her pocket.

“There’s a vending machine downstairs,” she said. “Get me a pack of cigarettes. Filtered.”

Amélie stood up, took the money, and walked out of the room. The guard stared.

“What are you standing for?” Markus snapped. “Follow her! Others might shoot her!”

He hustled after Amélie.

“Can you see what I’ve made?” Markus gushed. “I made her the perfect soldier!”

“More like the perfect gofer,” Angela mumbled.

“I’ll get to true belief soon enough. In the meantime, I’ve been examining soldiers. I’ve pulled information from their brains, making the template you just saw. Soon, all we need to do is hook a untermensch up, press a button, and bam! They’re fully trained soldiers of the Reich!”

Amélie walked back, the guard at her heels. She gave Angela a pack of cigarettes.

“Mission completed,” she said, then sat down in the chair.

“Put it to sleep,” Markus said. “That’s how we end her programming. Just do not read the second list of words, that will disable the Muninn code.”

“Soldier, sleep,” she said, reading the notebook. Amélie closed her eyes, and slept.

“I don’t think the SS will like to see Amélie running small errands,” Angela said.

“That’s where the next demonstration comes in,” Markus said, a spark in his eyes. “And the next surprise.”

“Then…where is Amélie?” Angela stammered. “Is she still in her head?”

“For the time. Building a mind from scratch is more difficult than I imagined, even an untermensch mind,” he grumbled. “I’m using her mind as a foundation, then I push her consciousness to the side, like installing a second operating system on a computer. One day I’ll get her out. But first, I have to prove Schiffer wrong.”

Things were moving fast. They were moving so damn fast. Angela stood in a simple room next to Amélie, who slept in her chair, strapped in place. Markus paced the room, in a good mood. He even hummed. The door opened, and Schiffer walked in, flanked by two guards, who were wheeling in another French freedom fighter bound to a chair.

“Nazi dogs,” the man yelled in German. He learned it to curse them. “Fuck you!”

“Shut up, or you lose another tooth.”

The soldiers set the chair next to Amélie. The man saw her, and gasped.

“Amélie! What did they do to you?” He asked in French. It had been a long time since Angela had heard the language, but it quickly came back to her. “Amélie, wake up!”

“She’s not listening to you,” Markus said. “Schiffer. Are you ready to eat your words?”

“We’ll see,” the SS man said, glaring at Markus as he walked up to Amélie.

“Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight Car.”

Amélie, no, the Soldier woke up.

“Widowmaker?” Markus asked.

Angela blinked. Markus called his template the ‘Soldier’ before. Why call it ‘Widowmaker?’

“Ready to comply,” the brainwashed body said.

“My God, Amélie, what did they do to you?” The French man said. “You fuckers! What have you done to her?!”

Markus undid the straps holding the Soldier, the Widowmaker, in place. It never once twitched.

“Widowmaker,” Markus said, handing It a Wehrmacht combat knife, “kill that man.”

The Widowmaker took the knife and stood up. The SS soldiers shouldered their weapons, but kept them pointed at the ground.

“Amélie,” he gasped as she walked up to him. “Amélie please…”

The Widowmaker raised the knife, and stabbed him in the chest. Angela flinched as the blade pierced his skin, but kept her hands at her side.

“Amélie!” He screamed in pain. “Stop! Please!!”

It fell on deaf ears. It stabbed him again, and again, and again, and again, and again…

Angela wanted to look away, but knew that she couldn’t. She couldn’t be herself, she had to be the Red Angel of Verdun, she had to be the Nazi doctor who could watch people die without blinking. Her muscles screamed with exertion as she forced herself to stay still, forced herself to watch, and she forced herself to not shed a single tear as the murder played out in front of her.

Finally, the man died. The Widowmaker pulled out the bloody blade and walked back to Markus.

“Mission complete,” It said, handing the knife back to him. It stood, covered in the Frenchman’s blood, but didn’t bat an eye. Then It sat back down in the chair.

“Widowmaker, sleep.”

Angela knew she had to get another tattoo.

“So, Schiffer,” Markus grinned, “go on and eat your words.”

“Herr Gärtner, I owe you an apology,” Schiffer said, his jaw on the floor. “I thought this was science fiction, nothing more. But this…I told you before, I’m an optimist. I wanted to see the good in this tech, and I’ll be damned, you actually delivered! Herr Gärtner, you’ve created the tool the Reich needs to survive in this brutal world. No, not to survive, but to thrive.”

Markus beamed with pride, and finally stood up straight.

“But is this all she can do?” Schiffer asked. “If I’m to pitch this to the powers upstairs, we need to have something to give them.”

“One of my curses is that I am a humble man,” Markus said. That got Angela to snort. “There is a reason I renamed this template ‘Widowmaker.’ I can program it to kill her husband, Gérard. With my template, she’ll act like her old self. We leak information that we are transporting her. We let the French recapture her, and she’ll kill her husband, then return to us.”

“Markus, you’re thinking like a true Ubermensch,” Schiffer laughed. “I’ll draft up a prisoner transfer. How soon can you make your wind-up soldier ready?”

“She’s already ready.”

Angela paced the room, her stomach twisting itself apart, her muscles knotted in stress. She craved a cigarette, but had already gone through three packs in the past day and a half in a vain attempt to calm herself. She needed to cut back.

A day and a half ago, Schiffer and the SS staged the prisoner transport. Despite Angela’s efforts to leak a credible warning through Ingrid, the French had predictably attacked and stole Amélie back. Markus said that within two days, Gérard would be dead.

So she walked back and forth, tracing a pattern on the carpet. Markus sat at his laptop, madly typing away, building templates to turn them into good little Nazis. This felt like a nightmare, one she wanted to wake up from.

The door opened, and Schiffer walked in, flanked by a small team of SS troopers. Behind him came the Widowmaker, carrying a paper bag. It walked up to Markus.

“Mission completed,” the Widowmaker said.

“Do you have proof?” Markus asked.

It opened a paper bag and pulled out an eye, placing it on the table. With her nerves already on fire, Angela jumped. She needed to get another tattoo for Gérard.

“Ha ha! She took the bastard’s eye!” Schiffer roared. “Gérard already lost an eye in an earlier attack. Now he’ll be blind when he gets to hell! Ha ha ha!”

Schiffer and Markus were laughing. Angela knew she should join in, but she couldn’t.

“What’s the matter, Red Angel?” Schiffer roared. “Haven’t seen an untermensch eye before?”

“I have,” she said. How she remained cool and composed was beyond her. Perhaps the long years of lies and deceit had paid off. Maybe her nerves were too shot to fully work. “But this is…this will change the world.”

“That it will,” Schiffer grinned. “This must be what the Yanks felt when they tested the first atom bomb. Oh, who was that American scientist? Oppenheimer? What did he say…?”

“’Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds,’” Markus said.

“Such a drama queen, wasn’t he?”

“I prefer Kenneth Bainbridge,” Angela mumbled to herself. “’Now we’re all sons of bitches.’”

Chapter Text

A single day of hard traveling made Angela swear to never set foot in another van so long as she lived.

The heat felt torturous with a broken A/C. They had to drive with the windows open, but only the front of the van had true roll-down windows; the windows near Angela were the kind that popped out about six to seven centimeters. They let in some wind, but a pitiful amount.

The windows did, however, let plenty of dirt and dust in. The dirt and dust mixed with Angela’s sweat, making her feel like a schoolgirl ordered to clap the chalkboard erasers in a sauna. It mixed with her sweat, making a kind of dirty, sweaty, clay-like paste that seemed to get everywhere, even places where the meager wind didn’t touch her.

“God, it’s so hot,” Angela groaned.

“It could be worse,” Fareeha said. Angela glared at her. “We’re close to the Mediterranean; it’s helping cool things down a bit.”

She has got to be putting on airs, Angela thought. No one can think this heat is tolerable!

“It could also be a lot better, too,” Akande grumbled, voicing Angela’s unsaid complaint. He mopped his bald head with a t-shirt from his pack.

“How’s Lena doing?” Fareeha asked.

“She’s fine,” Angela replied. “She’s still sleeping.”

“She seems to be sleeping a lot,” Olivia said. Angela could hear the accusation in her voice.

“She is,” Fareeha agreed. “Is this healthy?”

“She needs time to recuperate. I’m keeping her under with doses of anesthesia,” Angela said. “My nanoparticles were never meant to be given in such large doses, they need time to set.”

Fareeha nodded, but Olivia’s glare lingered on her for a second before going back to her laptop.

Please, just give her time for my nanoparticles and the Muninn to work. 

They drove on, periodically switching drivers. Angela tried to sleep, but the stress of the escape, the attack, and their threadbare plan kept her from truly clocking out, not to mention the uncomfortable van didn’t let her stretch out enough. Her muscles were beginning to ache just from being awake for so long, and her eyes burned.

Finally, the van pulled over and Olivia all but jumped out.

“Dios Mío it’s fucking hot,” she groaned, fanning herself with her keffiyeh. Like everyone, Olivia had taken off the top part of her combat uniform, leaving her in a simple sweat stained tank-top and sports bra. Angela sighed as she felt the fresh air kiss her skin as she climbed out. “Where the hell are we?”

“Close to Jerusalem by now,” Akande said, wringing out his sweat-drenched shirt. “We gotta stick to the somewhat stable regions.”

“Wish Lena was awake. She’s got a good head for keeping up with the political tides.”

“The last dose should be wearing off, she should be coming around soon,” Angela said.

“That’s good,” Fareeha smiled. “Right, this is a break we all need, but we have to come up with a better plan. Akande, what’s the gas situation like?”

“We’re down to a quarter-tank, sarge.”

“Shit. Think we’ll get lucky and find another gas station?”

“I don’t think so, the last five we passed were sucked dry,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not too hopeful that the next few would have fuel.”

“If they do, prices will be sky high,” Olivia said. “I take it we can’t just flash our guns and take some gas?”

“That’s looting,” Fareeha said. “And you know our standing orders; win hearts and minds. If we make friends, they may be allies against the Nazis.”

“Come on, boss, we can’t buy on credit. With this invasion, they probably don’t take cash, either. They might’ve gone back to the barter system.”

“Well that’s even better,” Fareeha sarcastically sighed. “What do we have?”

“MREs,” Akande said, “ammo, some clothes, and plenty of med kits.”

“Not much we can part with,” the sergeant grumbled. “We need everything to make it to High Command.”

“We need to take a minute to realize just how fucked this is,” Akande chuckled flatly. “We have to travel through the Middle East, dodge the Soviets, then somehow sneak through Nazi occupied Europe, and this is our best option.”

“He’s right. It’s fucked,” Olivia groaned. “Just fucked.”

“Did somebody say ‘fucked?’ Did shit hit the fan again?”

A very disheveled Lena pulled herself out of the van.

“Lena! You’re awake!” Olivia smiled, wrapping the tiny Brit up in a fierce hug.

“Oof. Wish I wasn’t,” she groaned.

“Good to see you up,” Fareeha smiled, giving Lena a gentle hug. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I took a ride in the world’s biggest tumble drier,” Lena said. “And some arsehole filled it with bricks. What happened? Last I remember…”

Angela held her breath as Lena blinked, and began to look at her stomach.

“I don’t think you should—“

Angela didn’t finish fast enough. Lena pulled up her shirt, and stared at her stomach. The nanoparticles had meshed with her flesh, leaving it smooth and blemish-free. It seemed that her entire body had been covered in tattoos, making the new skin stand out even more.

“Oh my…”

“Lena, please,” Angela said, stepping forward. “Breathe, don’t look at it. Please.”

“My fucking tattoos!”

“Huh?”

“What the crap happened?!” She demanded, poking her stomach. “Look at this! I got that beauty in Hong Kong. Do you know what kinda hoops I had to jump through to get into Japan-controlled China?!”

The tattoo in question had been broken up by the Caduceus-healed skin. If Angela had to guess, it used to be a tree of some kind.

“Can’t fucking believe it! This was the best tattoo I ever got, and it’s fucking trashed!” Lena pulled up her shirt and turned around. “Is this part okay? Please tell me it is.”

The trunk of the tree tattoo ran along her right side, with the branches and roots stretching to her stomach and back. At least, that what Angela had to guess. With the shrapnel wound destroying most of her torso, her newly knitted ‘flesh’ tore every tattoo up.

“You mean the tree tattoo, or the Chinese calligraphy tattoo?” Fareeha chuckled.

“Both!”

“Sorry Lena, they’re gone.”

“Fuck a goddamn duck!” She yelled, dropping her shirt. “That calligraphy was my second favorite. Says ‘strong travels.’ I got it to celebrate crossing the hemisphere.”

“You know, if it was written in Chinese, that’s probably not what it said, right?” Akande grinned. “They see a white girl wanting ink, they’d probably write ‘I’m a whore’ or something.”

“I don’t care! It was a souvenir!”

“You can always go back and get another one. They’re saying the Emperor Akihito might be signing an armistice in spite of Hitler the Third,” Olivia laughed. “I mean, if they already let a filthy Westerner like you take vacation in their precious empire, they’ll let you do it again.”

“It’s just not the same!”

Angela let go of her held breath. She didn’t know if Lena would freak out, fall apart, or do anything other than complaining about her ruined tattoos.

“Do you, uh, do you remember what happened?” Angela asked.

“How could I fucking forget? I got turned into a shrapnel pincushion.”

“Where did it hit you?”

“It got me…look, I really don’t want to talk about it,” she mumbled.

Angela tried not to smile. Muninn worked just as it should have.

“And how are you feeling?”

“Like I got fire ants tap dancing in my gut,” she said, itching at her stomach.

“Please don’t scratch too hard,” Angela said. “You’re in one piece, but the nanoparticles are still working, building up stem cells to replace the actual organs you lost. I’m afraid it’ll be quite itchy until they’re done.”

“Any idea when that’ll be?”

“If the doctor told you to stop,” Akande said, reaching out to gently take Lena’s arm, “you should probably stop.”

“Yes, please stop, you might re-open a wound or two,” Angela begged. “I’m sorry, but an injury like yours is unexplored territory. It might take months or years. I can give you some painkillers to take the edge off.”

“I’d love that.”

“Lena,” Fareeha said, “are you sure you’re okay? You were screaming up a storm when Angela saved you.”

“How ‘bout you get skewered by a giant fuck-off metal bar and we’ll see how well you hold yourself together.”

“I have to ask. Mental health check, you know?”

“Is this as a friend, or as my sergeant?”

“Right now, just as your friend.”

Lena took a deep breath to calm herself.

“I’m doing fine. Thanks for looking out for me.” She turned to Angela. “And thanks for bringing me back.”

“It’s not like you died, I just kept you alive.”

“Fuck that, that was a damn miracle you pulled off.”

“Thank you, but I’m not a miracle worker,” she laughed. “I’m just a doctor.”

“You guys have any MREs or jerky left?” Lena asked. “I could eat a horse.”

“We got plenty of that,” Akande smiled. “Let’s get some food in you.”

“And then hit the road,” Fareeha said.

Even with all the windows open, the van remained unbearably hot.

“Man, I was down almost two full days?” Lena said, sticking her head out from the back row. “I gotta make up for lost time.”

“You being alive is all we need,” Fareeha said. She sat with Angela, which meant Angela could keep an eye on Lena.

“Yes, we need our little ray of British sunshine,” Akande laughed from the driver’s seat.

“Damn right you do,” Lena said. “Olivia, Fareeha, I love you both, but you can be such mood killers. You need to lighten up sometimes. Speaking of lightening up, this thing got an aux cord? Can we at least put some music on?”

“Let me guess,” Fareeha asked, “you want to play your stuff.”

“And let one of you limp dicks DJ? Hell no,” Lena laughed. “Come on, pass the cord.”

“Please,” Angela begged, “anything but Wagner.”

“Don’t you worry ‘bout that. You have any heavy metal in the Reich?”

“No.”

“What?” Lena gasped. “That daft bastard Hitler kept heavy metal from you?!”

“There are lots of things the Reich censors and suppresses. Most of the time, they steal genres and create something that is easier to co-opt into state-sponsored media.”

“Now I have to play you some stuff. Come on, pass it back.”

“We’ll be listening to heavy metal for the next thousand miles,” Akande sighed.

“Only the good stuff!”

“As loath as I am to say it,” Akande admitted, “we could use the music.”

“I’ll play something you like, don’t worry.”

Olivia reached into her backpack and passed a long cord back to Lena. The Brit pulled something from a pocket of her discarded and ruined combat vest and hooked it up; it had to be a music player of some kind. A guitar echoed from the speakers; gentle, simple, mournful even.

It started out gentle, but steadily picked up, building in tempo and complexity. Then, in a burst of drums, it kicked into overdrive. The guitar’s tempo tripled, and the lead singer came in, belting out soulful lyrics. Surprisingly, the singer didn’t scream. If anything, he truly sang. Angela didn’t expect that.

I have sailed to many lands, now I make my final journey
On the bow I stand, west is where I go
Through the night I plough, still my heart, calculate and pray
As the compass swings, my will is strong, I will not be led astray
Mysteries of time clouds that hide the sun
But I know, but I know, but I know…

“This almost sounds like Aryan Härte…sorry, a sub-genre of music that the Hitler Youth likes,” Angela said. “What is this?”

“Iron fucking Maiden!” The Brit smiled. Lena held her right fist up; she had ‘Iron’ tattooed on her fingers, one letter for each finger. “One of the greatest heavy metal bands to grace God’s green earth!”

Angela sat back and listened, her muscles unwinding as the omnipresent stress left her. One of the things that turned her off of Aryan Härte, aside from the obvious name, had to be the singing. Aryan Härte vocals growled and spat and hissed, but this singer sang from the bottom of his heart.

“Is this about The Odyssey?” She asked. “The singer just mentioned passing sirens, and lashing his hands to the helm.”

“Well color me surprised, I didn’t think the Reich taught the classics.”

“They changed European history so the Greeks are ‘proto-Aryans.’ It’s all a bunch of bullshit to co-opt pre-Reich history into officially sanctioned lessons. So much of European history has roots in Greece, it’s impossible to pretend it didn’t happen; it’s much easier to bring it in line with official Aryan literature than to get rid of it.”

“I kinda got a feeling I know this,” Lena said, “but what do they think of the Romans?”

“They’re a branch of the Aryans. Like how apes are a genetic cousin, they see the Romans as a separate branch, and not a good branch.”

“Yup, figured as much,” Lena groaned. “Just like what they think of Italians.”

“It’s all bullshit,” Angela nodded.

“That’s pretty deep. They teach you how to be critical in Nazi school?” Olivia asked.

Angela glared at her. She told Olivia not to call her a Nazi, but the bitch obviously loved annoying her. Thankfully, Fareeha glared at her too. Even Akande seemed to give her a side eye.

“I mean, they teach that shit in the Reich?” she groaned, relenting with a roll of her eyes.

“No, but they teach it in Blackwatch,” Angela said. “We recruit people who hate the Reich. Once we find these people, we have to deprogram them, get them to realize what their hatred was about, and refocus it. Then we can use them to take down the Reich from within.”

“Did they do that to you?” Fareeha asked. “Deprogram, I mean.”

“No, I’m an outsider to the Reich, I had nothing to deprogram. Remember, the Reich conquered Switzerland when I was a girl; I had to learn to pretend to be a good Nazi woman.”

“This is lovely,” Lena said, “but can we sit back and appreciate this? We’re talking through the greatest music ever written.”

Angela wanted to keep talking to Fareeha, but at least Olivia shut up. So she sat back, put her head as close to the open window as possible, and listened. Lena’s ‘heavy metal’ seemed a strange thing, with pounding drums and rip-roaring guitars, but if all heavy metal had been as wonderfully made as this song, she could like it.

The song came to a rousing end, and Angela couldn’t believe that she actually felt sad. It truly felt that she had reached the end of a great journey. Lena stared at her music player, sucking at her teeth, but picked the next song.

A guitar picked out a slow and steady tune, then a drum joined it, beating out a heavy rhythm. Angela couldn’t help but nod her head in rhythm to it.

“Who is this?”

“I really, really wanted to go with more Iron Maiden,” Lena said, “but the Yanks got pretty damn good metal. This is Metallica.”

Whereas the last song had a mournful tone to it, the new song bled energy. The guitars sang out in high tempos, the drums pounded relentlessly, it felt so catchy and fun and it made Angela want to get up and move!

Lena played air guitar, making Angela laugh. Fareeha and Akande started singing along. Lena quickly joined in.

Say your prayers, little one
Don't forget, my son
To include everyone
I tuck you in, warm within
Keep you free from sin
Till the Sandman he comes

“Come on, Olivia,” Lena grinned. “I know you want to sing, too.”

Olivia rolled her eyes and reluctantly joined in, yet Angela could spy a grin on the Spanish woman’s lips.

The van shook from the loud music, Angela almost felt like putting on ear protection. And she couldn’t stop smiling; the heat suddenly didn’t seem that bad.

The song came to an end, but Lena queued more up. They switched from band to band; each song different from the last, but Angela could easily pick out the high tempo and relentless drums that seemed to define heavy metal. The time seemed to fly.

Fareeha grabbed her bag and pulled out a cigarette. Seeing one made Angela’s pulse rise.

“Can I get one of those?” She asked.

“You’re serious?” The Egyptian stared at her.

“I crashed a plane, faked my death, sailed across the Mediterranean, ran from the Reich, got blown up, and gotten less than twelve hours of sleep. I need this.”

“Aren’t doctors supposed to talk me out of smoking?”

“Fine,” Angela groaned. “Let me see your hand.”

Fareeha furrowed her brow, but held her hand out. Angela slapped her wrist.

“Don’t smoke, it’s bad for you. Now can I have one?”

Fareeha laughed as she held out the cigarettes. Angela took one, and leaned over so Fareeha could light her up. She took a long pull, holding the smoke in, savoring it, feeling the nicotine seep into her blood. She blew it out towards the window, feeling her muscles loosen even more.

She looked over. Fareeha stared at her.

“Sorry, I…never thought I’d see a doctor smoke,” Fareeha blushed, breaking eye contact.

“Better get used to it,” Angela smiled. “Looks like I’ll be with you for a while.”

They both went back to enjoying the music. Angela started to feel normal for once.

“Okay, we need something new,” Fareeha finally said, pulling out her own music player. “Give me the cord, come on.”

Lena pulled the cord out of her player. Going from high tempos to silence almost made Angela feel like she’d gotten thrown off some fast-moving car. Fareeha plugged hers in, and the change became even more jarring; heavy guitars and relentless drums gave way to woodwinds and string instruments; it wasn’t heavy metal, but a Broadway show tune. What truly caught Angela by surprise is that she knew exactly where the music came from.

“Really, boss?” Lena groaned.

“You shut your mouth,” Fareeha spat, “this is a stone cold fucking classic.”

“So’s a mercy killing.”

“Bite me, parodies are the best way to make fun of someone.”

Angela bit her lip, trying not to laugh. As the song continued, she cleared her throat, and belted out the next verse.

Springtime for Hitler and Germany
Deutschland is happy and gay
We're marching to a faster pace
Look out, here comes the master race

Everyone in the van stared at her as Angela sang. She wanted to look at Fareeha who looked at her, but the singing kept her from focusing.

“How the fuck do you know the Producers?” Fareeha demanded.

“That’s my secret,” Angela winked.

Fareeha laughed, at first just a little chuckle, but it turned into a roaring laugh. She leaned back and joined Angela in singing a Broadway classic.

Angela’s heart soared. It felt wonderful to sing such a great song. And yet, she couldn’t keep her mind at the last time she had sung a Broadway number.

Chapter Text

Angela nervously fiddled with her salad fork. She shifted in her seat, forced to wear a slate gray evening gown as she sat at a round table in the Führer’s summer home. She couldn’t wear her Blackwatch uniform in the presence of the fickle third Hitler, she had to be as ‘presentable’ as a good little Aryan woman should.

She sat next to Markus. Markus, meanwhile, got to wear a suit; he sat at the right hand of Führer Heinrich Hitler himself. The four other men at the table comprised Hitler’s inner circle; they were the Admirals of the Wehrmacht, Luftwaffe, Kriegsmarine, and of course, the Schutzstaffel.

“You mean to tell me that the man leading the French resistance is dead,” Heinrich Hitler said, “and by the hands of his own wife?”

“That is exactly it, my Führer,” Markus grinned.

Heinrich Hitler leaned back and laughed. Despite the effort of his tailored uniform, his massive belly shook. Of course a Hitler wouldn’t be lacking any meals.

“Ah, such poetic justice!” He roared, stroking his mustache. “My good man, you’ve delivered the Reich the greatest weapon ever to be conceived!”

Heaping plates of food filled the table. The air felt positively polluted with the full, rich scents of grilled meat, fried fish, warm bread, and thick soup. As much as Angela wanted to eat, everything proved too rich to her, packed with flavor and seasoning to the point where it overpowered the taste of the food itself. Even the soup proved too much, and she loved soup.

My God, this is such a farce, Angela thought, doing her best to keep her bitter grin hidden. Half the Reich starves, and I can’t eat a bite. Half the Reich starves, and a Hitler could eat endlessly.

“Will this topple France Resistance?” Heinrich Hitler asked, cutting into a massive steak. Blood and grease ran onto the plate. “Will we finally conquer it?”

“Sadly, no,” the Admiral of the Wehrmacht sighed. “While this is a massive blow to their morale, the French still have the chain of command in place.”

“Our embedded agents report that the French have named a replacement already,” the Admiral of the SS added, casually slicing apart a massive cut of salmon.

“Damn,” Hitler grumbled. “Still, this is a great boon to us. We do appreciate this.”

Heinrich Hitler the Third proved quick to use the royal ‘we.’ Of course, his father Alois, Hitler the Second, must have given him that habit. Angela tried not to sneer.

“Thank you,” Markus said. “With me creating soldiers from our enemies, and Angela curing the battered bodies of our own forces, the Reich will truly be unstoppable.”

“Yes, the infamous Red Angel of Verdun,” Heinrich Hitler smiled. “It’s good you have a softer hand for us. Tell me, what do you think of the name our enemies have blessed you with?”

Angela did her best to smile despite her skin-turning revulsion.

“Names don’t mean much to me.” She wanted to vomit. “It’s a distraction from my work.”

“Such a professional,” Hitler chuckled. “Aren’t you hungry? You’ve barely ate.”

“I’m sorry, my Führer, but Markus’ creation has sent my mind into overdrive,” Angela said. “I’m so stunned by it, I’ve lost my appetite. I’m busy thinking of how to best utilize it.”

Angela wasn’t completely lying. Her mind had been spinning ever since Markus’ demonstration three days ago. But her thoughts weren’t about how best to use Markus’ Muninn; rather, she thought of how they could stop it.

“We love your dedication to the Reich,” Hitler smiled. “You’re a model woman.”

If she didn’t have an appetite before, she would have lost it with that.

A serving man came and deftly took her full plates away. Angela hoped that someone would eat the food she left untouched; she hated wasting food!

Before she could move, another team of servers came out with crystal cups of spirits, filled with the best liquor in the Reich. But a waiter placed a slender flute of champagne placed in front of her.

“To the Reich,” Hitler said, raising his glass. “May we last a thousand years.”

“Heil Hitler,” everyone cheered. That made Hitler’s face flush as he downed his glass in one go. Angela mouthed the damned phrase, letting the admirals speak for her.

“So, how to best use this,” Hitler said. A server stood by him to refill his glass. “Of course, we have to go after the Russians first, we must secure our borders from the terrible Ivan. Markus, how long does your fantastic Muninn need to work?”

“I’m cutting it down to hours, my Führer,” Markus replied. “I already have one template created; it is the one used in Amélie.”

“You cannot turn them into true Nazis?” Hitler asked.

“Sadly, not yet. The untermensch mind, it is too malleable,” Markus said. Angela could hear him lying, trying to buy time with flattery. “To build true loyalty, we need a strong mind. I’m trying to take an ubermensch mind and find what makes it so strong; that way, I can implant that strength in our enemy’s minds, and make them strong like us.”

“True, untermensch have such twisted minds. But they will make excellent cannon fodder, yes?”

“Exactly,” Markus smiled. “Or perfect wind-up soldiers.”

“Speaking of these ‘wind-up soldiers,’ where is that wind-up soldier you created?” He asked, finishing another drink. “That woman who used to be a French agent? I thought you would have brought her to show what you can do.”

“We’re keeping her at the French border,” the Admiral of the SS said. “Markus needs to test his templates on her, and she is proving his genius. We currently have her as a sniper, hunting down and eliminating our enemies from afar.”

“And how is it going?”

“Absolutely incredible,” the Admiral of the SS gushed. “When Amélie was a rebel whore, she wasn’t a soldier, she was a leader. But this Muninn has turned her into a deadly sniper. Her aim is impeccable.”

“I hate to correct my Führer, but we’re no longer calling her Amélie,” Markus added.

“Then what are you calling her?”

“Seeing how I made her kill her husband, we’re calling her Widowmaker,” Markus smiled.

“Oh, you’re too good, Markus,” Hitler laughed, draining a third glass. “Too good indeed!”

“My Führer is kind.”

“Now, back to the War. We must take the fight to Ivan. Can you imagine, occupations taking days instead of decades, all because of Markus! This is fantastic.”

“What does my Führer suggest?” The Admiral of the Wehrmacht asked. Angela could hear a smidgen of hesitancy in his voice; the Admiral could tell that the Führer wanted the impossible.

“We’ll take the oil fields of the Middle East,” Hitler said, “starve Ivan’s war machines before we invade, and improve our own stocks of oil. To do that, we’ll invade Egypt.”

“Egypt?” Angela said. “My Führer, we’ll have to capture the entire Middle East.”

“That’s the plan, my precious Red Angel,” Hitler smiled. Angela squirmed at that; she could see Hitler growing visibly drunk. “With Markus’ Muninn, we’ll win their minds in a matter of hours!

“We take Cairo, capture all the soldiers we can. We reform their minds, turning them into loyal soldiers, then march them out in front of the Wehrmacht and our Panzers like Attila the Hun! And if we capture the generals, we turn them into giving us all their secrets, codes, and accesses.

“We march to the Middle East, secure the Russian’s oil for ourselves. Then we push north and we take Russia, like how my father and his father dreamed of doing! We turn all of them into joining our cause, then we turn our attention to the Allies in the West.

“Oh, this will be glorious indeed!”

The Hitlers were notoriously bad military planners. Adolph Hitler nearly lost the War because of himself. But with Muninn, suddenly Hitler the Third might actually succeed.

“When should we begin the invasion?” The Admirals asked.

“As soon as possible.”

Angela nearly snorted at that. The Hitlers were also notorious at demanding far too much. The Reich succeeded despite them, and how it did was a mystery to Angela and Blackwatch.

“My Führer, it will take at least a week to prepare an invasion,” the admirals protested.

“Then you have a week.”

“But my Führer, what about my Muninn?” Markus asked. “There is only one working unit in the world; that’s the one I’m using right now, the others are prototypes. We’ll need more to give you a win.”

“We’re close, Markus,” Hitler said, grabbing Markus’ hand. “We’re so close! The world is near our grasp, we just need to reach out and take it! Show us how to make more of your Muninn devices, we can worry about true belief later. I want Cairo, and I want it before the month is over.”

“I understand, my Führer,” Markus said, eyes dreamy with the promises of victory.

“Excellent.” By now, the waiter had refilled Hitler’s glass a sixth time. “Heil victory!”

“Heil victory!”

The Admirals excused themselves, no doubt having to spend a very long night drafting plans and orders and moving men about. Markus rose to run off to his workshop to put more work into his Muninn templates. Angela reached into her purse to pull out her phone to call an emergency Blackwatch meeting; they had a week to stop this nightmare.

As Blackwatch’s second in command, everyone quickly responded to Angela’s summons; she didn’t even have time to change from her evening dress. Brigitte came, as she had just joined the upper echelons. Much like how Angela had been groomed for her current position, everyone knew Torbjörn had started training Brigitte to be his eventual replacement.

Several men and women also sat at the table, each representing a portion of Blackwatch’s effort to end the Reich. They sat in Reinhardt’s secure basement meeting room.

Angela quickly filled everyone in on the Muninn, and what Hitler wanted.

“This Muninn,” Reinhardt said, “it works?”

“Completely,” Angela nodded.

“And what of Amélie? Is she still in her head?”

“Somewhere, I think. But we can’t focus on her, not when an invasion is planned.”

“And when they can brainwash us at any time,” Ingrid mumbled. “This is a nightmare. How many of these damned machines do they have?”

“So far, just Markus’ original. But he has four prototypes nearing completion, and since he’ll be working hard to match the Führer’s flattery, he can easily make ten by the time the invasion is set to begin.”

“This is a goddamn nightmare,” Ingrid gasped.

“Yes, it is,” Reinhardt agreed. “This is worse than when Hitler ordered us to create a social network to spy on everyone. This is worse than the citizen scores. We need to move fast.”

“Then what are we to do?” Torbjörn asked. “We can’t stop an invasion!”

“But we might be able to undo some damage, perhaps mitigate some of it as the invasion unfold,” Reinhardt said. “There will be multiple devices, yes, but is there anything with the original Muninn machine that sets it apart from the others, Angela?”

“Not much,” she said, “perhaps it would contain Markus’ recent tweaks and adjustments.”

“Would it contain any software or, or something that would actually unlock the ability to change a person’s true beliefs?”

“I sincerely doubt it,” Angela said, shaking her head. “It took Markus nearly ten years to turn a person into a biological automata. It would take years more to create a machine to truly change what a person thinks and believes.”

“Then we’re thankfully limited to having the Nazis only be able to turn people into mindless husks. What a thing to be celebrating,” Reinhardt chuckled bitterly. He paused, deep in thought. “Perhaps our ‘precious’ Führer has given us a blessing: he wants Egypt invaded. That means Markus won’t be able to make any more adjustments to Muninn, yes?”

“Not when he’s been tasked with making more units, no.”

“Has he made schematics available for mass production?”

“It’s not so much the schematics that we should worry about, but the software he made,” Angela said. “Yes, creating a mind-machine interface is truly groundbreaking and revolutionary, but it is the software that adjusts how a person’s mind works.”

“Software can be copied endlessly, effortlessly,” Ingrid said, her voice cracking in despair. “Then that is it? We’ve lost the chance to neutralize this threat?”

“You haven’t seen how Markus makes his software or user interface,” Angela chuckled. “Only he truly understands it; looking at it makes my eyes bleed.”

“But you understand it?” Reinhardt asked, pressing Angela.

“Not as much as Markus does, but yes. He thought he could win me over by describing his genius every change he got. But even then, I don’t know everything. I know that Markus keeps all of his notes in one notebook. Sadly, he codes it, so we can’t copy it in a timely manner.”

“I never thought I’d see delusions of grandeur actually pan out,” Brigitte mumbled.

“Yes, but it’s good that all that knowledge is inside only one man’s head,” Reinhardt said. “Angela, I have a plan, but it will ask everything of you.”

“I’m ready to give everything,” she said. “All to end this fucking Reich.”

Her uncle nodded.

“Torbjörn, have you finished work on that autonomous plane?”

“The luxury jet? Yes, but why? It’s a novelty toy, a white elephant.”

“A novelty that will get us what we need,” Reinhardt said. “Torbjörn, ready one of  the jets. We’re going to use it to fly Angela and Markus to the front.”

“Fly us where?” Angela asked.

“The Reich will be sailing across the Mediterranean, that much is obvious,” Reinhardt said. “The Führers always wanted to outdo the British and the Americans with their D-Day landings; this invasion would be the perfect time for Hitler the Third to make his mark, that much I can promise. We’ll use the plane to get you to the armada; sadly, there will be a terrible accident.

“Torbjörn, rig the plate to fail. Angela, once you’re on the plane with Markus, kill him. You’ll have to crash the plane, then find a way to get to mainland Egypt. Bring this Muninn to the Allies, find a way to counter it.”

“What?” Brigitte yelled. “You’ll have Angela run? You mean to burn her?”

“It’s the only way.”

“If you burn her and the Reich finds out she’s alive, we’ll be a target,” Brigitte said.

“Brigitte, please, there’s no other way for this,” Ingrid said, taking her daughter’s hand.

“The SS will ask questions about her,” she pressed. “They’ll finally audit Blackwatch.”

“Which is why we’ll have to close our operations as soon as possible,” Reinhardt said.

“I have agents in deep cover,” Ingrid said. “Withdrawing them will cause noticeable disruptions. It could even give the SS a reason to thoroughly investigate those disruptions; it could lead back to us, give them another reason to audit us properly.”

“It’s terrible that we must throw so much away, but we have no other choice. This Muninn will undo all of our work.”

“And you’ll throw Angela away so easily?” Her god-sister demanded. “For what, the chance to give the Allies a warning before people are brainwashed into fighting?”

“If the user interface is as atrocious as Angela says it is…”

“Trust me, it’s worse,” Angela added.

“…That can be the opening we need,” Reinhardt continued. “If Markus is eliminated, the Nazis won’t know how to properly, fully use it. It buys us time.”

“That’s bullshit! Someone might be able to figure it out within hours! This is a terrible gamble, and you’ll throw Angela away like it’s nothing!”

“Brigitte, please,” Angela said. “It’s fine.”

“Why can’t we just destroy Muninn?” Brigitte pressed. “Sabotage the factories where he’ll be making copies? If Egypt can’t be conquered quickly, Hitler must know he’ll never win.”

“Since when has common sense ever stopped a Hitler?” Torbjörn laughed.

“But…but it would stop this madness,” she stammered. “It has to.”

“Brigitte, please,” Angela said. “This is Pandora’s Box. Markus has opened it, and there’s nothing we can do to get it closed again. We have to steal the tech, and give it to the Allies so they can find a way to fight it.”

“Why can’t Blackwatch reverse-engineer it?”

“Because we can barely work on anything without risking tipping off the SS,” Torbjörn said. “Do you know how hard it is to justify the expenses when we can’t tell them where the money is going? Every anti-Reich project has to be kept at a minimum level to avoid suspicion, and we have to pray to God that the SS believes us when we say we can’t give them a detailed account to ‘protect our agents in the field.’”

“If we want to work on our own Muninn, or counter tech, the Reich will find out,” Angela said. “We don’t have the budget for it, or the secrecy. It has to be the Allies.”

“Besides, this Muninn will be the death of us,” Reinhardt said. “We’ve been spreading anti-Reich propaganda since the war began. We’ve been weakening the infrastructure, ruining crop yields, all to stoke resentment among the population. We’ve been pulling the nails out of the Reich, and with the endless War and countless Eastern Wars with the Russians, it’s ready to fall.

“But all our efforts would be ruined if they can be turned into perfect citizens, unable to resist. All of our work is based on the fact that people have their own believes, and those believes run counter to the Reich. But Muninn will change that! This is the only way.”

“And what if the world finds out Angela is alive?” Brigitte pressed. “The SS will come down on us like they carry the wrath of God. We’ll all be killed.”

“The Reich needs us, it’s already criminally understaffed in the worst ways,” Reinhardt said. “If they purge all of Blackwatch, the SS will break from the strain of picking up our duties. We’re needed, if only to keep the lights on. That is how we’ll weather an investigation.”

Tensely, Brigitte nodded.

“Angela, we’ll need you to make a journal,” her uncle said. “Rail against the Reich in it, say you’re trying to sabotage it from within. Singe it a little, we’ll pretend it was burned along with other anti-Reich propaganda. We’re faking your death, but it’ll be a matter of time until the world finds out you’re still alive; we’ll use this help take some heat off us.”

“I’ll try to spin it so the SS gets blamed,” Angela said. “They could’ve stopped me, but didn’t.”

“Not a bad idea.” He paused. “We’ll be forced to say terrible things about you.”

“It’s not a problem,” she said.

“Thank you.” Reinhardt sighed. “Torbjörn, get to work on the jet, and find a way to get Angela to survive. Everyone else, shut down your projects. Angela, you have a week. Use it to get your ‘journal’ ready, and take as much time off as you need.”

Angela sat in her apartment, writing journal entries in an old notebook. She already had several pages of ‘entries’ where she cursed the Reich and plotted its downfall. She was having fun; maybe she should’ve been a writer. Her apartment’s buzzer rang; she got up to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Open up, it’s your sister.”

“Brigitte? You didn’t call.”

“I wanted to make it a surprise.”

She buzzed Brigitte into her building. Her sister climbed the stairs, carrying a bag.

“It’s good to see you,” she said, hugging her tightly, welcoming her in.

“We needed some sister time,” Brigitte smiled. Angela let her in and closed the door. With the door closed, she pulled out a bundle of movies and a few bottles of wine.

“If you’re going to run, we need to celebrate,” she smiled. The movies looked like pro-Reich propaganda pieces, but inside the jewel cases were different movies.

“Banned movies?” Angela smiled. “You are spoiling me.”

“This…this isn’t just for you. It’s for me as well.” Brigitte’s smile faltered for half a second, but quickly came back. “I think we should start with a musical from Broadway called the Producers.”

“What’s it about?”

“Well, it’s written by a Jewish man, an American who apparently goes out of his way to remind you that he is very, very, very Jewish. Naturally, it had to have been banned.”

“I love it already!”

“This apartment is soundproof, right? I want to listen to this at a good volume.”

The credits rolled, and Angela applauded  alongside her sister.

“Bravo,” Angela beamed. “That music, oh it was so good, so catchy!”

“’Springtime for Hitler and Germany,’” Angela sang.

“’Winter for Poland and France,’” Brigitte sang through laughter. “God, how does that work?! It’ll be in my head for weeks, I just know it!”

Brigitte took her hand, pulling Angela closer, putting her head on her shoulder. Suddenly, Angela realized Brigitte’s eyes grew wet, and tears soon threatened to spill.

“You can’t be burned,” she cried. “You can’t, we’ll never see each other again.”

“It’s okay,” she said, pulling her god-sister closer. “It’s okay. This is for the best of us. The best for all of us, not just Blackwatch, but also Germany. No, not just Germany, but for Europe, for the world. The world needs heroes, Brigitte. We have to save it.”

“But heroes end up dying.”

“We have to believe that we’ll meet again when this is all done, and the Reich has fallen.”

“I’ll have to curse you,” Brigitte mumbled. “I’ll have to spit on your name.”

“You can’t hesitate. My life in the Reich will be over, but yours will still be going.”

Angela stopped. Those were some of the last words her father told her, before…

“Do what you have to do to survive,” she said, forcing the words out. “Curse me, spit at me, that way they won’t come for you. That way, we can meet again when it is all done.”

She got a handful of tissues, both for herself and Brigitte.

“I know,” she smiled. “We’ll use a code word. Make it a curse, so when you say it, I know you’re really saying that you love me.”

“I’ll call you a ‘Swiss whore,’” Brigitte smiled, drying her eyes.

“That’s it!” Angela gave her a big hug. “Now, we have more movies to watch, yes?”

Brigitte chuckled, blowing her nose. Angela didn’t know if she had raised her sister’s spirits, or if she simply put on a brave face for her. But at the same time, it didn’t matter.

“Actually, I want to watch a TV show,” she said. “My father recommends it. It’s called Hogan’s Heroes, and it takes place in a German POW camp the early days of the war, before the Darkest Days froze everything.”

“Fun subject.”

“He says it’s a farce. The Allies use the camp to run counter-intelligence, espionage, and sabotage operations against the Reich. All the Germans are played by Jews, they’re all bumbling idiots. There’s one rule of the show: the Nazis never win.”

“That’s what we’re doing, Brigitte. We’re making sure the Nazis never win.”

Chapter Text

Between the music and the singing, the atmosphere had lightened considerably.

Fareeha and her comrades shared their own personal music collections. Fareeha had a shocking love of American Broadway show tunes and what she called electro-swing. Olivia had what she called EDM and jumpstyle. Akande called his collection blues and classic rock.

Angela never heard such variety before. In the Reich, music had to be drafted and approved by several departments. Listening to songs made for the sake of making music felt so invigorating! It even made the omnipresent dust that flew in through the open windows bearable.

Despite the lightened atmosphere, Angela knew they were still in trouble. And despite how far they traveled from Cairo, it didn’t seem to improve the stability of the region.

“Ten British pounds for a liter of petrol?” Angela gawked. She adjusted Fareeha’s keffiyeh, keeping it secured around her head she stood by the van at the gas station. Fareeha and Akande went to pay for the gas while Lena filled the van, and Olivia stood watch. “How is this possible?"

“Thank the Russkies and their grip on Afghanistan,” Lena sighed. She had recovered from the Caduceus surgery quite well; she hardly seemed affected by it. However, Angela found it strange that Lena didn’t seem to be getting any sun. Despite her own long shirt sleeves, she had already begun to tan; Lena, however, remained quite pale.

“Hitler the Second saw red when the Russians invaded,” Angela chuckled. “He hated knowing that the Russians would have more oil than he could ever get.”

“Well, MI-6 thinks the invasion was out of desperation. They need the oil to stay afloat,” Lena said, “what with all the tanks they turn out. So they take the lion’s share of the oil for themselves, and let the little guys fight over the scraps.”

“Russia and their tanks,” Angela sighed. “The Hitlers hated their swarming tactics.”

“Tanks, warm bodies, if it has a chance to kill Nazis, they’ll get used,” Lena nodded. “If you throw enough bodies at a problem, the problem will eventually go away.”

“The Reich is bitter about the armor discrepancy,” Angela sighed as a cool breeze caressed her. “They don’t like seeing their Panzers blown up by several other tanks.”

“You know, I can’t actually blame them for that,” Olivia said. Angela gave her a questioning look. “Hey, no one like seeing their shit knocked in the dirt.”

“Guess that’s fair,” Lena nodded. “But all those tanks need a lot of fuel, hence their iron grip on the Middle East.”

“You seem very knowledgeable about all this for an infantry soldier,” Angela said.

“Foreign policy always fascinated me. I like knowing how people think.”

“Then why be a soldier? I’m sure the Allies could use someone like you.”

“I like foreign policy, but only as a hobby! Never got good marks to make it into university, I’m more than likely to fall asleep in a lecture.”

“Please stop scratching,” Angela said, “you might tear something open.”

Lena blinked; she had started scratching at her stomach and newly-healed side. Angela offered her another dose of aspirin to help kill the sensation; Lena dry-swallowed it.

“What about the Americans?” Angela asked. “The only thing the Reich knows about them is their pre-War history. They don’t have a lot of opportunities to send spies.”

“You’ll have to ask our resident Honorary American,” Lena laughed.

“’Honorary American?’”

“Refreshments,” Fareeha called, walking back with Akande. She held a cheap water bottle to her head. “Wish these things didn’t cost so much, though.”

“I’m telling you, we need something good for us,” Akande said. “I just wish the food here didn’t cost so much, we could all do with a warm meal.”

“The leftovers from the refugee caravan isn’t enough for you?” Fareeha asked.

“It’s good food, but it’s not warm. A good home cooked meal would set us right.”

“Next time you see a good home cooked meal on the side of the road, and is cheap,” Fareeha said, “point it out, we’ll stop.”

Fareeha handed Angela a cheap plastic bottle. The bottle felt so cold it almost hurt to hold it. She followed Fareeha’s example and pressed it against her brow, and sighed in pleasure.

“See?” Akande grinned, gesturing to Angela. “We all need some kind of break to get our strength back, especially with a busted A/C.”

“Fine, you’ve got some good ideas,” Fareeha admitted. “What are you two filling the doctor in with?”

“The Commie’s iron grip on the Middle East,” Lena said, taking her own bottle. She grinned wickedly. “And how you’re our Honorary American.”

“For the love of God, would you knock that off?” Fareeha groaned.

“How are you an ‘honorary American?’” Angela asked.

“’Cus she lived there for four years,” Olivia said.

“You did?”

“I got the chance to go to college there,” Fareeha said tightly.

“Your mother sent you there,” Lena said.

“Shut it!”

“Your mother sent you to America? That’s amazing! But why become a soldier? Wouldn’t you be able to be anything else?”

“I got the chance to study in America because it would help me be a better officer,” Fareeha said, glaring at Olivia and Lena.

“But isn’t a sergeant still an enlistee rank?”

“I want to earn command by going mustang, not by being a ring knocker. I want people to know I earned what I got because of me, not because of my mother, as much as I love her.”

“’Mustang?’” Angela’s brow furrowed. “’Ring knocker?’”

“American slang,” Akande laughed, wrapping an arm around Fareeha’s shoulders, “for our honorary American.”

“Can we get back to bitching about the Russians and their empire building?” Fareeha snapped, shrugging Akande’s arm off.

Angela could tell the squad wanted to keep antagonizing Fareeha. There were plenty of times that she had been lightly, jovially, bullied in Blackwatch because everyone knew that Reinhardt would train her to be his replacement.

If I could have stopped the teasing then, I would’ve, Angela thought.

Besides, she didn’t want to see Fareeha uncomfortable.

“’Empire building,’” Angela chuckled. “Oh, that takes me back to the Reich. The Hitlers always warned of a Communist, Soviet invasion; it’s how they justified the many Eastern Wars they started, the fuckers.”

“Calling the Hilters ‘fuckers?’ Never thought I’d be hearing that from the Red Angel of Verdun,” Fareeha laughed. She seemed to talk louder than normal, like she jumped at the chance to change the subject. It made Angela smile. “Is that how they justified all their attacks?”

“Of course. The Communists want to take what was ‘ours,’ so we had to take theirs.”

“Ha! That’s a riot!” Fareeha roared. “Want to know something sad?”

“Don’t go telling me the Hitlers were speaking the truth.”

“I mean, kind of?” Fareeha shrugged. “The Third Reich wants to invade someone, right? Well, Russia is paranoid about getting invaded, America dreams of getting invaded, and China wants to do some invading.”

“But China doesn’t even have a centralized government,” Angela said. “They only have warring nation-states.”

“That’s why they want to do some invading,” Olivia said. She took a long pull of cold water, and splashed a little on her face. “They want to be the one to unite China, to be the next Qin dynasty. Funny that Emperor Akihito let them self-rule, and it all just collapsed.”

“That’s because the Chinese spent the last fifty some-odd years trying to tear everything down,” Lena said. “They’re not the French Resistance; they don’t have a clear chain of command, they had have a dozen some-odd freedom fighter cells. That’s good for a rebellion, but piss terrible when it came time to self-govern. Too many cooks spoils the broth, yeah?”

“Mao Zedong must be spinning in his grave,” Akande laughed.

“Undoubtedly. That makes the Japanese controlled regions safe havens against the civil wars, and the Japanese Empire gets a stronger hold on the mainland.”

“Then why do the Americans dream of getting invaded?” Angela asked.

“It gives the die-hard anti-fascists and the government a hill they can die on,” Fareeha said. “Eighty years of war tends to drain morale.”

“Americans are strange,” Angela shook her head. “What else should I know about them?”

The Allied soldiers paused, and traded a very knowing look towards each other. Angela thought it looked like a scene from a movie, they all moved in perfect sync.

“The Yanks…?” Lena said.

“They’re…fuck, they’re just the Americans,” Fareeha groaned.

“They do the right things,” Akande said, clearly trying to say something positive.

“But for the wrong reasons,” Olivia added.

Angela blinked, looking between the soldiers.

“All the wrong reasons,” Fareeha nodded. “All of them.”

“Totally the wrong reasons,” Lena agreed.

“I know the Reich can’t keep close tabs on the Allies, or the Americans,” Angela said, “but is that really how everyone else sees the Americans?”

“What do you know about the Americans?” Fareeha asked.

“That their policies on racial profiling laid the ground works for Adolph Hitler’s ‘solution to the Jewish problem,’” Angela said. She spoke as sarcastically as she could. “I mean, ‘Coloreds Only?’ The Hitlers love that so much, they named their personal trains Amerika. They’re on Amerika IV right now. It’s ungodly garish.”

“Man, I forgot about that,” Lena chuckled. “The Yanks changed their game up, you know that, right?”

“The Reich might not have intelligence agents in America anymore, but they do know they changed their policies entering the sixties.”

“Oh, they changed it, alright,” Akande said. “The American government aren’t big fans of black people. But back in the fifties, too many white soldiers were getting tired of the endless war, and wanted out. Black Americans wanted to fight, because they were next after the Jews.

“But they also wanted civil rights. So to get more loyal soldiers, the American government gave them their civil rights. Same thing happened with women in the eighties, and gay people just a few years ago. They need a larger pool of soldiers to fight the War, so they give them concessions so they could get loyal soldiers to throw into the War. After all, if the Nazis win, everything they’ve got will be taken away, and then some.”

“That’s…” Angela grimaced, “that’s awfully mercenary.”

“Exactly,” Fareeha nodded. “Americans tend to be great people, they hate fascists more than Olivia does, but the American government…? They’ll do the right thing, eventually. But for the wrong reasons.”

“Sadly, this is an improvement from the Reich,” Angela sighed. “Olivia, you mentioned that Emperor Akihito tried to give self-governance to the Chinese; are the Japanese like the Americans, eventually doing the right thing?”

“Oh fuck no,” she laughed. “I mean, Akihito wanted to do the right thing, but it backfired. The Japanese control more of China now than ever, all because he gave the Chinese the right to govern themselves.”

“That’s devious. Emperor Akihito must be a dangerous man to destroy Chinese resistance with the stroke of a pen.”

“Actually, Akihito wanted to give China back,” Olivia smiled.

“Come on, that’s gotta be a rumor,” Lena said.

“Trust me, it isn’t! Akihito isn’t like his old man at all. My contact in the PSIA says Akihito was horrified to learn of the atrocities his old man ordered before Fat Man and Little Boy kicked off the Darkest Days. Shit, he tried to declare December 13^th a national day of mourning to mark the Rape of Nanjing. It didn’t fly with the rest of the Empire, but he really wants to make up for the sins of his father.”

Angela looked at her forearms, at the feathers and wings that were tattooed to her skin.

“I can sympathize.”

“Then failure runs in the family,” Akande laughed. “His father failed to rule the Pacific, and his son failed at being repentant! What?”

Angela glared at Akande, hatred rising in her heart.

“At least he’s trying to atone for his sins,” she snapped.

“We need to focus on better topics,” Fareeha said loudly. “This heat isn’t helping anyone.”

“When can we expect this to get better?” Lena asked. “We gotta be close to Turkey.”

“Almost six hundred klicks from the border,” Olivia said.

“That’s easily a full day of driving,” Akande sighed. “And I know we’re on a time table here, but that doesn’t give us a lot of time to catch our breaths.”

“I know we need a chance to relax a bit, but we don’t have a single friendly face in the region,” Fareeha said. “So sorry about this, but I have to be the sarge and put my foot down: we need to haul ass. Lena, how much gas did we get?”

“Several liters, ‘bout four hundred-plus clicks. We might have to take some odd jobs.” Everyone stared at Lena. “What? We can’t exactly pawn off our weapons and gear.”

“We’ll think about it on the road,” Fareeha said. “Back in the van.”

“Come on, just a little more fresh air?” Lena pleaded.

“We really need a longer break,” Akande nodded. “It’s too damn hot in that van.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, but we’ve got two white women out in the open, and they’re getting looks,” Fareeha said, “never mind that one white woman is trying to blend in.”

“What do you mean, I’m getting looks?” Angela said. “I’m wearing your keffiyeh.”

“The Americans would say it’s one of Murphy’s Laws of Combat,” Fareeha said, giving a flat laugh. “’Don’t look inconspicuous, it draws attention.’”

“What?” Angela sputtered.

“It means you shouldn’t look like you’re trying to blend in, or sneak around. People think you’re up to something, and that’s the opposite of what we need.”

“Then should I take off this keffiyeh?”

“Absolutely not. You’re a blonde woman; not a lot of those around here. If the Reich finds out you’re still alive, that makes our lives miserable.”

“It’s like I can’t fucking win,” Angela huffed.

“That’s life,” Fareeha shrugged. “Pile in. We need to hit the road.”

Angela groaned and turned to the van. A little discomfort now meant nothing compared to saving the world from Muninn, but why did this discomfort have to be so much?

Fareeha gently set a hand on her shoulder, offering her a fresh cigarette.

“Thank you,” Angela smiled.

“You’re welcome,” Fareeha smiled back. She needed to smile more, she positively glowed.

Fareeha lit her cigarette, then Angela’s, then they climbed into the van. Even though they left the doors open to air it out, the van quickly became uncomfortably hot.

“We’re under three-quarters tank,” Fareeha mumbled, doing mental math out loud. “That means we got about five hundred and fifty klicks. Not too bad, I guess…”

She started the van and put it in gear. They pulled out into the rough city by the sea, passing tiny houses and small brick buildings. Trees were sparse, but big, and the rough desert temperature gave rise to plenty of thistle on the road side. The squad had been through so many tiny towns, Angela stopped asking what their names were.

“I should’ve brought a book,” Angela sighed, mopping sweat off her brow. She wrinkled her nose at how much dust and dirt and grime had already caked itself on her skin.

“Not expecting a long journey, huh?” Fareeha asked, pulling around a slow truck.

“I expected this to be an expedited affair,” she admitted. “I thought that once you knew who I was, I’d be on a supersonic flight to Britain. I should’ve expected a vetting process.”

“You’re not the only one who didn’t expect this trip,” Fareeha laughed. “Do you have anything to pass the time?”

“I have something.” Angela reached into her bag and pulled out Markus’ red journal.

“What’s that, Nazi?” Olivia asked, turning around from the row ahead of her.

In a flash of rage, Angela’s nails pressed into the flesh of her palm. But she knew she couldn’t give the woman a rise.

“It’s Markus’ journal,” Angela tightly said. “It contains everything about his Muninn.”

“I thought you said you were the number two Muninn specialist in the world.”

“I am, but I only learned by proxy. Markus loved to prattle on and on about his brilliance, and that prattling became my lessons and lectures. And while I know a lot, I don’t know everything. I’m trying to fill in the blanks, but he encoded his journal.”

“He encoded his own journal?” Olivia raised her eyebrow. “Paranoid much?”

“Markus was dead certain that his Muninn would be his ticket to fame, and he didn’t want anyone to steal that idea from him. So he encoded it.”

“But he left random notes around for you to learn from?”

“More like he wanted to impress me, or get me to clean up for him. Outside of Blackwatch, I have to maintain the illusion of being a ‘good Nazi woman.’ That means being submissive to any man, even one as pathetic, lonely, and handsy as Markus Gärtner.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Olivia cringed. “Really, I am.”

“Thank you. But Markus is dead now, so there’s one less Nazi in the world. One less man trying to paw all over me.”

“Damn, you got some bite to you. Then again, you are the Red Angel of Verdun. Guess it comes naturally, eh?”

Angela forced herself to take a deep breath, fighting the rage building in her heart. She’d never give Olivia the satisfaction of getting under her skin.

“Well, if you need help with it, let me know,” Olivia said, stretching out in her row. “I am pretty good at code breaking, and we could all use something to do.”

Angela took a second to compose herself.

She’s a bitch, she thought, but she’s an Allied bitch. I doubt she’d crack Markus’ journal and run off to the Reich, or even the USSR.

Swallowing her hatred, Angela handed the journal over to Olivia.

“Thank you. I’m no code breaker, I could use your help.”

Olivia stared at the journal, then to Angela. Her lip curled into a sneer.

“What?” Angela asked.

“Never thought you’d actually ask for help,” Olivia hissed. “Not this fast, this casually.”

“Why? We have to find a way to reverse it, or counter it. You said you’re good with code breaking, so I’m taking you up on your help.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Akande laughed from the front seat. He turned around to face Angela. “She wanted you to get frustrated, until you had to ask her for help.”

“What kind of Nazi is fucking humble?” Olivia said.

“Olivia, I told you, don’t call the VIP a Nazi,” Fareeha sighed. “You don’t have to like her, but she’s proven herself a friend; give her that much.”

“Why are you on her side?” Olivia hissed. “Is it because of your blonde kink—”

Fareeha slammed on the brakes and swung the van to the side of the road, throwing everyone about. Cars and trucks behind her laid on their horns, with many drivers jerking a thumbs at Fareeha, clearly cursing her. The van came to a stop, nearly giving Angela whiplash.

“Amélie Lacroix fucking hates Nazis,” Fareeha snapped, rounding on Olivia. “Trust me, I got to meet the woman once. So when the Nazis used this Muninn to turn her into a pet killer, it scared the piss out of me. It made me piss fucking terrified that that could happen to me.

“If we don’t crack this shit, then it’s only a matter of time until the Nazis weaponize it on a mass scale. We could be talking on the phone, then they could beam this into our heads, and turn us into loyal fascists.

“Do you want that?”

Any good atmosphere in the van quickly evaporated. Angela had seen Fareeha’s mother, Colonel Amari, angry only once, showing she could be commanding and dangerous. It seemed that Fareeha got that ability from her mother.

“This isn’t a rhetorical question,” Fareeha snapped. “Do you want that?”

Olivia’s face quickly paled. She knew she fucked up.

“No.”

“’No,’ what?” Fareeha pressed.

“No, ma’am. I don’t want that.”

“Neither do I. Neither does Akande, and I sure as fuck know that Lena doesn’t want it. We have their Muninn; we got the Nazis by the balls. Now we have to find a way to break it before we suddenly start goose stepping after a phone call. But you want to be a bitch and snipe at Angela every single goddamn chance you can get.

“I’m not asking you to make friends with Angela. I’m not even asking you to be polite. But you will treat her with some common goddamn courtesy. So play nice. Am I clear?”

“Crystal, ma’am,” Olivia said, her face flushed.

“Good.”

Fareeha turned around and pulled the van back onto the road. Angela felt like dying.

God, she thought, when did I become the one who needed the sergeant’s protection? I just want to help…

Angela leaned back in the seat and took a long pull from her cigarette. She waited for the mood to change, but it didn’t. Even Lena stayed quiet, not asking for the chance to play music.

The sun blazed down from the sky. The wind kicked up the dust, which got sucked in through the open windows. Angela didn’t know if she’d die from the heat, or the dust.

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful,” she said, “but next time you steal a van, can you make sure the air conditioner works?”

The van had been quiet since Fareeha laid into Olivia. Everyone seemed loath to talk. It felt like they were all children again, and they had gotten caught by their teacher.

But Akande and Lena started to laugh. Angela could even hear Fareeha chuckle from the front seat. They were all waiting for something, anything, to change the mood, but they either couldn’t or wouldn’t do it themselves.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Fareeha chuckled. “Damn, it really is too fucking hot here.”

“Aye, this thing is like a metal sauna,” Lena said. “Can I at least put some music on?”

Maybe they needed a little joke to change the mood, to defuse the situation.

That’s what Lena’s done. She really does buoy the spirit.

Before Lena could put on any music, a peel of gunfire echoed across the city.

“Eyes up,” Fareeha snapped. “Got a bead on that?”

Suddenly, everyone had their weapons in hand, and their eyes were scanning the street.

“It sure wasn’t aimed at us,” Akande said, looking down the street.

“Yeah, sounded like someone shot a burst into the air a few blocks away,” Olivia said.

“Then we’re not the center of attention. Colomar, scan the radio, see if anyone is reporting where that gunfire came from. Oxton, how much ammo do we have?”

“Enough for a few skirmishes. More if we really make every bullet count.”

“I hate to say it, but we should just drive away,” Akande said tightly. “Right now, we’re just a face in the crowd.”

Fareeha gripped the steering wheel. Angela could see it on her face; she wanted to act.

“It’s a firefight by the local jihadis,” Olivia said, holding up a radio. “Cops are converging.”

The radio squawked something in Arabic. It made Fareeha tense up.

“What did they say?” Angela asked.

“The scumbags are attacking an elementary school,” Fareeha hissed.

“What?” Akande spat.

“Didn’t get all of it, but they think it’s God’s will that they kill some kids.”

“Remember when I said we should drive away?” Akande said. “Fuck that.”

“He’s right,” Angela gasped. “We can’t let those children be murdered.”

“Great minds think alike,” Fareeha grinned. She pulled at the wheel, cutting across traffic to turn down a side street. “I’m pretty sure Command would forgive us for being a bit late if we saved some kids. Olivia, is there a body count to this?”

“Cops think about seven, possibly more.”

“We get to the school and neutralize any motherfucker there who’s got a gun and is out of a police uniform,” Fareeha said. “Angela, take care of the injured. No more running rabbit, Lena; you’re guarding our angelic VIP.”

“Let’s kick ass,” Akande smiled.

Angela smiled as well. She grabbed an aid kit, and her Caduceus.

Fareeha gunned the engine, and the van flew down the street. The gunfire grew louder; Angela took a second to plug her ears with noise protection.

Soon they came to a group of concrete buildings with a fence around it. A man stood on the bed of a rusted pick up trick, yelling in Arabic, keeping a crowd of people away with an old assault rifle. He’d occasionally shoot a burst of gunfire into the air, making the crowd scream and retreat.

Akande jumped out of the van, followed by Fareeha. They moved up quickly, and before the man could turn on them, Fareeha pumped three bullets into him, catching him dead center of his chest. He fell to the ground like a mannequin with its strings cut.

“W-what was he saying?” Angela asked.

“He’s just a fanatic,” Fareeha spat. “He said this attack is Allah’s will or some bullshit.”

“If God wanted me to kill some children, I’d find a new god.”

“That’s the spirit,” Fareeha smiled. “Let’s get in there and save some lives.”

Fareeha led the group, sticking against the nearest wall, Akande and Olivia following. Lena stayed behind to protect Angela. Gunfire aimed in the air echoed from further inside. A courtyard sat between the buildings; Angela could hear children screaming and crying.

“Six enemies in the open,” Fareeha said, leaning around the corner. “They’re rounding the kids up, preaching to them, saying how ‘they’re saved by Allah the highest’ and other shit.”

“It sounds like a mass execution,” Angela gasped.

“And we’re going to stop it. Oxton, I need you with Colomar. You two make for that building across the courtyard, Akande and I will cover you. We pin them down, take ‘em out.”

“Please, don’t push yourself too hard,” Angela said. “The nanoparticles might tear.”

“Little late for that, love. We got kids to save.”

“Akande, keep their heads down.”

“Solid copy,” he grinned. The big man brought his machine gun to bear, and let lose a long peel of fire.

Lena and Olivia bolted. Fareeha peered around Akande, taking a few shots at the terrorists.

Angela peered around Akande’s massive shoulders. Children screamed, throwing themselves at the ground, but thankfully no harm came to them. The squad aimed at six masked men. There were several massive concrete pots that had trees growing in them; many men ducked behind them, but two were caught by Akande.

The men blindly fired back, forcing Akande and Fareeha behind the wall. By then, Lena and Olivia were on the other side of the courtyard. The terrorists were suddenly caught between two forces. Angela thought they would cower, but three of them stood up and charged, shooting wildly while screaming something that had to be words of devotion.

Lena and Olivia cut them down, but the third one got lucky. Akande caught a burst to his side, splattering blood over Angela. He staggered to the side, and Fareeha killed the last man.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” Angela said, quickly pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

Two bullets had caught him in the ribs, shattering the bones. They were still embedded, but that didn’t matter. She pulled out her Caduceus, and gave Akande a dose. Angela made sure the bones healed correctly; she couldn’t accidentally fuse his bones together.

From the far side of the courtyard, more men screamed.

“Reinforcements,” Fareeha yelled. “Cover!”

More gunfire echoed in the courtyard, but from another side. Angela looked up; the police had arrived. They were dressed in full body armor, faces covered, carrying assault rifles.

“Friendlies! Friendlies!” Fareeha shouted. She yelled again in Arabic.

The terrorists yelled their fanatical devotion, charging both Fareeha and the police, spraying bullets wildly. They didn’t even bother with cover; they all died quickly.

“Guns down! We surrender,” Fareeha called, setting her rifle on the ground .

The police crept forward, first going to the children, then to cover Fareeha and the squad.

One officer said something in Arabic, pointing at Angela. Fareeha spoke up before Angela could say she didn’t understand.

“Ma’am, what are you doing?” The man said, switching to English.

“Healing him,” Angela said, holding up the red aid kit. “Are any of the children hurt?”

“Just one—”

She didn’t wait for the officer to finish. She pushed past him, running to the children. They were scared senseless, crying, sobbing. They couldn’t be more than ten.

“There, there, it’ll be okay,” Angela smiled. “I’m here to help.”

One boy caught a stray bullet to the forearm. He screamed, clutching his bleeding arm. Angela held up the aid kit, showing off the white cross on the red background. That got the boy’s attention. He let her get close to examine his arm.

Fortunately, the bullet passed cleanly through. Angela aimed her Caduceus at his arm.

The children gasped, fearful of anything remotely gun shaped. But as soon as she activated it, the boy calmed down. The children went from screaming to staring in fascination as the nanoparticles knit up the boy’s arm. The bullet hole shrunk and vanished.

The boy poked at the freshly healed patch of skin, but smiled. Her Caduceus gave a beep; it had used up another block of nanoparticles. Angela had six blocks left.

“What in Yahweh’s name was that?” A police officer demanded.

“My secret weapon,” Angela said. “I’m a doctor, and this helps me heal.”

“That boy should’ve been taken to a hospital.”

“He would’ve gotten stitches, which would leave a large scar, diminished motor functions, and possible nerve damage. He’s fine now.”

The boy, tears already drying on his cheeks, flexed his hand, gasping in amazement.

Speaking of lasting damages, where’s Lena? Angela looked around, and saw Lena standing with the squad. She took long, ragged breathes, clutching her stomach. Hopefully she’ll get some of her color back; she looks awfully pale.

“Are there any more assholes that need to be put down?” Fareeha asked, hands still raised.

“No, it’s just the garden variety.” The officer pulled his mask down. Angela thought he would be dark skinned, but he had light skin, albeit with a heavy tan. “Thank you for your help. If we were any slower getting here…”

“Let’s not think on that, yeah?” Lena gasped, holding onto Olivia’s shoulder.

“Yes, best not to,” the officer said. “Are those uniforms? Are you soldiers?”

“We are,” Fareeha said slowly, “but we’re not deserters.”

“Forgive me, but we hear that a lot these days. What with the Nazis marching on Cairo, there’s plenty of people to lose their nerve.”

“We’re not running.” Fareeha paused. “We’re on a top-secret mission; we have to get a piece of experimental tech out of Egypt and to Allied High Command, keep it from the Nazis.”

“What tech is that?”

“That’s classified.”

The policeman glared at Fareeha. What would happen if they were arrested? Angela would be found out then, but what would happen after…?

“Ah,” the officer grinned. He pointed to her Caduceus. “You mean that thing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fareeha said flatly.

“I got you,” he winked. “Yes, that would be a terrible thing for the Nazis to have. Healed from a gunshot in seconds? They might actually take over the world with that.”

“You can see why we have to get to Allied High Command.”

“Of course, but you sure picked the scenic route to get there.”

“The Nazis chose this for us. With Egypt being invaded, we couldn’t fly out,” Fareeha said. “I hate to seem callus, but where does this leave us? We have a long, long way to go.”

“Officially, we can’t stop you,” the officer said. “We’re still friendly with the Allies, so military outranks police, and since you’re not deserting or going AWOL, we can’t detain you.

“Unofficially, I can’t just turn you away after you stuck your necks out to save these children. Can I offer you dinner, a place to stay for the evening?”

“We’d love that.”

“Then give me an hour or three to finish writing the report on this, and I’ll treat you to a nice, big dinner.”

Chapter Text

It took hours for the police to clean up the assault on the school, but only half an hour before reporters descended on the scene. They spoke into phones, microphones, and cameras. The police blocked their access, but still they gathered just outside the hastily erected barriers.

Angela wound the keffiyeh tighter, and stayed far away from the prying eyes. Staying out of sight became difficult when the parents of the children were let in. They ran into the bloodstained, empty courtyard, and their children ran for them. Angela couldn’t make out a single word, but the relief on everyone’s faces told her everything she needed to know.

The children pointed out the squad as the ones who saved them, and to Angela the mysterious doctor.

Doctor, she thought, I’m finally becoming the doctor I want to be.

The parents descended on the squad, talking and crying with relief. Fareeha became a translator, accepting their thanks. But they especially converged on Angela. Maybe because she was the strange woman who healed with something most akin to magic.

“They’re so relieved that you helped them,” Fareeha said, trying to keep the parents’ requests straight. “They want to give you food…no, we’re fine…”

And Angela couldn’t stop smiling. Her heart burst with pleasure at the good work she did. Not even the heat could bother her.

Finally, the police had cleaned everything up. The lead officer walked over.

“Good to go,” he said. “You have a van, yes? Follow me, we’re going to my house.”

“Oh, thank you,” Fareeha gasped.

“I should be thanking you. Ah, where are my manners? My name is Mathieu Bar-Lev.”

Fareeha started talking, but ended up speaking Arabic.

“Argh! English!” Fareeha rapped her head as if she were physically changing gears in her brain. “I’m Staff Sergeant Fareeha Amari. This is my squad: Akande, Lena, Olivia, and Angela. Not every day we get to meet a Jewish resident of the area.”                                                                                                                                                                  

“Glad to buck a trend,” Mathieu chuckled.

“Jewish?” Angela said. “I didn’t know there was a Jewish population in the area.”

“They’re a few of us here. Ever since You-Know-Who’s ‘Final Solution’ was ‘completed,’” Mathieu used finger quotes liberally, “a lot of the survivors wanted to spend their remaining days in the Holy Land. So they found ways to get here, and made their homes.

“They thought it’d be a few years here until it all came to a crashing down, what with the Darkest Days. But the world kind of got their shit together with the M.A.D. Pact, and the War just kind of quietly ground on. They put down roots, and we’ve been here ever since.”

“And everyone let you in?” Fareeha asked. “I’m only Egyptian, but I know the Palestinians aren’t too keen on having outsiders plop down.”

“There’s always friction, but we’ve put up with the same shit they have for the past seventy some-odd years,” Mathieu said. “Our grandparents and parents had to put up with some terrible things, but they made it easier for us to live here.”

“I’m glad you got accepted,” Fareeha smiled.

“Me too! I’m just glad we earned the right to live here, and didn’t have a bunch of old European men cut up a state just to give us a place to live.”

“What a nightmare that would be,” Fareeha laughed. “You’d be fighting and endless war over that!”

“Too right! Now I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to call it a day. Come on, we’ve pushed away the last reporter, let’s get out of here before they loop back and try to get an exclusive interview.”

Angela heaved a sigh of relief as Mathieu walked towards his car, and the squad to their van. Everyone got settled, although very quietly.

“I know we’re all on the same page here,” Fareeha said as she drove, following Mathieu, “but no one say a goddamn word about Angela, or where she came from.”

“Then what do we say if they ask?” Akande asked.

“There’s no need to lie,” Angela said. “I’m from Switzerland; they’re hardly all Nazis.”

“But they’re Nazi occupied,” Lena said.

“Most of France is Nazi occupied. Would you call every Free Frenchman a Nazi?”

“You shittin’ me? Those bastards would slit your throat for that.”

“I can guarantee you that Switzerland is the same. Blackwatch helps plenty of anti-Reich movements in Switzerland. We even smuggle supplies into Swiss ghettos.”

“I heard they had Swiss ghettos, but who do they throw in there?” Fareeha asked.

“Dissenters, rebels, enemies of the Reich. But ‘enemies of the Reich’ is a moving target; it changes almost monthly.”

Soon they came to a small, two-story house made of brick with stucco lining. A small wall that ran the perimeter, wrapping around a two-car garage. A balcony ran along the second floor, with several potted plants dotting along it. The house wasn’t very tall, but it stretched out further than normal. It looked amazingly cozy, just like the houses surrounding it.

Mathieu stopped, got out to open the gate, and waved them in. Fareeha backed into the driveway so the nose of the van pressed the gate.

“Welcome to the Bar-Lev residence,” he grinned as closed the gate.

“Lovely house you have,” Akande said, getting out of the van. “Thank you.”

“Please, you stuck your necks out when you didn’t have to. This is the least I could do.”

“Maybe we can get some information,” Fareeha said. “When the Nazis attacked, we had to leave Cairo in a hurry. We didn’t exactly get a chance to take proper provisions.”

“That’s for tomorrow,” Mathieu said. “Come, I’ll get dinner started. I just hope my Nana is having a good day; she gets confused every so often.”

He let them into the front door. A long foyer led to a living room off to the left. A dining room lay ahead of them, and just past that, Angela could make out a kitchen. Against the foyer’s wall were stairs to the second floor. The ceilings were low, but had plenty of space to move about.

An old woman sat in a rocking chair in the living room, reading a book. She looked positively ancient, with long white hair, deep wrinkles, and frail arms. She wore a small dress that seemed too big on her.

“Nana, I’m back,” Mathieu said. “Sorry I had to leave so suddenly, but we have guests.”

“Mathieu?” The old woman said, closing her book. “Oh, Mathieu, you’ve gotten so big.”

“You fed me well, Nana,” he smiled, giving her a kiss.

“Are these friends of yours?”

“Yes, they are. They’ve helped me out today.”

“Ah, friends, good friends,” the elder Bar-Lev smiled. “We should get them food.”

She tried getting up. Mathieu put a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder.

“Nana, you don’t have to. Let me do it. Please.”

“But there are so many of them.”

“Nana, I can do this. You taught me how to cook, remember? You and mom taught me and Ruthi everything about cooking. I can take care of this.”

“A growing boy like you shouldn’t have to work so hard.”

“But we do. We work hard so our Nanas can relax. Can you do that? Can you relax for me? Just sit and enjoy the peace.”

“Ah, I can,” she smiled. “I’ve been so tired lately.”

“I know, Nana. Let me do this.”

She nodded, and went back to her book. Mathieu stood up and walked back.

“There’s another doorway to the dining room down the hall. Bathroom is to the right.”

“Thank you for your help,” Fareeha said. “This must be hard for you.”

“Not at all. My sister and I take care of Nana. She has a few moments, but nothing too bad,” he smiled as he led them to the dining room. “Besides, I have to repay your kindness. It’s kind of been beaten into my head since I was a boy; always show kindness to those who help you.”

Angela looked at Nana Bar-Lev. She had a string of numbers tattooed on her left arm.

“Thank you,” Angela said. “This means so much to us.”

Mathieu smiled, and led them to the dining room’s second entrance.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to give my Nana her medication,” he said, grabbing a few orange bottles from a cabinet. He filled a glass with water and went back to the living room. The squad sat down at the long table.

“What’s the plan, boss?” Olivia asked. “I don’t want to overstay our welcome.”

“You and me both,” Fareeha said. “We’ll have to ask Mathieu for information about the region; safe routes, trouble areas, stores where we can stock up on provisions. But we’ve earned a day of rest, assuming we don’t inconvenience our host.”

“Thank God,” Angela sighed. “That damn van is too much.”

A door opened in the kitchen, and everyone but Angela swiveled to face it, hands on their waists as they reached for their pistols. A black haired woman walked in, wearing coveralls covered in grease. While thin, her naked arms were defined with muscle.

“Well, this is new,” the woman said.

“Ruthi,” Mathieu yelled from the living room. “We have guests, they’re friends. I’m helping Nana with her meds, can you get them some drinks?”

“That makes sense. Sure thing, I got it.” She walked to the fridge. “What did you do to get my brother’s hospitality?”

“He’s done this before?” Angela asked.

“A few times,” the grease-covered woman nodded, setting her keys on the counter top. “Don’t let his gruff exterior fool you; he’s got a bleeding heart.”

“We’re lucky to have met your brother,” Fareeha said. “There was an attack today; bunch of jihadi assholes tried to kill some children in school.”

“I heard about that on the radio. You were the ones who saved them?”

“We couldn’t just stand by and let innocent kids be killed.”

“Shit, that’s pretty good,” she smiled. “Since you met my brother, I’m Ruthi.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Fareeha, and this is my squad; Akande, Lena, Olivia, and Angela.”

Ruthi opened the fridge and grabbed a handful of beers.

“Your name is Ruthi?” Angela said. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Ruthi gave Angela a quick look, one that Angela barely caught. “I’m named after my grandmother. You probably met her.”

“Her name is Ruthi too?”

“Yeah, but spelled and pronounced R-U-T-I. I’m R-U-T-H-I, heavy on the th.” She passed out the beer. “Old Jewish superstition; it’s bad luck to name someone after a person when that person is still alive. So I got a little tweak.”

Mathieu came back from the living room.

“Nana is taking a nap,” he said.

“How’s she holding up?” Ruthi asked.

“It’s a good day. Now I better get started with cooking.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Fareeha asked. “It feels like we’re intruding, and I can only speak for myself, but I don’t like sitting around.”

“And I don’t like to brag,” Akande said, “but I’m a good cook.”

“I picked the right group of people to invite back,” Mathieu laughed. “If you want to cook, I’ll tell you where you can find ingredients.”

Everyone went to the open kitchen and washed up to get ready to cook. Ruthi went first with her grime covered hands.

The Bar-Lev siblings pulled out food and ingredients, and the squad jumped in to help. Akande helped Lena and Mathieu season and prepare a chicken. Olivia and Ruthi worked on making a kind of seasoned yogurt dip.

“Ooh, got a lot of good stuff here,” Fareeha said, looking through a cabinet.

“What do you see?” Angela asked.

“Plenty of flour, some yeast, salt, and olive oil.” Fareeha looked up from the pantry. “Mathieu, mind if I raid this?”

“If you’re making food, you can do what you want.”

“Angela,” Fareeha said, “I could use a hand. Would you mind?”

“Sure! What are we making?”

“As much as I’d love to make fresh pita, I don’t think we have the time to let it rise. So we’ll make some naan bread. Hope I remember what Satya taught me. Let’s see, measure out a cup of warm water, put it in this bowl…”

Angela followed Fareeha’s instructions as they got to work.

“Thank you for letting me help,” she said as they kneaded the dough.

“You’re good help,” Fareeha smiled. “Do you cook a lot?”

“I do all my own cooking. But I’m so, so, so happy we’re making something other than German food.” She looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening, then leaned in to whisper. “The Reich is not very big on ethnic foods.”

“No shit?” Fareeha laughed. “I’ll have to step up my game to show you a good meal.”

Soon they were cooking bread, and the delicious scents drove Angela crazy. Soon they all filled the dining room table with food.

“Let me get Nana, and we’ll eat,” Mathieu said.

Everyone grabbed a chair and plate, and soon their host pushed the elderly Bar-Lev into the dining room on a small wheelchair.

“My, such a feast,” Nana Ruti smiled.

“I told you, we learned from you,” Mathieu said, kissing his Nana’s cheek.

Lena sat between the brother and sister, with Nana Ruti at the head of the table. Angela sat on the other end, with Fareeha between her and Mathieu.

“Ah, don’t dig in,” Nana Ruti said. Olivia stopped, caught red-handed as she tried to fill her plate. “We must pray to God to thank him for this food.”

“Told you so,” Akande smiled. He winced; Olivia must have stepped on his foot.

Nana Ruti raised her hands, and everyone respectfully bowed their heads.

“God our Creator, bless this food, and one another,” Nana Ruti said. “May it fill us with sustenance, and give us the energy to continue your work.”

“And give us the chance to fuck up the Germans in Cairo,” Ruthi said.

“Ruthi, I raised you better than that,” Nana said. “Until the War broke out, we were German. And there are good Germans out there; they were the ones who rescued me.”

“And plenty of Germans put you in that camp,” Ruthi hissed, glaring at Angela.

“Don’t look at me,” Angela said. “I’m Swiss.”

“Swiss?” Ruthi’s eyebrow cocked. “What are you doing out of Switzerland?”

“The same thing I’m doing outside of Germany, I assume,” Nana Ruthi coolly said.

“Shit.” Ruthi’s face paled. “I’m sorry, you just look so…I shouldn’t have assumed…”

“That’s what you get,” her Nana gently laughed. “Have you learned your lesson?”

“Yes, Nana,” Ruthi sighed.

“Good. Now, the food is getting cold.”

Mathieu and Ruthi passed out food. Angela waited her turn, and somehow kept her manners about her as she dug in. She thought she had tasted Middle Eastern food when they were with the refugee caravan, but that soup and beef had been made with any readily available ingredients, not food lovingly prepared.

Spices exploded in her mouth, the chicken tasted so tender and just the right amount of dry, it felt like each new bite filled her mouth with a new blend of flavor. The rice, so tasty and savory, and the bread!

“First time eating true Middle Eastern food?” Fareeha grinned.

“Yes,” Angela said, mouth full of rice and chicken.

“What do you think of it?”

Angela answered by shoving another piece of chicken and bread into her mouth.

When I become a practicing doctor again, Angela thought, I’ll have to assign home-cooked meals to all my recovering patients.

Dinner had lifted everyone’s spirits, especially when Ruthi served after dinner spirits. They all sat at the table, talking, laughing, and sipping drinks. But everything had to come to an end. The sun had set, and Angela could feel a food coma setting in. Even the stoic Fareeha seemed to be fading fast, and Nana Ruti had already drifted off to sleep.

“We’ve got rooms ready for you,” Mathieu said. “My, the evening flew by.”

“And we can’t thank you enough,” Fareeha said.

“You’re welcome. Damn, Ruthi, can you lay Nana down? I need to raid the linen closet.”

“I can take care of her,” Angela said.

“Please, let me,” the sister said.

“No, it’s okay. I’m a doctor, I can give her a quick check up while I’m at it.”

“Then thank you again. Her room is by the stairs, you don’t have to wheel her very far.”

Angela gently undid the wheelchair’s brakes and pushed Nana Ruti through the house until she reached a small, simple room that held a bed, dresser, and vanity.

Photos were stacked along the vanity. They were all old, black and white; many showed a man and a young girl smiling at a camera.

That must be Ruti and her father, when she was a girl. How did such photos survive the concentration camps? Do I even want to know?

Angela gave Nana Ruti a quick examination. She had a frail body, but had a good pulse, and no signs of bruising. Not that her grandchildren mistreated her; at her age the body simply lost the ability to heal the little bumps and scrapes it got from daily life.

“You still have a few good years ahead of you,” Angela said to the sleeping woman.

She placed the chair next to the bed, and slid Ruti from one to the other. Angela thought she had been gentle enough, but the woman woke up as she swung her legs into the bed.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

“Noelia?”

Ruti wasn’t speaking English; she spoke German.

“Noelia, praise Yahweh, it’s you,” Ruti gasped, staring at Angela.

“I’m,” Angela stammered, switching languages, “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me—“

“Noelia, how could I forget you? You saved my life from that wretched camp! The house you welcomed us to, the green house that took us to our freedom!”

Green house? Angela thought. My God…my grandmother lived in a green house. My grandmother, Noelia.

“Such a wonderful house, a beautiful face, the face of an angel,” Ruti cried. She had a tight grip on Angela’s arm, the strength betraying that of a woman who must easily be eighty. “We thought we were put on the trains one last time, we thought we were dead! But there you were, welcoming us to freedom, to Switzerland. Oh, how we cried.”

Angela couldn’t think of anything to say. She tried, but found she couldn’t.

“You saved us,” Ruti cried. “I never thought I’d see you again, after all you did for us!”

Angela swallowed. Her eyes were tearing up. She had to say something.

“I’m so glad to see you again,” she said. “I’m so glad to see you so happy.”

“Oh, all because of you, all because of the work you and those nice Germans did,” Ruti cried, pulling her in for a tight hug. “Oh, oh I know Yahweh is working through you, to bring us back together…oh, this is too much.”

The tears finally came as Angela held the old woman.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” Angela cried. “I’m so glad we were able to save you.”

“The others…how are the others?”

“They’re fine. No, they’re more than fine; they’re perfect! They’re safe and happy, they have full bellies, and everyone they love is with them. Everything is perfect. You’ll all be safe. That’s what we’re working for.”

Angela held the woman before she realized Ruti had fallen asleep again. She gently laid the old woman down in her bed, and took a second to dry both their eyes. She turned around and almost ran into Ruthi, the granddaughter.

Ruthi held a pillow and light sheets, but she stared at Angela, rooted in place.

“I heard you,” she said, speaking German. While German had to be Ruti’s native language, Ruthi’s German wasn’t on the same level; it had to be a second language for her, maybe even a third. “You can’t be Noelia.”

“No,” Angela shook her head, “Noelia was my grandmother.”

“Then you…your family…you saved us. You saved her from the camps.”

“We had to do what was right.”

“We owe you—“

“Please, just knowing that your grandmother is safe, seeing that she had grandchildren, and is living her best life is all I need to know.”

Ruthi nodded; Angela didn’t think she heard her. Ruthi blinked, snapping out of her haze.

“Your room is on the second floor,” she said, switching to English. “You’re with your women friends, your big guy friend is rooming with my brother.”

“That’s fine. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Thank you for saving our grandmother.”

Angela wanted to say something, but couldn’t think of anything. She numbly nodded.

Ruthi handed Angela a pillow, and walked away. Angela wondered if she would talk to her brother, tell him what happened.

I hope they don’t feel obligated to do anything more for us.

She quietly walked up the stairs, and into a dark room. Once Angela set her head on the pillow, exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she fell into a heavy sleep.

Chapter Text

Angela woke with a start as someone gently shook her.

“What?” She grumbled. “Where am I…?”

“Sleep that good, didn’t you?”

Rubbing her eyes, Angela sat up, and she began to remember what happened. It felt like she had slept for centuries. Then again, her aching body quickly reminded her that she hadn’t been sleeping much as of late. Between her faking her death and until the past night, she got less than seven hours of sleep.

“What time is it?” She yawned.

“Almost noon.”

“What? Noon?”

Blinking, she looked around. Mathieu and Ruthi had set up a room for them on the second floor. She had gone to sleep in a small bed, but the room also a futon and a blow-up mattress. The Bar-Levs had also given them a change of clothes, so the soldiers didn’t have to sleep in their uniforms.

Speaking of the soldiers, Fareeha stood over her, dressed in jeans and a simple shirt, looking like a lovely, fit civilian.

“I’m sorry,” Angela yawned. “I thought I’d wake up earlier.”

“You needed this,” Fareeha said. “We tried waking you earlier, but you just rolled over.”

“We should be getting on the road,” Angela said, growing more alert by the second.

“Mathieu is insisting that we stay another day.”

“We’re already overstaying our welcome,” Angela said, forcing herself to her feet.

“That’s what I told him,” Fareeha said. She put a hand on her shoulder, gently forcing Angela to sit back down. “He said he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Angela notice the sergeant giving her a hard look.

“Something must’ve happened last night,” Fareeha said. “What did you tell them?”

“I didn’t tell them anything.”

“Pardon me for saying so, but that’s bullshit,” she said, a lop-sided grin on her lips. “I know my people; the Bar-Levs are ready to declare a blood debt or something just as dramatic.”

“’Your people?’” Angela asked. “But they’re Jewish.”

“They’re Jewish, yes, but they’re been born in the Middle East. I mean, they’re not Egyptian, so they’re not perfect,” Fareeha smirked at that, “but they talk like me, they’ve got the same slang, they bitch at the same things that annoy us; so what if they’re a little pale?”

She laughed at her own little joke.

“And if there’s one thing about my people, is that we don’t forget a debt. It might be a slight, someone’s grandfather committed against someone else, or it might be a favor done long ago, but we remember it. So, what did you tell them?”

Angela could still remember holding Ruti.

How could I forget you? You saved my life from that wretched camp. Noelia, I could never forget your face.

“Their grandmother is a survivor of the extermination camps.”

“Is that what the tattoo on her arm is for?”

“The Nazis tracked the people they slaughtered,” Angela nodded. “My family saved her.”

That got Fareeha to stop.

“My grandparents worked with German families in the first decade of the War, people like my uncle’s family, and an early Blackwatch. They cooked up documents, movement orders, final commands, all to get the remaining Jews, Slavs, Romas, and homosexuals out of the camps, into Switzerland. From there, my grandmother helped them flee Europe. Ruti Bar-Lev was one of them. She had a moment, and thought I was my grandmother.”

“Shit,” Fareeha mumbled. “Guess we should try to make their hospitality last only a day.”

“What? Why?”

“I told you, we don’t forget debts easily. If your family saved their grandmother, they wouldn’t think that there was anything they could do to repay you.”

“But I didn’t do anything!”

“You were born with the right name. People have been extolled and damned for less.”

“And we can’t get away from this?” Angela asked. “We can’t just quietly leave?”

“Ruthi took the van. Said there was work to be done on it.”

“God, what did I get us into?”

“No need to go kicking yourself; it’s dumb luck that we happened to be taken in by one of the Jewish families your family saved. They think they owe you, so let’s let them think they’ve repaid the debt, and we’ll be on our way.”

Fareeha held out her hand.

“Mathieu made one hell of a breakfast. It might be a bit cold, but there’s plenty for you.”

Angela took her hand, and pulled herself up.

“God, I’m so stiff,” she mumbled. “I must’ve needed that sleep.”

“That means you have to get more sleep. No more late nights for you; that’s an order.”

“I’m a defector,” Angela laughed. “You don’t have the authority to order me.”

“You’re still under my charge. And since I’ve been ordered to protect you, I order you to take better care of yourself.”

“Fine, I’ll try.”

“’You’ll try’ what…?”

“I’ll try, ma’am,” Angela smiled.

“Much better,” Fareeha laughed.

Angela followed Fareeha downstairs. The dining room table still had breakfast food on it; oatmeal, flat bread, eggs of all kind, and coffee cake. Akande sat at the table, snacking and chatting with Nana Ruti. It looked like they were working on a crossword puzzle together.

Olivia had a chair off to the side and claimed an electrical outlet to charge her laptop and what must be a handful of massive backup batteries. She typed madly, and Angela saw that she had Markus’ journal out.

“Anyone seen Lena?” Fareeha asked, looking around.

“She stepped out with Mathieu,” Olivia said.

“He said had some errands to run, and Ruthi said she wanted to fix the van,” Akande said. “Lena begged to tag along, said she needed to be of use.”

“Then if we have an extra day, we live it up and relax.”

“Ten-four,” Akande smiled, giving a little salute.

“Olivia, any news on the front?”

“I’m getting updated. The Nazis got a lot of momentum; they actually made it to Cairo.”

“The city fell?” Fareeha demanded.

“No, your mom is really rallying the defenses. Cairo is no man’s land; they won’t be controlling anything unless God comes down to deliver it to them on a silver platter.

“Thing is, the Nazis are setting up beachheads up the coast. It looks like they’re making a push for the oil fields one way or another.”

“If no one controls Cairo, maybe we should have stayed?” Angela asked.

“Hell no, the Allies are barely holding on. Getting troops, supplies, and armor to Cairo is a logistical nightmare. No one owns the skies, so that means everyone has to take roundabout ways in to Egypt. Not a lot of African nations want to play ball and let the Allies pass through.”

“I told you they didn’t like this war,” Akande chuckled.

“Can’t believe I’m saying it, but running was the right thing,” Fareeha grumbled. “What have the Soviets done?”

“Lots of movement along the German-USSR border; they’re reinforcing their holdings, ready for a counter attack if the Nazi home army tries something. My network says the Russkies should be sending tanks down through Turkey any day now.”

“Maybe we can use this,” Fareeha said. “We move north through Turkey as fast as we can, and get around the Russians.”

“You want us to throw ourselves at the Russians?” Angela asked.

“They’re trying to save their oil, not look for a group of Allied soldiers,” Fareeha grinned. “The closer we are to danger, the further we are from harm.”

“But if we get caught, we look like damn idiots,” Olivia said.

“This whole damn mission is a crap shoot. Might as well go big.”

“Speaking of going big, I could use a hand with this damn journal,” Olivia hissed.

“Asking for help so soon?” Akande laughed.

“Don’t you fucking start,” Olivia snapped.

Angela knew a bruised ego when she saw it. She piled a plate with food and pulled up a chair next to Olivia. Fareeha, meanwhile, sat with Akande and Nana Ruti, look at the crossword.

“This doesn’t change anything with us,” Olivia whispered.

Angela did her best not to laugh. It felt like they were kids with a classroom grudge, ever wary of the big bad teacher.

“I’m not looking to change anything,” she said. “I just want this nightmare to end.”

Olivia nodded, and turned her laptop towards Angela.

“I scanned the entire journal, uploaded it so I can put it through some decoding programs. I’ve tried a dozen algorithms, but it doesn’t use any known Nazi code. It also looks like this guy made a cipher, and changes it every few dozen pages or so.”

“Markus always did think someone would try to steal his Muninn from him.”

Olivia looked over her shoulder; Nana Ruti sat a meter away, chatting with Akande and Fareeha, and they were all cursing the puzzle.

“We’ll be fine with her,” Angela said. “She won’t know what we’re talking about.”

“If you say so.” Olivia took the laptop back, and began typing notes. “If he’s using multiple ciphers, he’s gotta be using a single base; otherwise he’s making new codes from the ground up every time he shifts. It’s not unlikely that he did that, but it sure is a pain in the ass for him to encrypt it all.”

“What do you mean, ‘a single base?’”

“Ciphers are the keystone, the one thing that makes everything coded or not. If we can figure out the cipher, we can crack everything. That is, assuming he uses the same cipher. If he isn’t, then that means he’s so fucking paranoid that he changed his entire method of coding every handful of pages or so to seal this shit up. I’ve known a few people who do that, but humans are typically more lazy then that.”

“You expect Markus to be lazy?”

“I’m expecting every human to be lazy,” Olivia replied. “If you want to be completely secure, you’d use a new password, cipher, and connection every time you access the internet. But trust me, that shit’s tedious.

“Most people only take a few precautions before security becomes a pain in the ass. I’m guessing that if this Markus asshole changes ciphers, the base of the cipher doesn’t change. That way, he only has one cipher as opposed to a dozen floating about.”

“I don’t mean for this to come across the wrong way,” Angela said as she ate, “but it sounds like you have a very good grasp of cryptography. What do you need me for?”

“You’ve lived in…” Olivia looked over to Nana Ruti, then lowered her voice. “You lived in you know where for decades. Book ciphers are some of the easiest ways to encode something, so I’m guessing that Markus is using that. I’m hoping you know some popular books he might use; I’ve tried five already, but nothing works.”

“And if he isn’t using a book cipher?”

“Then we can really only crack this when we get back to the Allies,” Olivia said. “My laptop doesn’t have the power necessary for serious cracking, not without draining every battery I’ve got, and I need power to keep connected to my network.”

“Hmm…” Angela absentmindedly toyed with her hair. “On the Führer’s Orders?”

“Nada.”

“Steel Blue Eyes?”

“Sounds like Nazi erotica.”

“Nazi hausfrau erotica, sadly enough,” Angela sighed.

“Sweet Jesus, please don’t tell me you read that,” Olivia cringed.

“It was a present from an Gestapo officer’s wife; I had to read it to keep my cover.”

“No one deserves that…” Olivia typed away, pulling up a German bookseller web page. “Ugh, gonna have to scrub my computer real good after this. Would Markus really use this?”

“He might. No one would think a man would read women’s erotica, it might fit.”

“Did a woman at least write it?”

“No, a man did. Can’t have the women worrying their pretty little heads over things like stringing together words and sentences.”

Olivia made a very unhappy noise as she downloaded the book.

“Well,” she mumbled, “at least I’m ripping the author out of a few Reichsmark…”

She pulled up her code breaking program, and added some inputs. Garbled text greeted them; nothing.

“Uh, Unity’s Strength?” Angela suggested.

“At least the cover looks nice for it,” Olivia snorted, navigating to a different web page.

“It’s not the Lord of the Rings, but it’s fine for fascist propaganda, I guess.”

“Hold up, you’ve read the Lord of the Rings?”

“One of Blackwatch’s oldest ongoing operations is smuggling in outside media. Movies, books, music, anything not made by the state is a tool for resisting. It’s also extremely relaxing to not read anything made by a committee of Nazis.”

“Damn. Did you like it?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “It’s a great story, but it’s too dense. I’d end up mentally drifting and reading the same page four or five times.”

“That’s fair.” The computer displayed a new page of text, all undecipherable. “Nothing with that one. Anything else?”

“Gone with the Wind?”

“What the—now you’re shitting me!”

“Absolutely not. Adolf Hitler loved Gone with the Wind, especially the ‘hierarchy that it brought.’ He said that the Confederacy’s fall marked the end of America’s chance for ‘historical greatness,’ and that it was the American people themselves that were conquered, not the Southern States.”

“Don’t tell me he loved the movie, too.”

“He did, actually. But he had to ban it because it was made by a Jew; a producer, I think.”

“The shit I’m learning today…” Olivia dumbly shook her head as she entered data into her program. “Nada. You know, I kinda wanted that one to work. It’s just so weird.”

“Well, have you tried Mein Kampf?”

“That’s a fucking cliché,” Olivia snorted. “Besides, it’s not on the best seller list.”

“That’s because they don’t sell it,” Angela grinned. “You enter first grade? They give you a copy. You enter secondary school? They give you a copy. You enter college? Drafted to the military? Stay in a hotel? There’s always a copy to be given to you, or is on hand.”

“Book ciphers only work if they’re the same edition,” Olivia said, her face flushing.

“Whenever there’s talk of making an edition change, there’s always a massive, hair pulling debate. The old blood decries the new edition, the new guard claims it’s a way of making his words resonate with the newer generation.”

“Fucking cliché as shit,” Olivia grumbled. She hacked away at her keyboard.

“Can you find a copy to download? I can point you to some free servers,” Angela laughed. “They make it available to the world, you know.”

“Yeah, loaded with malware,” she hissed. “Gotta scan the crap outta it before I open it.”

Angela ate as Olivia worked. Eventually, she opened the electronic book; the very familiar and sickening cover of Mein Kampf stared at Angela. Out of reflex, she did her best to not hiss at the sight.

“I think I found a key at the beginning of the book,” Olivia said, “so hopefully that’ll point me to the right substitutions. I’ll run it for the first few pages.”

Slowly, the computer replaced Markus’ handwritten letters with computer-generated text. Soon, every line became legible and decoded.

“I think you got it.”

“At least for this section,” Olivia said. “I told you, he changes the ciphers almost every eight pages or so; they get more complicated it goes. Breaking the entire journal will take time.”

“We have until we get to the Allies.”

“Lucky us, right?”

“Lucky you.”

Olivia glared at Angela, who couldn’t help but laugh.

“I get it, I get it, fuck me,” Olivia grumbled.

“You’re welcome.”

“Thanks…”

After breakfast, Angela went to catch a nap or two, and before she knew it, the day had changed to the night. She still felt tired, no surprise given her lack of sleep the past week.

But the Bar-Levs made another feast; the scent of spices, cooked meat, and fresh bread wafted up into the room, tickling Angela’s nose, waking her up. With her stomach grumbling and her mouth watering, she got up and walked down to the dining room. Everyone welcomed her with a cheer.

“You’re treating us like royalty,” Angela said, taking an empty seat by Fareeha, who gave her a plate loaded with food. Angela took a mouthful of chicken, and couldn’t help but moan as the spices roll over her tongue.

“This is the least we can do,” Mathieu said. “Thank you. For everything.”

“I’m glad my family was able to help yours out,” she smiled. “This is amazing food!”

“We just wish there was more we could do for you,” Ruthi said as they ate.

“This is more than enough,” Angela said. “Please, Ruti, knowing that you had such a wonderful and full life with such a loving family is reward enough.”

The Bar-Levs smiled at that, and gave everyone another helping of food.

“It might be enough for you, but we have to show our appreciation,” Mathieu said. “I talked to the guys at the station. We have a small stash of money, mostly for hostage situations should the need arise. But since you saved those children, and helped my family, I convinced them that you deserved it.”

He slid an envelope across the table to Angela.

“You said you have a ways to go; hopefully this will help with gas, food, or a place to sleep. There are a few ration cards in there, but I have no idea how long those will last.”

“Thank you,” Angela said, graciously taking the envelope.

“And I fixed up your van,” Ruthi said. “Wasn’t able to get everything done, it needs more than a few parts, but the A/C works, and the suspension should let it ride a little better.”

“In this heat, no one should go without air conditioning,” Nana Ruti sighed. “Sometimes I’m amazed I stayed here for so long.”

“It’s the dry heat that’s good for you,” Mathieu said.

“Perhaps,” Nana Ruti said. “Angela, I may not be a prophet, or to even have the ear of God, but I hope you walk in his light, and may the rest of your journey be safe. As my grandmother once said, ‘may the road rise up to meet your feet.’”

“That’s a prayer from back home,” Lena said, downing yet another full glass of water. “I thought you said you were German.”

“German-Irish, sweetheart,” Nana Ruti smiled. “Now, what good is a feast without a proper celebration? Mathieu, can you put some music on?”

“Music and a night cap in the living room,” the grandson beamed.

Ruthi led everyone to the living room, wheeling her Nana with her, while Mathieu brought drinks. In the living room, he rummaged around and pulled out an old record player.

“Vinyl! I haven’t seen one of those in forever,” Angela said. “Not since…”

“Not since when?” Mathieu asked.

“My father. Before Switzerland fell.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “One day, you’ll get your homeland back. Consider them marked.”

Angela smiled. Blackwatch worked to make that a reality every day, but thanks to Markus and his damn Muninn, even that seemed like a dwindling hope.

But it’s still hope, she thought. There’s still a chance.

“Enough of this sadness,” Nana Ruti smiled. “Mathieu, please, lighten the mood.”

Music filled the room, an energetic and upbeat tempo with drums and brass instruments.

“Is this Benny Goodman?” Fareeha asked, perking up.

“You know Benny Goodman?” Nana Ruti demanded.

“My mother is big into swing,” she smiled. “This was my childhood.”

“Uh-oh, they put swing on around the boss,” Akande laughed. “We’ll be up all night.”

“My, this is such a wonderful surprise!” Nana Ruti beamed. “I love Benny Goodman. I knew things were bad in Germany when everyone began decrying the ‘foul Negro music.’ I knew the Nazis were rotten bastards when they burned jazz and swing records!”

“Anyone who burns swing is the worst human,” Fareeha laughed.

“God, this has been a long time since I’ve listened to him. This makes me want to dance.”

“Why don’t you?” Fareeha walked over and held out her hand. “May I have a dance?”

“Oh stop it, I can’t move like I used to,” Nana Ruti said.

“But you can move.”

That got Nana Ruti to smile. She took Fareeha’s hand, and got to her feet. Angela kept a close eye on Ruti, but not even the relentless march of time could stop her from dancing.

Ruti moved slowly, but expertly. She smiled and laughed as Fareeha led her about the room, dancing and spinning like they were the ones who invented swing.

“Go Nana!” Ruthi cheered. “You still got it!”

“It never left me,” Ruti laughed back.

“We can’t let our dear Nana have all the fun,” Akande said. “Olivia, shall we dance?”

“Que?” Olivia stammered. “No, no, no, I don’t know how to dance.”

“I know a bit. Come on,” Akande said, taking her hand.

“No, please, I really don’t…”

Despite her protests, Olivia let herself be pulled to her feet, as if she were waiting for an excuse to get up and dance. Akande pulled Olivia close and, following Fareeha’s lead, spun her around. Olivia managed to bump into Akande three times in one spin.

Despite her clumsy dancing, perhaps because of it, Olivia laughed. Akande laughed with her, flashing an amazing smile that Angela never knew he had. He needed to smile more.

“If it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for us!” Lena said, jumping to her feet. “Come on Mathieu, I know you wanna dance with me.”

Mathieu took Lena’s hands, and went right into pulling her about, spinning her, moving about like they had both known each other for years.

Everyone laughed and danced, from the expert Nana Ruti and Fareeha to the bumbling Olivia. Lena especially seemed to be enjoying herself, even though she excused herself to go to the bathroom at every song.

They finished a full record before Nana Ruti stopped.

“My word, it has been forever since I’ve danced like that,” Nana Ruti gasped as Fareeha led her to her chair. “Thank you so much.”

“And thank you for the honor of such a lovely dance,” Fareeha smiled, ever the charmer.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have the energy as I used to. You look like you can dance forever.”

Ruthi put another record on, and Fareeha’s eyes lit up.

“Caro Emerald? I love her,” she gushed. “Now I have to ask.”

Fareeha turned to Angela.

“Can I ask you to dance as well?”

“No, please, I’m just like Olivia; two left feet,” she protested.

“I’ll teach you, it’s easy! Come on…please…?”

Angela wanted to get more sleep, but seeing everyone dancing and laughing, and seeing Fareeha’s disarmingly charming smile, it made her heart swell. It made her remember her uncle’s words of advice when she was but a girl.

You have to find a little joy in the day to help you get by. Otherwise, you’re like a gear with no oil. You’ll squeak and squirm, and eventually you’ll break.

Besides, Fareeha looked positively radiant. Like Akande, she needed to smile more.

“I’m trusting you,” she said, taking the sergeant’s firm but gentle hand.

“You won’t regret it,” Fareeha beamed. “Just follow my lead. I’ll start slowly.”

Fareeha showed her a basic step, and then showed her how to move about with the song.

“That’s it, follow my movements, mirror them.”

Angela had a grin that stretched from ear to ear. She couldn’t help but laugh as Fareeha began spinning her around. Fareeha’s hands were bigger than hers, and calloused like a soldier’s. But those hands were soft, gentle, and warm as Fareeha lead her about the living room with amazing skill.

All it cost is just a minute now
For one dollar you can show me how
I'll take your hand and then your worries too
In just one dance I'll make your dreams come true

Lena made a break to use the bathroom yet again. Angela watched her leave, then saw that Olivia spied on her and Fareeha. Specifically, Olivia spied on their feet.

“Better give my squaddie some pointers before she steps on Akande’s feet anymore,” Fareeha said. “Let’s switch.”

Fareeha handed Angela off to Akande, who led her around the room with just as much skill as Fareeha had.

“You’re a natural,” Angela said.

“Thanks, but I’m just okay,” Akande smiled. “The sergeant is the real deal.”

Angela looked over as Fareeha taught Olivia. By the time a very pale Lena got back, Olivia  had gotten the steps right, and wasn’t stepping on anyone’s toes anymore.

“Thank you for sharing her,” Fareeha said, leading Olivia back to Akande.

“Thank you for saving my feet,” he grinned. Olivia hit him, but never stopped smiling. Back in Fareeha’s hands, Angela lost herself in the music, and her gorgeous dance partner.

I have never dreamed it
Have you ever dreamed a night like this
I cannot believe it
I may never see a night like this
When everything you think is incomplete
Starts happening when you are cheek to cheek
Could you ever dream it
I have never dreamed, dreamed a night like this

They danced through two more records until exhaustion set in. Yet Nana Ruti stayed awake when they decided to call it quits.

“This…my word, this has been the best evening I’ve had in a long time,” Ruti smiled.

“Thank you for everything,” Angela said, hugging Ruti.

“And thank you for everything your family has done,” she squeezed back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to sleep for a few years.”

“Same here!”

Angela helped Mathieu push his grandmother to her room, and get her ready for bed. Soon Nana Ruti fell into a deep sleep, and Angela went back to her borrowed room. Olivia had already fallen asleep on the futon, and Fareeha had the blow-up mattress, leaving the bed for her, which she promptly collapsed on.

“I forgot to thank you for the dance,” she said.

“I’m glad I was able to dance with you,” Fareeha smiled. “Now get some shut-eye, we got a long drive ahead of us.”

Chapter Text

A sharp beeping woke Angela up; it sounded like watch alarm. She pulled herself up, just as Fareeha walked over to wake her up. Olivia stood by, yawning as she packed.

“Sorry, but we got to get going.”

Angela took a second to change into some new clothes the Bar-Levs provided, and double-checked her bag. Her Caduceus and the Muninn were safely stowed away. They left the room and walked to the stairway, meeting Akande, who had an armful of bags.

“Good to go,” he said to Fareeha. “Mathieu helped find us supplies, we got enough food to get us to the border of Russia.”

“This is crazy,” Fareeha said, “but let’s go.”

They walked down to the kitchen, and found Mathieu and Ruthi setting the table with small servings of breakfast, all on small disposable plates. Just as they got in, Lena walked in from the garage.

“Where’s Nana Ruti?” Angela asked.

“Still sleeping,” Mathieu replied.

“When she wakes up, give her my love.”

“Thank you for your hospitality and the clothes,” Fareeha said.

“And thank you for saving those children. Oh, Angela? Here’s our address.” Ruthi handed her a slip of paper. “The mail doesn’t work all the time, or work very fast, but send a letter if you can. And if you can, please visit. We’d love to see you again.”

Lena grabbed two water bottles and led them out to the van. Ruthi opened the gate for them, and they pulled out into the early morning light. They passed the small houses of the town, then the light trees and omnipresent thistle dominated the landscape as they left the city limits.

“We did need that,” Akande said. “Not just to get some good rest, but Ruthi worked a miracle getting the A/C working again.”

“Oh sweet Christ isn’t that the truth!” Olivia said.

Fareeha cranked the A/C knob, and cold air blasted though the van. Everyone sighed their contentment

“Ah, to be cool without getting dusty,” Angela sighed.

“Too right. Hey, can someone pass me the aux cord?” Lena said. “I’d like to put some tunes on.”

Thanks to Ruthi’s repairs, driving through the Middle East became easy and painless. The van still felt cramped, but Lena called for several bathroom breaks as they went, letting everyone get out and stretch their legs. Between the A/C, the better suspension, the rest stops, the music, chatting with the squad, and helping Olivia decipher Markus’ journal, time flew. Soon Angela didn’t mind seeing the winding road stretching out far ahead of them, or the occasional trees and tuffs of tall grass.

“Uh-oh,” Olivia mumbled.

“Did you spot trouble?” Akande said from the driver’s seat.

“My network got back to me. They got a leak of the Soviet’s plans; we’ve got a combined arms battalion bearing down on us, tanks and mechanized infantry.”

The mood went silent; Lena turned off the music.

“It was bound to happen sometime,” Fareeha said, gritting her teeth. “Where are they?”

“Maybe an hour away?” Olivia said, typing away. “I don’t have a live satellite feed.”

“What was that about getting closer to danger but further from harm?” Akande chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up,” Fareeha grumbled. “We still have to head north. I just never expected to actually get passed by a fucking armored column.”

“But this might still be good for us,” Angela asked. “In the Reich, armored columns aren’t sent to look for small groups of soldiers. The Russians probably have similar orders.”

“So instead of arresting us, they blow us up with a tank,” Akande groaned.

“The Commies are a lot of things, but they wouldn’t kill a random van when there are perfectly good Nazis further south,” Lena said.

“She’s got a point,” Fareeha said. “We just have to look like we blend in. Angela, Lena, you stay away from the windows, and cover up.”

“Someone pass me my backpack,” Olivia said.

Angela dug it out and passed it up, and Olivia pulled out a flag. It had white and blue horizontal lines, with a red triangle a white star in it.

“Here we go, the flag of Cuba! They’d never shoot a fellow Communist.”

“You keep a Cuban flag just in case you run into Communists?” Angela asked.

“I also have the bandera de España, Méjico, y Portugal,” she grinned.

“Mexico isn’t communist.”

“They aren’t, but you never know when changing nationalities might help.”

“You’re paranoid.”

“It’s not paranoia if they really are out to get you, chica.”

“Listen, love, ya really think this is a good idea?” Lena asked. “What’s a Cuban lady doing in the Middle East? You really want them to think on tha’ too much?”

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Fareeha said. “We just need to pass as friendlies, and they’ll probably let Cuban communists through.”

“I hope you’re right,” Angela mumbled.

“I hope I’m right, too.”

The drive grew more tense, even as Lena turned the music back on. So when the first tank finally crested the horizon, Angela felt a queer sense of relief that the wait was over.

“Got eyes on them,” Akande said. The tanks grew in size as they bore down on them.

“Steady on,” Fareeha said. “Olivia, get out the window and start waving the flag.”

“I got them on radio,” she said, rolling the window down and stuffing an ear bud into her ear. “I’ll let you know if we need to do something drastic.”

After being pampered by the A/C, the heat seemed especially brutal. Dust and dirt flew into the van, making Angela choke. She started sweating, and the dirt glued itself to her.

“¡Mata a esos Nazis! ¡Para la revolución! Cuba y la Unión! Борьба за родину!”

A burst of gunfire made everyone duck, but Olivia just cheered all the louder.

“That’s a celebration burst,” Lena mumbled. “We’d be dead if they actually meant it.”

Oddly, that put Angela at ease.

“¡Para Cuba! Para el proletariado!” Olivia roared. “Vive la revolución!”

Soldiers opened hatches in tanks, cheering and waving back. Akande pulled the van over to give them room. Tires bit at gravel, the van shook, but the Russians were letting them pass.

“Water,” Olivia croaked, ducking back in side. Akande gave her a bottle.

“Crap,” she mumbled, fiddling with her ear bud. “They think a Cuban woman out in the Middle East is too strange.”

“Fucking told you so,” Lena grimly chuckled. “You got a better distraction planned?”

Olivia scowled, but leaned back out of the van.

“¡Por la libertad! ¡Lucha por estos!”

And then she pulled her shirt up and flashed the tanks.

Peels of gunfire filled the air and men roared. Olivia laughed as they passed by. Angela quickly averted her eyes by looking at the floor.

Oh God don’t let me blush, please…

As the last tank passed by, the commander giving her a proud salute, which she returned.

“Alright, that took care of them,” Olivia said, climbing back in. She pulled her shirt down and re-adjusted herself. It took her several seconds to realize that everyone stared at her.

“What? You said we needed a distraction,” she said, blushing. “Now they’ll be thinking of a hot Cuban lady with a great rack.”

“I thought I knew you,” Akande gasped.

“Stop it!”

“Hey Olivia, I need a good distraction from this heat,” Lena grinned.

“Don’t you fucking start!”

“Too late there,” Fareeha laughed.

“¡Dios Mío!”

“The last time I saw such a run-down hotel had to be when the Nazis conquered Switzerland,” Angela said.

“I can see the beds sagging,” Akande said, disbelief in his voice.

Just looking at the rough, sagging beds made Angela feel that she would catch some kind of skin rash. The covers and sheets did it no favors.

“Please tell me this shit hole is a paid for by the hour,” Olivia groaned.

“Are you kidding?” Lena said. “An hourly motel is a step up from this heap.”

“As ashamed as I am for finding this place, we don’t have a choice,” Fareeha sighed. “We’re lucky the ration cards lasted this long; we have to stretch the money we have.”

“I think I’ll be sleeping on the ground,” Angela sad.

“I think Angela’s got the right idea,” Akande said. “I’ll take the spot over there.”

“Going out on a limb here, but I think we’ll all be sleeping on the ground,” Lena said.

“Listen, boss, it’s great we found a place to crash, but is this the best we can do?”

“It takes cash, and they didn’t ask questions. Bad enough we’re still carrying military weapons, the last thing we need is someone asking around.”

“So this is the best we can do.”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Fareeha said, “we’re only here for the night.”

“Well guys, wish me luck,” Lena sighed. “I gotta use the bathroom.”

“I have a few penicillin shots for you,” Angela offered.

“Something tells me I’ll need it.”

“I think we should splurge tonight,” Fareeha said, reading the map by flashlight. “Find a better hotel and actually get some relaxing in.”

“What’s prompting that?” Lena said from the driver’s seat.

Angela hadn’t known Lena for long, but she seemed to be growing paler.

It must be the rough trip, she thought. I don’t feel myself either.

“We’re getting close to the USSR,” Fareeha replied.

The mood shifted from tired and grumpy to tense.

“Can’t fucking believe we’re doing this,” Olivia grumbled. “This shit is fucked.”

“Which is exactly why we need to actually relax,” Fareeha said. “Things are beyond tense, and sleeping on the ground or driving in shifts isn’t helping. We need to treat ourselves.”

“I’m all for that,” Akande said. “Maybe we can find a bad Muslim and get some beer.”

“Not all Muslims think alcohol is forbidden,” Fareeha sighed.

“Wait, you mean you’re not a stick in the mud because of your religion, but because you were born as a stick in the mud?”

Lena and Olivia laughed at that. Angela couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Real funny,” Fareeha said, rolling her eyes. “If you can find cheap booze, I’ll pay for it.”

“How can we even cross the border?” Angela asked.

“Technically, Turkey borders Georgia,” Lena said. “They’re a good buffer, so that should be enough to make the Russkies relax. The only way we’ll really alert them is if we suddenly pop up in a Nazi panzer battalion.”

“You still need to bundle up and stay in the back,” Fareeha said. “Same goes for you too, Angela, at least when we drive during the day. Can’t have anyone asking too many questions.”

“Think I found a decent hotel,” Lena said.

“Take it. Olivia, you’re up. Get your Cuban on and get us a room.”

“You got it, boss.”

“And if people start asking too many questions,” Fareeha grinned, “just distract them.”

“One fucking time!” Olivia yelled as everyone roared with laughter. “I do something like that fucking once and you pendejos won’t let it go!”

“That’s all it ta~akes,” Lena laughed, pulling the van into a darkened parking lot.

“I’ll get one bed and let you fight over the ground,” Olivia spat, getting out.

“Would she really do that?” Angela asked.

“She’s just bitter,” Akande said. “Let her simmer, she’ll get over it.”

“Besides, she can give as well as she gets,” Lena nodded.

“What if they ask too many questions?” Angela asked.

“Olivia can handle it,” Fareeha said. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“And if we have to make a quick get away?”

“Then we’re fucked,” Fareeha shrugged. “We don’t have anywhere to run to, and we’ll probably stick out something awful. If we’re caught once, it’ll all be over.”

“That’s reassuring,” Angela huffed.

“Either it works out, or it doesn’t. No need to stress about things we can’t control.”

Angela tensely counted the minutes. She looked out the window into the night, into the empty roads. Every passing car seemed to be looking at them. Every rare person walking by seemed to be judging them. Angela thought it wasn’t possible, but she found herself growing more paranoid by the minute.

Someone pounded the van. Angela jumped, screaming. They were caught!

“Ha!” Olivia laughed. “The look on your face!”

“Not funny,” Angela spat.

“Of course it was funny. It was funny for me!” Olivia opened the door, holding up a handful of plastic cards. “I got us two rooms for two days. Grab a bag, and let’s get going.”

Olivia led them to a side entrance, then took them up a fully lit and carpeted stairwell. The carpets seemed to be quite old, but not yet worn through.

“We got this room,” Olivia said, pointing to one door, “and this one.”

Both rooms were right next to each other; Angela could tell they shared a wall. Olivia swiped them into the first room. There were two big beds, a desk, a TV, and a bathroom.

“This looks like any hotel in the Reich,” Angela said. She took two key cards from Olivia, one for each room.

“Hey, a cheap hotel is a cheap hotel no matter where you are,” Lena said.

Angela walked to the nightstand and opened the drawer. A cheap copy of The Communist Manifesto greeted her.

“Should have figured as much,” she sighed.

“I’m gonna hit up the bathroom,” Lena said. “You guys can figure out who gets what room.”

“But there are five of us,” Angela said, pointing to the twin beds. “Does that mean someone has to sleep on the floor?”

“God no. I requested a fold-out bed,” Olivia said. “The front desk should have it ready.”

“You get it without me,” Akande said, opening the second room. “I need to crash. Olivia, I take it you’ll bunk with me?”

“Of course.”

“Great. Turn the lights off when you get back.”

Akande walked in and flopped on the bed. The door slowly closed by itself, and Angela heard him snoring before it fully swung shut.

“How can he sleep like that?” Angela asked as they walked through the hallway.

“Soldier thing,” Fareeha shrugged.

“Can’t wait to catch up on some sleep,” Olivia yawned. “We needed this.”

“We absolutely do,” Fareeha said, pressing the button for the nearby elevator. “Wait, shit, why are you following us? You’re the Red Angel of Verdun; you can’t be seen.”

That got Angela to pause. If anyone recognized her, they’d be caught.

“Sorry, but we have to keep you under wraps as much as possible,” Fareeha said, offering a lopsided grin as a means of apology.

“No, I understand. Thank you for keeping an eye out for me.”

“You’re the VIP,” Fareeha said, giving her a true smile. “We have to keep you safe.”

Angela walked back to the room, swiping herself in with a key card. She walked over to her bag, but she heard Lena coughing, and it wasn’t gentle.

“Lena?” She asked, walking to the bathroom door. “Is everything alright?”

“F-fine,” Lena replied, sounding very rough around the edges. “Just need a few—“

She broke into a fit. It sounded like she was trying to cough her lungs up.

“Lena, I’m coming in,” Angela said, going to the bathroom door.

“No! I’m fine!”

“You’re not, that sounds like a very serious cough. I need to examine you.”

“Just give me a few!”

Angela tried the door, but Lena held the door shut. Even when Angela twisted the handle and pounded on the door, Lena held it fast. Then she started coughing again, and Angela wedged the door open.

The bathroom had a small sink, toilet, and surprisingly large tub. Angela ignored that; Lena had doubling over the sink, coughing heavily, coughing up blood.

“Just…Give me a minute…”

Lena coughed again, her knees giving out. Angela caught her as she dipped to the ground. Angela grabbed length of toilet paper and handed it to Lena. A cough overtook her. Angela knelt by her, holding her upright as her body heaved and hacked.

The door chimed, and it opened. Akande walked in, worry on his face.

“What’s going on?” He asked. “I heard a scuffle.”

“We need a minute,” Angela said, gently shooing him away.

Akande saw Lena curled up by the toilet, and the worry lines in his face deepened.

“If there’s anything I can do, tell me.”

Lena shook as she coughed, each sounding dry and strained. The toilet paper covering her mouth became stained with more and more blood. Eventually, Lena forced herself to stop.

She trembled, and cleared her throat as she did her best to breath, taking long and deep breathes to steady herself. Lena leaned to the toilet and spat, dying the water red with a thick blob of blood.

The door opened; Fareeha and Olivia were back. They were talking, but suddenly stopped; no doubt Akande gave them a hand signal.

“I fucking hate this,” Lena whimpered, tears leaking out of her eyes.

“Hate what?” Angela gently asked.

“Being useless.” Angela could hear the strain in her voice, the effort to hold back the coughing fit. “Being a burden. I’m just dead fucking weight.”

“You’re not dead weight.”

“I’m a dead girl. I’m falling apart.”

“You seem pretty solid to me.”

Lena chuckled, and nearly fell into another coughing fit. She caught herself, taking long deep breaths to stabilize herself. Spit and blood dripped from her mouth, and she spat it out.

“I wanted to keep this from everyone,” she mumbled.

“Is there anything else I can do?”

“Don’t know yet,” Lena said. “But now that everyone knows, I gotta tell them.”

“You don’t have to.”

“And let them guess as to why I’m coughing my lungs up in a cheap hotel bathroom? I think not,” she said, standing up on shaky legs.

Angela watched her, but Lena remained steady as she left. Fareeha sat at the small desk, leaning forward with her forearms against her knees; her foot tapped a stressful rhythm. Akande, looking as stressed as ever, sat on a bed with an uncharacteristically quiet Olivia. A big wheeled metal frame sat at the far side of the room, folded like a book; it had to be the third mattress Olivia said she had gotten.

“Right, guess the cat’s out of the bag,” Lena said, taking a seat on the open bed. She spoke with believable bravado, if only Angela didn’t see her coughing up blood seconds ago. “You all heard me going to town in there; I’ve been coughing up blood.”

“How long has that been happening?” Angela asked. She took a seat by Lena, in case she doubled over again.

“Ever since Mathieu took us in,” she replied. “Had my first fit that night.”

“You did take a lot of bathroom breaks then. How much blood have you been coughing up?”

“Few specks, at first. But it’s been getting worse.”

“Is that why we took so many breaks on the road?” Fareeha asked, the stress in her voice well hidden, but still audible. “So you could go to the bathroom and…well, cough some more?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Habit from back home. Didn’t have much, so it was ‘help out or get out.’”

“Have you only been coughing up blood?” Angela asked. “Is it just blood when you cough? Or is there blood when you go to the bathroom?”

“Y-yeah, I’ve been crapping up a little blood, too,” she blushed.

“And how is your appetite? I haven’t seen you eating much, and you seem very pale.”

“I’m starving all the damn time,” Lena groaned. “I eat a can of soup, and my stomach feels ready to explode, but I’m still hungry. I’m thirsty all the damn time, too. Like I can’t get enough water in me. But that makes me go to the bathroom, and it goes right through me, it’s like I’m pissing up nothing but water.”

“What’s happening?” Olivia snapped, panic edging into her voice. “What did you do?”

“I don’t think I did anything,” Angela said. “I think all of this is a side-effect of the massive Caduceus dose I gave her.”

“You said your Caduceus could heal almost anything,” Akande said.

“I also said it was to augment medical procedures. It wasn’t built to replace organs; not this release version, anyways. Saving Lena was an exception, not the rule.”

“Do you know what’s causing this?” Fareeha asked.

Angela paused, her mind churning.

This is bedside manner, she thought. God, it’s been so long since I’ve done this. This is what I’ll be doing when I finish defecting.

“I can’t fully examine her without a stocked lab. Off to top of my head? It’s possible the inorganic nanoparticles are aggravating Lena’s body, rubbing against the healthy tissue, drawing blood. It  could be her body rejecting the nanoparticles, there’s just too many variables.”

“What about my hunger?” Lena asked.

“My guess is the nanoparticles that make up your new digestive tract are forming the shape, but they’re not letting your blood absorb the nutrition. It’s like empty space.”

“But I feel fine,” Lena said. “Aside from the coughing and hunger, that is.”

“Then the best thing for you to do is to take everything easy, give your body rest and time to recover. That’s the best I can do without being able to fully examine you.”

“Can’t we use your Caduceus to heal her?” Akande asked. “It healed her before.”

“My Caduceus isn’t magic. I’d have to cut her open to properly dose her.”

“Can I vote ‘no’ on that?” Lena asked.

“Even if you wanted me to, I’d refuse,” Angela said. “The Reich doesn’t teach the Hippocratic Oath, but I do try to live it as much as possible. And a possibly unnecessary invasive surgery definitely qualifies as ‘doing harm.’”

“’Possibly unnecessary?’”

“If your coughing fits are caused by the nanoparticles aggravating your healthy tissue, adding more would worsen your condition.”

“Then you’re on bed rest,” Fareeha said. “What would we do without you?”

“Have a boring road trip, that’s what,” Lena said. “None of you can DJ like I do.”

“Thank God for that,” Olivia laughed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means we got to rest,” Fareeha smiled, stepping in. “We stay here for two days, order food as needed so we can relax, and Lena can get better.”

“So you mean I can technically be lazy, while on the Army’s dime?” Lena chuckled.

“That’s exactly right,” Fareeha laughed. “Olivia, we’ll make a trip to some nearby stores to try and stock up on canned goods and other supplies. When we check out, we cross into the goddamn USSR.”

“Oh, how lucky we are,” Akande groaned.

Angela thought she’d fall asleep the second she laid down. Instead, she found herself wide awake with worry.

Lena refused to take a full bed, instead sleeping on the fold-out. She fell asleep the second she lay down, and Angela felt nothing but jealousy at that.

“You still awake?” Fareeha asked.

That startled Angela. Hearing her move about, Fareeha turned on a tableside lamp. She only wore a t-shirt, and Angela made sure to squarely focus on her eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Angela stammered. She suddenly felt self-conscious in her own sleep shirt, and kept the sheet high around her chest.

“It’s okay, I wasn’t sleeping either. And I didn’t mean to startle you, I just wanted to check on you.”

Angela could hear the care and worry in Fareeha’s voice.

“It’s Lena,” Angela sighed. “I…I’m scared I might’ve killed her.”

“You don’t have to whisper so much, Lena can be a heavy sleeper,” Fareeha said, propping her head up with her hand. “And I got a feeling she’ll be dead to the world until the morning. Now, why do you think you killed her?”

“It’s my Caduceus. I didn’t build it to replicate organ function, I could be making Lena starve without realizing it.”

“Lena’s pretty small, but I don’t think she’ll be starving anytime soon, at least not before we reach Free France.”

“But—“

“Angela,” Fareeha said. She spoke with a smile, yet her voice had a firmness to it. “I’m so glad you’re worried about my friend and squaddie. It’s great. And you performed a miracle when you saved her life. If you weren’t there, or if you didn’t have your Caduceus, just…”

Fareeha took a deep breath. Angela recognized it as a way for her to get control of her emotions.

“The only thing I would’ve been able to do is just hold her and make her comfortable.”

Angela rubbed at her eyes, drying them before Fareeha saw.

“I take it you’ve done that before?” She asked quietly.

“Yes,” she said flatly. Fareeha gave her head a quick shake, and turned back to Angela. “You need to stop beating yourself up about something you have no control over, and something you couldn’t possibly control.”

“I know,” Angela nodded, “it’s…”

“It’s just hard?”

“Yes.”

“Goddamn,” Fareeha laughed. “I’m sharing a room with the Red Angel of Verdun, and she’s worried sick she wasn’t able to save everyone! Life really is strange.”

Fareeha stopped, a brush rising to her cheeks.

“You don’t like to be called that. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to rub it in your face.”

“It’s fine,” Angela said. A yawn crept up on her, cutting her off. “You weren’t using it like a curse; I can see the humor in this situation, even if I’m not laughing.”

“That’s good,” Fareeha smiled. “Still, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Angela smiled back. “Actually…I liked how you said it.”

Fareeha’s eyes widened in surprise, and Angela realized what she said. What she admitted.

“Uh, w-what I mean is, it’s just funny the way you said it!” She stammered. She could feel her face warming. “I’ve never heard it—“

“Sorry if I’m blunt, but do you like me?”

The wild stream of words pouring from Angela’s mouth suddenly stopped like they ran into a brick wall.

“Oh my God, you’re turning redder than the sunset,” Fareeha gaped.

“Uh…”

Angela could feel the familiar rush of panic seeping into her blood. She felt caught, trapped.

“It was the looks,” Fareeha said, seeing the confusion in her face. “You started looking at me with, with wonder, I guess. At first I thought it was because you never saw a woman sergeant, or a woman a shade other than white. In person, I mean.

“But you seemed so taken aback, it couldn’t be that. And when we danced at the Bar-Levs, it felt magical. It did to me, anyways. Did you feel something then? Do…do you like me?”

Angela couldn’t move if she wanted to. She had no idea how she managed to give a single, sharp nod.

“Oh my God,” Fareeha gasped. “It’s because of the fucking Nazis. You’re in the closet, I didn’t mean to drag you out or anything, it’s…you don’t act anything like a Nazi, I kind of forgot. I mean, I knew, how couldn’t I, just…my brain didn’t put two-and-two together, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re okay,” Angela mumbled.

You have to find some good in this world, Angela. You can’t think every day is a grind, because the grind will win.

Her uncle’s words echoed in her mind, along with the memory of the wife he had.

She said she went to Heaven. I found her hanging in the empty room on the second floor.

The regret in his voice had felt palpable to her, even as a teenage girl.

I have to fight the grind. Angela paused, gathering her thoughts and feelings. This can be my life when I defect. I can be a doctor, and I can stop hiding.

“I…do like you,” she somehow stammered out. “Y-you’re strong, and not just physically. I can’t imagine doing what you do, being a soldier, leading a squad, you make it look so effortless and…and amazing.”

Angela couldn’t believe it when she saw Fareeha blush. And when Fareeha smiled as she blushed, Angela thought she would melt.

“I’m strong? You’re strong,” Fareeha said. “Doing what you do, living where you lived, that is amazing. And now you’re here saying you like a Middle Eastern woman?” She chuckled. “Angela, I don’t think you know just how strong you are.”

“My uncle says that all the time.”

“He’s a wise man.”

Silence fell between them, but Angela didn’t find it strange or awkward at all. If anything, she felt relief at saying what she’d buried so deep.

“This is a big moment for you,” Fareeha said, “and I don’t want to do anything to ruin it, or rush it along, or anything like that. The thing is, I have my own needs…and I’m doing my best not to have them spoil the mood.”

“What are you saying?”

“Angela, would it be too much if I kiss you?”

Kiss??

“You don’t have to say yes, and it doesn’t have to be more than that,” Fareeha said quickly. “No one just jumps out of the closet and is suddenly down for the gayest sex ever, not outside of a porno anyways, it’s just I’m getting worked up and I’d really just like to vent it with a kiss.”

Angela thought she had been hot before, but now she felt the familiar burn of embarrassment overtake her. She could feel the color rise in her cheeks, and suddenly she couldn’t meet Fareeha’s gaze.

“You’re kidding,” Fareeha gasped.

“Stop.”

“No. Way.”

“Stop it!”

“You’ve never been kissed?!”

Angela wanted nothing more than to just die and vanish at that very moment. She pulled the sheets up to her head, as if covering herself up would make her disappear.

“N-no…” She mumbled.

“Oh, my, God!” Fareeha had to cover her mouth to stay quiet. “How old are you?”

“Stop!”

“Oh my God, you can’t be serious,” Fareeha laughed. “Dr. Angela Ziegler, the Red Angel of Verdun, the prettiest Aryan in all the Reich, has never been kissed?! I’d be your first?”

Angela squirmed, trying to fold into both herself, to magically turn into a shadow.

“How did you go through life without kissing anyone? You didn’t ever sneak out with a girl, find a closet, and just try it?”

“No, because the only people I could kiss were literal Nazis!”

Fareeha had to press her face into a pillow to muffle her laughter.

“Oh my God, this…this can’t be real,” she gasped. “I mean, I get it, if I only had Nazis to kiss, I’d stay celibate too. I just thought, I don’t know, there’d be some kind of gay kissing going on in girl’s school. There was a ton of it in mine! Then again, all the girls I kissed came out the second they were away from home, so maybe I just didn’t keep a lot of straight friends.”

That got Angela to chuckle a bit.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be rubbing this in so much, this is just a huge shock for me.”

“…Can you?”

Fareeha paused.

“Y-you said when we danced, you felt something between us.” Angela had to gather her commitment. “And I did feel it, too. I just…never thought I could do something like this.”

“Are you sure? You don’t think it would be moving too fast?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Fareeha smiled, a wide, easy smile that sent shivers up and down Angela’s spine. She inhaled sharply as Fareeha pulled back the sheets and got out of bed. Her t-shirt came down to her hips, and Angela’s eyes were drawn to her legs. She wore a pair of very short athletic shorts, leaving her long, toned legs exposed.

Her breathing deepened as Fareeha leaned over her. Her hair dangled down, tickling her face. Angela could hear her pulse in her ears. And Fareeha practically radiated heat.

Fareeha had a look in her eyes. Not exactly hungry, but passionate. Driven. Focused. Focused on her.

Angela felt that she had been struck by lightning. She doubted she could have moved if she wanted to. She had fallen under some spell the Egyptian had woven on her. She stayed frozen in place, but then Fareeha moved in, and they were kissing.

Fareeha’s lips pressed against hers, gentle and full. The world truly felt like it would stop. Angela shivered, her mind blank, suddenly filled with pleasant static.

When the kiss ended, her lips felt cold, alone, even though Fareeha had only pulled back a few inches. Then a smile broke out on her olive face.

“Did my best,” Fareeha smiled. “What did you think?”

Angela forgot how to use her words.

“That good? Means I still got it,” Fareeha chuckled. She went back to her bed, but paused. “I hate to be a bitch, but I know not to mix business with pleasure; at least too much.”

She cleared her throat as she got back in bed.

“I’m not going to let this effect how I do my job. You’re still the VIP, and I still have to protect you. I’ll treat you the same way I would treat you if we didn’t kiss, and that might make a bitch every so often.”

“It’s okay…” Angela swooned.

“Thank you for understanding,” Fareeha smiled. She reached for the light, but paused. “And you take as much time as you need to sort your mind out. I won’t be upset or disappointed or anything of the such if you don’t want to do this again. These things can only happen at one speed: your speed.”

“Thank you.”

Fareeha gave her one last smile before she turned off the light.

“You’re welcome, Angel.”

In the cover of darkness, Angela twisted underneath the sheets. She felt like she was flying! To have a kiss, it just didn’t seem real! She felt amazing, just head over heels!

And because she felt so good, her mind felt like taking things in the opposite direction, reminding her of what she’d done. As she drifted off, she could feel the tattoos on her arms weighing her down, dragging her under.

And the ones that weighed the most were the first feather tattoos she had ever gotten, back in the Verdun Uprising.

Chapter Text

Angela dreamed she could fly through the white, fluffy clouds, leaving all her worries behind. That made Brigitte’s wake-up all the more jarring.

“It’s morning!”

Brigitte jumped on the bed, and part of Angela, waking her with a start.

“Oof! Brigitte, please, just give me some more time.”

“But you’re going away,” her god-sister said. “I want to spend more time with you!”

Brigitte had far more energy the average six year old. Angela suddenly knew what Ingrid meant when she said if the Reich would be ready for such a child; if all it took was raw energy to bring the Reich down, Brigitte would have destroyed everything by the time she was four.

“Okay, okay,” she laughed, letting Brigitte pull her from her bed. “But we don’t have much time. Your father and I need to be at the airport early.”

“What about a board game? Can we play one?”

Angela looked at the clock.

“Maybe one game,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

“Come on, I’ll set it up!” Brigitte smiled.

Brigitte ran across her room, giving Angela a second to shake the remnants of her sleep off. Ah well, she could always sleep on the plane.

The plane. Her trip. Her first deployment. With Brigitte’s energetic cheer, Angela nearly forgot about her first deployment with Blackwatch. Her assignment would take her to France, to Verdun. The French Resistance had sparked an uprising; the city had to be held.

Of course, her Blackwatch orders were to see if the scales could be tipped against the Reich, and help save French lives. It wasn’t likely, but if it could be done, they had to try.

Brigitte had just set up the board when the door opened.

“Good morning, my two lovely ladies,” Uncle Reinhardt said with a smile.

“Uncle Reinhardt!” Brigitte cried, running to her massive uncle. “Angela and I were going to play a game! Do you want to join us?”

“Ach, I wish I could, but we need to eat and leave,” he sighed.

“But I just set the game up,” Brigitte pouted.

“Then we’ll leave the game where it is, and we’ll play once Angela get back,” he smiled. “Don’t pout, I’m making chocolate chip pancakes.”

“Chocolate chip pancakes?” Brigitte beamed. “Oh, thank you, Uncle Reinhardt!”

“Give your sister time to take a shower, she’ll eat when she’s ready.”

The stairs echoed as Brigitte ran down them to the kitchen.

“And how are you, Doctor Ziegler?” Her Uncle asked with an easy smile.

Angela still smiled at being called ‘doctor.’ She wasn’t a full doctor yet, she still had much to learn, but it reminded her what she wanted, what she strove for. She couldn’t wait to be an actual doctor, a healer.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m nervous. God, am I nervous.”

“That’s good. It is normal to be nervous on your first deployment.”

“Will I…?”

Uncle Reinhardt’s face grew hard.

“There will be—”

“Uncle! Angela! The pancakes are getting cold!” Brigitte yelled.

Reinhardt chuckled.

“We’ll talk later, when we don’t have to put on a show for Brigitte,” he said, wrapping her in a big, warm hug.

Angela wished she could hug him forever. It felt like she wouldn’t have to face the world.

“Now,” he said, letting her go, “hit the showers, and join us for breakfast.”

Angela smiled, and went off to the bathroom. Time to start her day. Uncle Reinhardt had a massive house, secured from spies, yet Angela had got the itch to move out. She just turned nineteen, she shouldn’t be spending all her time at home. She needed her own place.

Of course, that meant that she would have to secure it against prying eyes. But Uncle Reinhardt taught her well, she had connections in Blackwatch to help her root out any bugs that might’ve been installed, and she had a spymaster for a godmother. Her future home would be safe.

Finished with her shower, Angela dressed in her Blackwatch uniform. While still a recruit, it made her burst with pride. Blackwatch would teach her how to fight the Reich. But first, she had to complete medical school. Her deployment would help; deployments were treated as residences in many reputed Reich schools.

She went down to the kitchen, where Brigitte sat at a table with her uncle.

“Mmm, smells heavenly,” she smiled.

“They are heavenly,” Brigitte said with a full mouth.

“Now, now, you know better than to talk with a mouth full of food,” she laughed. “Some might fall out! And we can’t go around wasting food when it’s so hard to come by.”

Brigitte nodded, working on chewing and swallowing.

“How’s the war?” Angela asked, sitting down to eat.

“The Fourth Eastern War is going strong,” Uncle Reinhardt groaned, sliding her a plate of pancakes. “Stalin just had to invade. He must really want to play with his new toys.”

“You mean their guided missiles?”

“Guided missiles, guided artillery, heat seeking missiles, bunker busters, next-generation armored personnel carriers, everything in this war is new. It’s reaping a great tally, and when we respond with our own arsenal and… well, the grass will grow well for years to come.”

“Uncle, are they calling you to the front?” Brigitte asked.

“Not yet,” he sighed. “But it will probably be a matter of time.”

“You can’t be leaving with Angela, are you?”

“And leave you alone?” He chuckled. “Not a chance. But we have to eat and get ready. We have to get your sister and father to the airport so they can be deployed.”

“But Angela is still a medical student. Can’t she stay here longer?”

“Not when I’m the rising star in medicine,” Angela said. “I have to prove myself.”

“And prove she will!” Uncle Reinhardt said. “We have to get her to Verdun.”

“Why Verdun?” Brigitte asked. “Don’t the French want Paris?”

“Verdun is a Reich waypoint. Supplies, equipment, and soldiers travel through there. With its rail system, those things can go anywhere. If the French Resistance takes Verdun, they might actually have a chance at liberating Paris. Naturally, the Allies are helping as best they can, trying to push out from Rouen and their old Normandy and Brittany landing sites.”

“Are we going to help the French take the city back?” Brigitte asked excitedly.

“If we can manage it, we will,” Angela smiled. “But we have to look like we’re helping the Nazis. Remember, what does Blackwatch do?”

“We trick Nazis,” Brigitte smiled.

“That we do,” she said, hugging her sister.

“Brigitte, can you pack your clothes? We have to move soon.”

Brigitte ran back up the stairs to Angela’s room. Angela knew why Reinhardt sent her along. Her Uncle’s voice lowered as she pushed her empty plate away.

“Angela, listen,” he said. “You’ll be going into a combat zone. It’ll be dangerous, you’ll have to defend yourself.”

“I’m a good shot with a pistol.”

“I know you are; I trained you myself. But you haven’t shot someone yet. Knowing you, it will be difficult. But you must be strong, and when you do, you must talk to someone.”

“Will there be anyone there I can talk to? Anyone trustworthy?”

“Aside from Torbjörn? No. But the real reason I’m worried for you is the things you might have to do.” Reinhardt paused. “I was hoping to talk to you in private, but you know how your sister loves to be around you, so I have to tell you now, while she’s busy.

“Everyone in Blackwatch has had to do something they’re ashamed of in order to keep their cover. It’s like a perverse rite of passage. You’ll be representing the Reich, and the Reich always comes down hard on French Insurrectionists. They’ll demand horrible things of you.”

Angela tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry.

“Angela, I love you like you’re my own flesh and blood. And thinking of the things you’ll have to do makes me angry. But you must know that you are a good person. No matter what happens, what you do, know that deep down, you, are, good.”

He gently tapped her chest, right at her heart.

“Do what you must to remain undercover. Talk to Torbjörn if you feel overburdened. When you get back, we can get you even more help. But never lose sight that you’re doing good in this world, one way or another.”

Her uncle pulled her into a tight hug.

“Now, we have to put a strong face on for Brigitte,” he smiled. “Go get your things.”

“Thanks,” she said. She really did feel better.

Angela went back to her room, where Brigitte zipped up her little duffel bag. Her own belongings were already packed a Blackwatch standard suitcase. But her hands were shaking.

“Let’s go get your father,” she smiled at her sister, putting on the bravest face she could.

They both carried their bags downstairs, where her uncle help load it into a car.

“Good morning, Phillipp!” Brigitte smiled at their driver.

“And a very good morning to you,” Phillipp smiled back. “We have a full ride today?”

“We will,” Reinhardt smiled. “And remember Brigitte, we have to fool the Nazis. So put on a good face.”

Brigitte nodded, and Angela fidgeted all the way over to the Lindholm estate. Like her uncle, they lived in a large mansion, befitting Torbjörn’s rank in Blackwatch. They pulled up, where the squat, bearded Torbjörn stood waiting with Ingrid.

“Daddy!” Brigitte ran from the car, where her father scooped her up in a hug.

“Ah, there she is!” He said. “Coming to see your father and sister away?”

“I want you to stay.”

“We do, too. But we have to do what we’re ordered to do,” he said, playing the role of Good Nazi. There could always be roving eyes watching them from a distance. “Well, we best get ready to do our duty to the nation.”

“I know you’ll both do a great job,” Ingrid said. “Now, let’s get in the car! Come on!”

Brigitte dove into the backseat, and Angela got in after her. Reinhardt helped Phillipp fit the bags into the trunk, and Ingrid came with them. Despite the large car, Angela got to be the big sister she wanted to be and had Brigitte sit on her lap.

“How long will you be gone?” Brigitte asked.

“Our orders didn’t say,” Angela said. “It’ll be a few months, until the uprising is beaten.”

“Can’t you come home earlier? I miss seeing you every day.”

“We have to follow our orders,” Torbjörn said, stroking his beard. He had put a new braid into it recently. “But we’ll try to get them pushed through faster, so we can get back to you.”

“I can’t wait to join you,” Brigitte said. “I want to be the best Blackwatch agent ever!”

“Then you better start training,” Angela laughed, giving Brigitte a squeeze. “Your Uncle Reinhardt will teach you anything you need to know.”

“But before that,” Ingrid said, “I’ll be teaching you how to fight with your head.”

“Why my head?”

“Because without direction, without knowing what you’re doing, you’re just flailing around,” she smiled, playfully flailing her own arms about. Brigitte giggled. “First you fight with your head, then you fight with your heart.”

Arriving at the airport, they were taken to a small hanger where a private plane waited.

“Here’s our stop,” she said, hugging Brigitte. “I’ll send you post cards every week.”

“I’ll miss you, big sister.”

“And I’ll miss you too, little sister.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll keep her safe,” Torbjörn said, hugging his daughter. “Now, for your orders. Don’t give your mother a hard time, she has enough to worry about without you skinning your knees and such. And second, for the love of God, give poor Gustavo a break.”

“What did she do to Gustavo?” Angela asked.

“She tried making him some cardboard armor a few days ago,” Ingrid laughed. “Like she wanted to use him as a battle steed.”

“That poor cat…” Reinhardt sighed.

“Give him a break, please?” Torbjörn asked.

“Okay,” Brigitte groaned, kicking the ground.

“We’ll be back soon,” Angela said, kissing her cheek.

“Bye dad! Bye Angela!”

Waving, Angela and Torbjörn boarded the private plane.

“This plane is safe, no?” She asked, sitting down.

“Of course it is. But it’s good that you’re asking.”

“We can’t exactly take back a slip-up.”

“Ha! That’s right!”

They looked out the window as the plane taxied. Reinhardt, Ingrid, and Brigitte waved.

“I’m so glad Ingrid made you her sister.”

“I’m glad, too. I needed something to keep me positive. Uncle Reinhardt was right, this damned grind is taking much out of us.”

“Aye, and you don’t need anyone adding to it,” Torbjörn sighed.

“Okay, I know where this is going,” she said. “Torbjörn, I’m not mad at you.”

“I called you a traitor, a loyal Nazi.”

“And that was nearly six years ago; you were right to be cautious. Like water under a bridge, I’m over it. Please, stop beating yourself up about it.”

“I guess I’ll find a way to forgive myself,” he sighed.

“Please do. You can’t carry that baggage around, especially after I told you to drop it.”

The flight didn’t take long. It did not help Angela’s nerves.

They landed in the recaptured Verdun airport; Angela could see, and occasionally hear, sporadic tracer rounds across the city as they came in to land. Through her window, Angela could see the magnesium-infused bullets burn brightly as they arced through the air. Even though it had to be close to midday, they were clearly visible. She gripped the seat as the plane came in for a landing. When the wheels touched the ground, she let out her held breath.

“Doesn’t matter how many times I fly into warzones,” Torbjörn chuckled darkly, “landing in places like this still scares me.”

“What, am I supposed to get used to nearly being shot down?” Angela asked.

“God no. And this wasn’t us ‘nearly being shot down.’ I’ll have to tell you about the time your uncle and I had a rough landing in Sweden.”

 As the plane came to a stop, Angela saw a group of cars waiting for them.

“Let’s get our act on,” Torbjörn sighed. “I hate this part.”

They walked out of the plane, and were greeted by a group of Wehrmacht soldiers, and a white-coated doctor. The leader had a patch marking him as a Colonel.

“Lieutenant Lindholm,” he said. “Fräulein Ziegler. Heil Hitler, and welcome to Verdun.”

“Heil Hitler,” Torbjörn said, returning the salute. “Thank you for meeting us.”

“We have to take care of the Blackwatch’s best engineer, not to mention the rising doctor of the Reich,” the Colonel said, nodding to Angela. “This is Doctor Markus Gärtner. You’ll be working under him, Fräulein Ziegler.”

Dr. Gärtner looked a few years older than Angela. He looked tall, but stooped down to the average height. He wore glasses with thick lenses, and took a second to push them back up the crooked bridge of his nose. Looking at her, he grinned. Angela wondered if she would be the first woman he’d said more than ten words to, other than his mother. Her skin crawled.

“Heil Hitler,” he said, giving a salute.

Angela thought that she’d get used to it, but she still hated saying the damn phrase. Part of her felt glad that she hated giving the salute, it made her feel like an outsider, a Swiss pretending to be a Nazi.

“Heil Hitler,” she said, saluting. “If I’m working under you, doctor, what are my orders?”

“We’ll be tending to the wounded,” he said. “And if time permits, assisting the SS with interrogating French terrorists.”

Angela swallowed hard.

“If you’ll come with me, we’ll get you set up,” the Colonel said. The rank and file soldiers took their bags and loaded them in one massive armored truck. They drove out of the airport, into the city. For the first blocks, there were checkpoints every block. But the further they got, the more the checkpoints stretched out.

“Verdun was a powder keg, but it’s cooling,” the Colonel said as they drove. “The damned French hit us hard. When they first rose up, they nearly took everything; we barely held onto the airport and our forward operations base. But we’re driving them back. The thing is, they’re leaving bombs behind for us, improvised explosive devices. Our soldiers are losing life and limb retaking this damn French hellhole.”

“That can’t be good for morale,” Torbjörn said.

“Yes, it isn’t. At first, we killed everyone who carried a weapon. But now, with help from both the SS and Blackwatch, we try to take them alive so we can find their leaders. Cut the head off the snake and the body dies, Lieutenant Lindholm.”

“How are the Allies in the west?” Angela asked.

“We’re holding them, but they’re pushing hard for Paris,” the Colonel answered. “It seems like everyone has guided munitions of some kind; the fight now starts miles away and is remotely piloted in, rather than having an army face another army. Damn, do I miss the Second Eastern War. At least back then we could actually see the fucking Commies.

“Also, Fräulein, I’d recommend staying indoors. There are plenty of Frenchmen with stolen rifles looking to put a notch to them.”

“What do you mean?” She asked.

The glass by Angela’s head exploded. She screamed and jumped away, her ears ringing.

“Verdun has a sniper problem,” the Colonel chuckled. He never flinched.

Heart hammering in her chest, Angela looked at the window. A massive spider web of cracks radiated out from a single spot. The closer to that spot, the tinier the cracks were. The center of the spot looked like it had turned into fine, crushed, powdered glass. Suspended in that glass lay a flattened bullet.

“There are plenty of Frenchmen, young and old, looking to make their mark. Anyone wearing the flag of the Reich is a target.”

Angela scooted away from the window, hopefully to not tempt another sniper. They turned onto a street, and came to a fortified base. Tall concrete walls topped with razor wire that stretched across the streets. Behind it were drab pre-fabricated buildings that the Reich loved so much. It would be Angela’s home for her first deployment.

“We’ll get you set up,” the Colonel said, “and then Dr. Gärtner can—”

A horn honked in the distance. Two APCs were racing toward the base.

“We got injured incoming!” Someone yelled.

“Dr. Gärtner, I believe you’ll be throwing Fräulein Ziegler into the deep end.”

“It appears so,” Markus said. “Come, Angela. Have you had any experience with triage?”

“A little, but not a lot of hands-on—“

“This is your hands on,” he said. “I’ll show you how to save a life.”

Angela tried to catch her breath. She knew how much blood the human body had, but seeing pints of it leak from a living person was nothing like reading it in a textbook. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she took deep, calm breaths as she washed her hands.

“You work fast, and very well under pressure,” Markus said, drying his hands. “That’s good. We need speed when working on lives.”

“Thank you,” she said, scrubbing the blood from her nails. “I hope those men survive.”

Part of her wanted to believe that, but the men she had just saved were Nazis. Angela wanted to use her talents to save Blackwatch lives, not Nazi loyalists.

“Thanks to you, they will. You’re very quick to pick up on lifesaving work; you’ll easily make it through medical school. All of this? It’s just checking off a box, mark my words.”

“Then thank you, again.”

“I just hope we can find a better way to treat the mind,” Markus grumbled. “Sixty years of war, and we haven’t found a way to treat shell shock. It seems so fucking primitive. We save a soldier’s body, but never their mind. Always haunted by night terrors and phantom fear.”

“Perhaps that will be our next breakthrough,” Angela chuckled, trying to bleed off some of the stress. “We could create a new way to save their minds, along with their lives.”

“Yes, that’s not a bad idea. But where to start…”

The operating room door opened, and Angela’s heart jumped. A Gestapo man walked in.

“Doctors, we need your help,” he said, his black jacket billowing behind him.

“Come along, Angela,” Markus said, “let’s see what came up.”

‘Come along?’ She thought. What am I, some dog who learned a neat trick?

If she had to spend all her time around Markus Gärtner, she would have to truly watch her mouth. The Gestapo agent led them from the operating room to a simple door. It led to an interrogation chamber. Behind the one-way glass, Angela saw four French men tied to chairs.

“Our brave soldiers were able to capture these four terrorists,” the Gestapo man said. “They’ve proven resilient to our initial methods of information extraction.”

Angela felt sick. The men were brutally beaten; their heads lolled about, dripping blood. One man looked up, and Angela saw it wasn’t a man, but a boy. He could’ve been in the Hitler Youth. Dried blood caked his face and matted down his curly brown hair.

“Are we to patch them up?” She asked.

“Please, these Untermenschen aren’t worth the used gauze we throw away,” the Gestapo man spat. “No, you and Dr. Gärtner are the next level of extraction.”

“But we’re doctors, not interrogators,” Angela protested. “What can we do?”

“I saw you treat those soldiers. One man, bless his soul, had to have his leg amputated. You’re quick with a scalpel and bone saw; it seemed natural the way his leg came off.”

“I tried saving his leg, but it had already turned gangrenous.”

“I’m not questioning your methods, Fräulein. What I need are those talents to be used on these Untermenschen bastards.”

Everyone in Blackwatch has had to do something they’re ashamed of in order to keep their cover, Uncle Reinhardt had told her. It’s like a perverse rite of passage. You’ll be out there, representing the Reich, and the Reich always comes down hard on French Insurrectionists. They’ll demand that you do horrible things.

“I don’t know what I can do,” she said, trying to stay calm as she talked with a very, very dry mouth. “I’m not even a full doctor.”

“Yes, but you’re one of the brightest medical mind the Reich has ever produced; your grades have marked you for greatness,” the Gestapo man said. “We need those talents.”

“It’ll be fine, Angela,” Markus said. “I’ll show you what to do.”

“Besides, these are French dogs,” the Gestapo man smiled. “No one will blame you if you make a little mistake or five.”

She shouldn’t have joined Blackwatch, not if she had to do this to prove herself.

“Come, let’s get to work.”

Never lose sight that you’re doing good in this world, one way or another.

If she kept repeating her uncle’s words, maybe she could convince herself they were real.

Angela walked down the hall in a haze. The Gestapo man at her side chatted up a storm, not noticing her silence. She had to stay silent, she couldn’t open her mouth, she had to keep everything deep, deep inside…

“We’ll have to use your talents again,” he smiled. “The way you worked with the scalpel, it was just special. I’ve interrogated many men, Fräulein Ziegler, but the way you worked was just…it was just magic. The French Untermenschen seemed to agree, too.”

She would never forget those screams.

“Here’s your room,” he said. “Ah, it seems that Lieutenant Lindholm is here with a gift.”

Angela blinked. Torbjörn stood by her door, holding a bottle of schnapps.

“I heard our angel had a big first day,” he said, stroking his beard.

“She did! You Blackwatch bastards are lucky; I’d kill to get her to wear a Gestapo badge.”

“I thought women don’t take part in major operations.”

“Women have their uses in the camps, but we can’t afford be passive in our actions, to punish those we already caught,” the Gestapo man said. “We have to be active in rooting out corruption, and we don’t have the numbers to be as attentive in our duty as we’d like. The lack of manpower is stifling us, working us to the bone. But if this wonderful Fräulein were with us…”

“Sorry, but Reinhardt would never forgive me if you poached his goddaughter.”

“And the last thing I need is to have a pissed-off Reinhardt Wilhelm on my ass,” the Gestapo man laughed. “I’ll let you celebrate her maiden voyage. I have paperwork to do.”

Torbjörn opened the door to her room, a simple thing with a bed, desk, and bathroom.

“I swept for bugs,” he said. “This room is safe. You can let it out.”

She practically vomited on command. Fortunately, Torbjörn had a wastebasket ready. Angela fell to her knees, puking her guts out.

“Easy, Angela. It’s okay. Come on, let’s get you to the bathroom.”

He half-shuffled, half-led Angela to the bathroom. She immediately hugged the toilet.

“Oh God, God, what did I do…? Oh—“

Torbjörn held her hair as she puked. She trembled uncontrollably. She cried and retched, sobbing while trying not to inhale any of the vomit that didn’t make it to the toilet, or the tears that ran down her face. Angela didn’t know how long she sat there, broken, but Torbjörn stayed with her, holding her hand and patting her back.

“Let it all out, it’ll get better.”

Eventually, he gave her a glass of water. Angela didn’t think she could drink anything, even water, but she had to get the taste of acidic vomit out of her mouth. She swirled it around and spat it out, which prompted her to retch again.

“Is it always like this?” She coughed. “Blackwatch. Is it like this? Do we have to do this all the damned time?”

“Not all the time,” Torbjörn sighed. “Just some of it.”

“God, we’re no better than them.”

“We are better than them. We want to end this; those bastards want to keep it going.”

“But we do the same things they do.”

“And we also do everything we can to stop this from happening. We can’t win all the time, but we work to keep it from happening too much.”

“How would we stop them from hurting anyone else?” She cried.

“I’m not sure,” he sighed. “Reinhardt and I have an idea how to slow the SS and Gestapo, but it depends a lot on the French. But if the French are known for one thing, it’s fighting.”

Angela couldn’t face reality.

“I’ll have to do that again,” she sobbed.

“You just might.”

“No, I will have to do it again. I’m not a bad person, I’m not a Nazi. But…”

Her heart broke, and the tears pouring from her eyes renewed themselves.

“This is what Nazis do!!”

Torbjörn gently tapped her shoulder. He held the bottle of schnapps.

“We have to pick our battles,” he said. “This thing here? Verdun? We didn’t want to pick it, but we have to play it. It’s terrible, but we play it so we can take this whole thing down.”

The memory hit Angela hard and fast. Suddenly she realized what she had seen.

“I…my mother drank lots of wine,” she said. “Before…before…”

“You can’t think of it that way,” Torbjörn said, taking her shoulder.

“Does that change what I did?”

“Look, do you want the booze or not?”

She tore the cap off and took a long pull, fighting the urge to spit it up.

“Easy there, no need to finish the bottle in one swig.”

The schnapps burned her throat. Until then, the heaviest thing she ever had was a beer here and there. She didn’t know how the schnapps should taste or feel on the way down, but she could feel it burn her stomach, and the heat radiated out, numbing her. Numb; that’s what she needed now. Eventually she stopped, gasping for breath.

“Things get worse before they get better,” Torbjörn said, taking a swig himself. “Trust me. These days are bad, but we’ll get through this.”

“W-what did you have to do?” Angela mumbled. Torbjörn stiffened. “Uncle Reinhardt said that this is a perverse rite of passage; what did you have to do?”

Angela waited, curled up in his arms. But where Torbjörn had been accepting and comforting before, his entire being tightened, becoming hard and unyielding. Where she once felt safe, Angela felt exposed and vulnerable. But still she held onto Torbjörn.

“I…” Torbjörn coughed, and cleared his throat. “I had to design better minesweepers.”

“Just that?” Angela weakly asked.

“It was for the recapture of Stockholm.”

That kept Angela quiet.

“Partisans retook the city, and the Reich came down hard on them,” he said stiffly. “They captured Reich mines, used it to reinforce strongholds, I’m sure you know the story. But…but I had to prove my loyalty. I had to find a way to detect the mines, so the SS Stormtroopers could retake buildings, capture those of high rank, kill anyone else.

“I never killed anyone, not directly. But my tweaks and improvements to the minesweepers…I don’t want to know how many lives were killed because of me.”

“God,” Angela croaked. “How could anyone want to join Blackwatch if this is what we have to do?”

“I…”

Angela waited for Torbjörn to continue. It took him a few minutes to gather himself, but she never rushed him. For the longest time, Angela doubted that she would ever want to speak again.

“I…still want Brigitte to join.”

“No,” she gasped. “Not if she has to do this! Please, not this.”

“Blackwatch has to commit evil acts, but it is better than anything else in this rotten Reich,” he spat. “Should I risk having her poached, press-ganged into guarding one of the remaining concentration camps? ‘Data extraction’ of captured enemies of the state? Or just kept as some fucking breeding stock of an up and coming Nazi, desperate for political power?”

Torbjörn spat that last one out with particular venom, and Angela couldn’t blame him. The Reich never shied away from their need of ‘good Nazi children.’ Women who gave birth to many children still received medals; women who gave birth to many boys were honored even more.

“This fucking Reich,” Torbjörn hissed, pulling at his hair. “Should I have my daughter be a butcher, or a brood mare? I hate this, I hate it, I want to tear it all down and burn it to hell and back!!”

Angela handed him the bottle of schnapps, and Torbjörn took some good, long pulls.

“What would you have her do?” Angela asked. “Brigitte. What would you want her to be?”

“I never want my daughter to be a weak-willed whore of the Reich,” he swore. “I raised her to be strong, smart, and know her value.”

“She’d be like me,” Angela mumbled. “She’d best join Blackwatch, and she’d be forced to do what I just did.”

Torbjörn deflated, crumpled as Angela held onto him.

“Yes,” he sobbed. “Yes, she would. But I’d rather that Brigitte would have a hand in her fate, than to be shuffled off to the bedroom to pump out Nazi babies.”

“Bad or fucking worse,” Angela darkly chuckled. “That’s what this Reich is.”

“That’s why we must fight it.”

“But we’d have to do evil things like this.”

“Yes,” Torbjörn nodded, “yes, we would. But we have ways to get through this.”

“I don’t think I can drink enough schnapps to get through this,” Angela stammered.

“I’ve got some hot chocolate mixed with coffee liquor and vodka.”

“More of that, please.”

Angela woke up puking.

One moment she floated in a black nothing of pure inexistence; the next she nearly tumbled out of bed, fresh vomit burning her throat and mouth. She coughed and cried and spat, and then she did fall out of her bed. She could hear herself hitting the ground, she could feel her limbs splaying about, her head knocking into the bed, her body hitting the floor, but there wasn’t any pain. It felt like she had become a marionette, and someone had cut her strings.

Blinking, stunned, she rolled about, getting vomit on her shirt. Her numbed arm bumped into something, and she slowly realized she had knocked over a bucket.

She dimly heard a knock at her door, just as she pulled the bucket close to her. She spat into it as the door opened, and Torbjörn came in.

“God, are you alright?” He asked, running to her side.

Angela tried to say something, but she could only feel the vomit filling her mouth. She leaned over to spit again.

“Easy, girl. I’ll get you some water.”

Angela’s stomach rolled, and she coughed and spat into the bucket again.

“Here, drink this.”

Angela shook her head.

“It’s water,” Torbjörn said, voice filled with infinite patience. “Trust me, you’ll need it.”

“W-what…?”

“You went through an entire bottle of schnapps and vodka,” Torbjörn said. “At least, the entire bottle of vodka that I put into the hot chocolate. You’re probably feeling terrible.”

Angela could only groan. She could feel her pulse in her ears, roaring like a drum. As she became more alert, she suddenly felt a massive, splitting headache trying to break her skull open. She moaned in pain.

“Yes, that’s the downside of drinking so much,” Torbjörn chuckled dryly. “Welcome to your first hangover.”

Crying, she hugged the bucket more, trying to get the pain to go away. It felt like her brain had a hook sunk deep into it, and some demonic fisherman dragged it to and fro, cutting apart her gray matter with sadistic glee. Her stomach roiled, her sides heaved, her eyes felt like bursting, every part of her body burned with pain and agony, she wanted it to stop, why wouldn’t it all stop?!

Use the scalpel like this, Fräulein. That’s it. Make it dance, watch him sing.

The memory drifted in front of her eyes. The things she did, the men she tortured, the boy with the curly brown hair whom she killed, she had pushed it all away with the booze, found solace in the bottom of a bottle, but now that it had worn out, her actions came back to haunt her.

The hangover paled in comparison to the torture she inflicted.

I’m a monster, and monsters have to be hurt.

Fighting against her bubbling, nauseous stomach, Angela held out her hand. Torbjörn handed her a glass of water, and she forced herself to drink. She nearly puked from it, but fought to keep it down.

She deserved worse.

“Think you can stay there?” Torbjörn asked. “I talked to some men, and they’re giving you a free day. They think you celebrated for a good reason.”

Angela tried to say something, but could only moan.

“Thing is, I still have some things to do,” Torbjörn said. “Can I leave you here?”

Angela nodded. The cool floor felt like the most wonderful thing in the world. She curled up, her head on the lip of the bucket.

“Just stay there for as long as you need,” Torbjörn said. “I’ll drop by to check on you.”

Angela couldn’t remember Torbjörn leaving; she gripped the bucket, the only thing in the world that mattered, with both of her arms, and held on tight as she leaned against the bed.

She didn’t know how long she lay there. Angela would close her eyes, and the shadows peaking in through the window would shift; she had to have spent hours there.

Her head pounded, and things grew sharper, cutting her eyes. Dimly, clinically, her mind clicked into gear; her eyes weren’t punishing her, she just had to be working through the alcohol still in her system. Indeed, every time she opened her eyes, she felt more sober, when the unholy hangover wasn’t making her wish she had died.

Her stomach rumbled painfully. Despite the nausea, Angela needed to eat. She crawled to the bathroom to drink more water, but she needed food. Yet at the same time, the very thought of food nearly made her puke.

Eventually, her body came to an agreement. Her nausea seemed to leave her alone, if only so her stomach could scream at her, begging for food. Even her headache seemed to bow to the will of her belly, and she felt good enough to stand up.

She had gotten vomit over her shirt. Walking on legs that felt too gangly, she showered, changed into a fresh set of clothes.

She should stay in her room, she should wait for Torbjörn. But her stomach wouldn’t be denied; she needed to eat.

Angela grabbed her watch as she left; it read two-twenty-nine. She missed nearly the entire day. What she wouldn’t give to go back to the cold floor.

But the drive for food won out over the need to lay out. She stiffly left her room, only to remember that she now lived in a Wehrmacht base. Dammit, she should go back inside.

No one walked through the hallways. Maybe her position had granted her some kind of privacy; there weren’t a lot of women doctors, after all.

And her stomach drove her on, so Angela stumbled down the hallway of the base. She cursed the hangover, but with all of the pain she felt, she could actually ignore the images of all the awful things she did last night. No wonder her mother always drank.

She shouldn’t be out walking around, she could run into Nazis. She wasn’t in her right mind, she could slip up and say something she should have.

Use the scalpel like this, Fräulein. That’s it. Make it dance, watch him sing.

The pain of the hangover dulled the guilt, but she could feel it lurking in the wings.

Angela stumbled into the central hallway; she heard idle chatter, and a high-pitched buzzing sound from the mess hall. Oh God, there were soldiers there.

But there was also food there. 

Gritting her teeth, she walked in. The mess hall only had a few people, a group of soldiers at a table.

“What the…? Oh, it’s the new doctor!”

Fuck.

“Doctor! Fräulein Doctor! Come here, we owe you!” A soldier said, beckoning her.

Her habits of hiding in the Reich took over. She had to blend in. So she walked in.

“Oof, you look like death froze over,” one soldier laughed. “Celebrating your first day a little too hard?”

“Much too hard,” Angela found herself saying. The soldiers could report her for this. As a woman in the Reich, she had to be at her best, all the time.

“Remember your first hangover?” One soldier asked another, grinning madly.

“God, how I wanted to die!” The other laughed.

One soldier had what looked like an extra-large metal pencil; that was the thing that  made the buzzing sound. He drew on another soldier’s arm.

“What are you doing?” Angela asked.

“Giving tattoos,” said the soldier who held a metal gun.

“Then it’s a tattoo gun?”

“Ha! ‘Gun!’ We artists call this a machine, never a gun, doctor.”

“I’m not a doctor,” she mumbled.

“You are now. Trial by fire! That’s the only way to do things.”

Angela watches at the artist finish his work. The soldier being tattooed had gotten a mural on his arm. It showed a soldier carrying another soldier across his shoulders. The tattoo wasn’t shaded, but rather a minimalist outline of the soldier and his friend, wonderfully drawn.

“That’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” the artist smiled. He took the needle out of the machine and dropped it in a glass; from the smell, Angela guessed it held pure rubbing alcohol. “You did a great service to my friends, doctor. You saved their lives.”

“I took a leg from one.”

She never wanted to save a single fucking Nazi. She tried to say it with as much venom as possible, but in her painful, hungover state, it came out like an apology.

“Yes, it’s bad he lost a leg, but I know he’s thankful for being alive,” the artist laughed. “He has two little boys to go home to. And now, thanks to you, they’ll still have their father.”

Too bad the boy had a fucking Nazi for a father.

“Do you want one?” The artist asked. “A tattoo, I mean. To commemorate the day?”

“Stupid, women don’t want tattoos,” the artist’s friend said.

Never lose sight that you’re doing good in this world, one way or another, her godfather had told her.

Angela suddenly realized the lie. She had damned herself. She could live like a saint to her dying day, that wouldn’t change what she did. She had blood on her hands; she became a monster.

She would try to delude herself. She needed something to remind herself of her sins.

Use the scalpel like this, Fräulein. That’s it. Make it dance, watch him sing.

“I would, actually,” Angela said.

“You would…?” That caught the artist by surprise. “Well, I offered. What do you want?”

“Wings,” Angela said, holding out her right wrist.

“Ah, angel wings for the wonderful angel?” The artist smiled.

“They’re a reminder.”

“Aren’t all tattoos?”

The artist put a clean needle in his machine, and went to work. The tattoo didn’t hurt; it felt more like getting tickled. At least, compared to her hangover it didn’t hurt. Soon she had two beautiful, minimalist wings an inch below her wrist.

They were for her mother and father. Now she could never forget that she killed them.

“Could you add four feathers?” She asked. “Below the wings.”

Four feathers, one for each of the French men she tortured and killed. Like the wings, they were minimalist, more akin to outlines than full feathers.

“Thank you,” she said. “It’s beautiful.”

“You’re most certainly welcome,” the artist smiled. “Want to know a secret for dealing with a hangover? A little hair of the dog.”

He offered a bottle of spirits to Angela. She took a long pull, which got a cheerful reaction from the soldiers as she forced herself to drink the foul, strong concoction.

There had to be some wisdom to it, because she felt a little better.

Another soldier offered her a cigarette. She knew she shouldn’t smoke, but she needed something bad. She took it, and lit it up from an offered lighter. She ended up coughing.

“Few things,” the artist said. He gently took her wrist and swabbed her forearm, then wrapped a gauze pad over it. “Keep this on the tattoo overnight. When you wake up, wash it, dry it, then put some lotion on it. Don’t go swimming for at least a month, and don’t scratch it. You might scab up; that’s natural. Let the skin heal.”

She’d take care of this. It would be a reminder of her failures, her sins.

“What do I owe you for this?”

“Doctor, I told you, you saved my friends today. This is on the house.”

“I’ll be in Verdun for at least a few months,” Angela said, forcing herself to take another drag of the cigarette. “I’ll need to get more.”

Chapter Text

Angela yawned, slowly waking up. She didn’t remember falling asleep. After Fareeha kissed her, she just passed out. She had such a memorable thing happen to her, but her mind had to ruin it for her by dredging up a memory from the past.

I don’t want to feel that bad, not again.

Angela dimly realized she never had that thought before. She looked at her tattoos, the reminders of her sins. And for the first time, Angela hated them. The feathers felt like they were weighing her down.

“Look who’s up.”

Rubbing her eyes, she looked over. Akande sat at the simple table, legs kicked up. He had the TV on, with the volume muted.

“You’re not in your room?” She asked, sitting up.

“Fareeha wanted to make sure you were looked after. She said you needed your sleep, and since a black man can’t be seen walking around without getting the wrong kind of attention, I have to stay here. Lena’s here too, she’s still passed out.”

“Ah, that’s good,” Angela yawned. “Where is Fareeha?”

“She left with Olivia. They’re going supply hunting.

“Oh, and we tried to wake you for breakfast, but you just groaned and rolled over. Fareeha said you did the same thing at the Bar-Lev’s.”

She got up, taking a moment to stretch; her back cracked, and she sighed in relief. She checked on Lena, who slept on. Her complexion had improved a bit, and she had a weak but steady pulse.

“How is she?” Akande asked, his face creased with lines of worry.

“Fine,” Angela said. “She must need this rest more than I do. But she seemed so…energetic during the trip. If I didn’t catch her coughing up blood, I never would’ve thought she was hurting.”

“Leave it to a Brit to put on a stiff upper lip,” he chuckled.

“You care a lot for her.”

“I care a lot for my friends,” he nodded.

“This squad must’ve been together for a long time, you know each other quite well.”

“It also helps to have the Nazis to fight against,” he grinned. “Easy to build camaraderie when you’re fighting those assholes.”

“True,” Angela chuckled. “Actually, I’ve never asked; how long has this squad been together? You seem to get along very well.”

“A few years now,” Akande said. “Lena is the newest addition, but she fit in real well.”

“Really? I thought Lena had been there the longest.”

“No, she’s the last one to be assigned to us. Thank God, too; she knows how to lighten the mood. Fighting an endless war takes a lot out of you.”

“I don’t mean to pry, but you don’t seem to be a very combative person, or a very spiteful one. You seem happier cooking than fighting.”

“Guess I really am my grandma’s grandson,” Akande chuckled. “My gran raised me. Lost my parents to a Nazi airstrike when I was born.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks, but it’s okay. My gran raised me by herself. She taught me how to cook.”

“You sound like my father,” Angela smiled. “He was the one who did all the cooking. My mother always said she could burn water.”

“I’ve known those people,” Akande laughed.

“Did you join because of the Nazi attacks on Nigeria? I know they’ve become more active in their harassing, with the Allies using you as a foothold into Africa.”

“That’s exactly it. We’ve taken some pretty bad attacks.”

“Don’t the Allies help? I’ve read reports of them shooting down Luftwaffe air raids, or sinking U-Boats.”

“The Allies…they’re difficult,” Akande groaned. “They care only as much as it suits them. They try to keep us happy, but it’s very mercenary.”

“I thought the Americans and the British cared about their Allies.”

“They do, it’s just that they still doesn’t care much about black people, theirs or actual Africans.”

“It’s depressing to know that Nazi intelligence from the forties is still relevant today,” Angela groaned.

“Very depressing,” Akande nodded. “It’s another reason my gran didn’t want me to fight. A lot of African nations don’t want anything to do with the white man’s war; I just know that if the Nazis ever win, we’re going to be next.

“The Allies are the best chance for peace. When I turned sixteen, I tried to join, but it requires a guardian’s signature, and she refused to sign for me. Kept trying, though. I told her that someone has to stand up to the bullies, but she was worried that I might become a bully myself.”

“Wise woman.”

“When turned eighteen, she said I might have to hide my large heart, as soldiers aren’t supposed to be sensitive. But Fareeha runs a good squad, and I don’t have to hide it.”

“I could tell. Cooking with the refugees, worrying over Lena, doing a crossword with Nana Ruti, dancing the night away, you’re a bigger softie than you let on.”

“Damn, you got me,” he grinned. “Speaking of food, you need to eat. We got some cold breakfast, leftovers from downstairs. It’s bad powdered eggs and some cereal, but it’s food.”

“Thank you,” she yawned, walking to the desk. Sure enough, a plate of questionable eggs and a few bowls of food with milk cartons sat waiting for her.

“Do you know what’s going on?” She asked, watching the muted TV with Akande.

“Hell no. I don’t speak any Russian.”

“But Olivia does?”

“Let’s just say she doesn’t like being at a disadvantage.”

Angela spent the rest of the day taking a very long, very overdue bath and lounging with Akande and eventually Lena when she woke up.

From what they could make from the TV, the Allies refused to yield any more ground in Egypt, and the Nazis were trying to get inland. The Allied relief group engaged in a massive naval battle in the Mediterranean and tried to push in from the west, across the desert.

Somehow, cooler heads were prevailing, and the M.A.D. Pact remained unbroken.

Eventually Fareeha and Olivia came back, but there wasn’t much for them to do but sit around, order more food, and get as much relaxing in as they could.

All throughout the day, Angela couldn’t face Fareeha, not after what happened that night. It didn’t seem real, and whenever she managed to look at Fareeha, the Egyptian played it cool, and gave her a reassuring smile that made her stomach flutter.

When the squad turned in for the evening, Angela thought Fareeha would do something, say something, but she got a much more practical answer.

“We need to get some serious sleep,” Fareeha yawned. “This’ll be the last time we get real beds for some time.”

Angela felt a mixture of anxiety, panic, and relief at that. Still, Fareeha made a good point, and Angela quickly, thankfully, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Fareeha woke her,  already dressed.

“We have to leave.”

Angela yawned. She triple-checked her bag, and gathered with everyone. Olivia went to check them out, while Fareeha led them to the van, using the back stairwell.

It wasn’t even six in the morning. It felt surreal, walking through the empty hallways of the hotel and into the dark and seemingly desolate streets. They only had to wait a minute for Olivia to run back, just enough time for Angela to stress-smoke a cigarette with Fareeha.

“Alright, we’re good to go,” Olivia said, climbing into the driver’s seat.

Angela lay down in the back row, and Fareeha gently covered her with their bags. She tried to get comfortable, but she felt too nervous. Fortunately, she didn’t have to wait long.

Fareeha pounded on the door of the van; they were at the border. The van stopped, and the window rolled down. Olivia started talking to someone in Russian; no doubt a soldier working the crossing. Angela held her breath and waited, her heart laboring from the stress, her mind awash in a sudden bout of paranoia.

Olivia started driving. Angela waited for someone to yell and shoot at them, but nothing happened. The silence dragged on for what felt like eternity, but couldn’t have been two minutes.

“And like that, we’re in the free,” Olivia said.

“That was way too fucking easy,” Lena grumbled.

“I’d tell you to shut your mouth,” Fareeha said, “but that was too easy.”

“And I told you they’d never be able to tell the difference between a Turk and a Nigerian,” Akande laughed. “Or a Turk and an Egyptian for that matter.”

“Yay for that casual racism, I guess,” Fareeha groaned. She reached back to help Angela get out.

“What happened?” Angela asked.

“Just what I said would happen,” Olivia said. “They’re protecting the border of a satellite state; the Russians think everything is perfectly fine, and that no one is insane enough to come into the motherland through their satellite states.”

“So we’re in the USSR?” Angela asked.

“No, we’re in Georgia. But Georgia is even more of a satellite state than Turkey is; we might as well be next to Moscow.”

“So…we’re good?”

“As good as we can be in Russia.”

“Then not very,” Angela sighed.

“I hate to be a bitch, but we need to cut the chatter,” Fareeha said. “We’ve still got a long way to go. We stay on target, keep our heads on a swivel. No more hotels, we drive in five hour shifts. Akande, grab some more sleep, you’re up next.”

“One question,” Angela said. “Are the roads this rough, or is this just a bad stretch?”

The van bounced along the road. Olivia did her best to avoid potholes, turning the van this way and that, but it didn’t help much.

“Yeah, you’d think a proletariat wet-dream would keep the roads even,” Olivia laughed. “The USSR and the Nazis are led by madmen. Both Hitler and Stalin rule atop a stack of corpses, and the roads don’t get any loving.”

“It’s like I never left home,” Angela groaned. “Thank God Ruthi adjusted the suspension.”

The van bumped along the rough road as it got close to midnight in the wilderness of the Soviet Union. Fareeha kept them well outside most city limits. They traveled through almost never ending woods, the rough road their only constant companion. Angela still got a little thrill whenever they’d pass a tiny village, just to know they were still on the same planet.

“Having trouble sleeping?” Olivia asked, having gotten the night drive shift.

“All thanks to this damn van,” Angela sighed, shifting about in the front seat. She had Olivia’s laptop and Markus’ journal in front of her. “I don’t know how everyone else can do it.”

“The van is getting too cramped,” Olivia sighed. “I’m kind of glad that Lena has to call for so many rest stops. It’s the only time we can stretch.”

“And yet I wish we didn’t have to stop. I wish we were out of the USSR so we can stop at a real hotel and get real food.”

“Fucking right about that. All the canned crap is clogging my arteries.”

“And get some real sleep,” Angela yawned. “I can’t drift off. The only thing to do is to help you decode Markus’ damn journal.”

“Too damn right.”

There were no street lights in this part of the USSR. The only light came from Olivia’s laptop, and the van’s headlights. Angela looked back, jealous that everyone else could sleep.

“You used Muninn on Lena,” Olivia said.

“W-what?” Angela stammered.

“You used Muninn on Lena,” Olivia said again. It wasn’t a question.

She swallowed.

“Yes, I did. How did you tell?”

“We all got blown up,” Olivia said, her lip curling. “Danger close; we barely made it out of organ-popping range. Lena got skewered, then she gets up and walks around like nothing happened? She should be curled in a ball, crying her eyes out. And we just so happen to be carrying the world’s only piece of brainwashing tech.”

“Muninn wasn’t built to brainwash. It was made to help PTSD patients recover.”

“By fucking with their minds,” she hissed, squeezing the wheel.

“That’s a gross oversimplification of the process.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” Angela sighed, “no you’re not.”

She waited for Olivia to say something. But Olivia didn’t. She just glared at the road.

“What gave you the right?” She finally said. “You fucked with my friend’s mind.”

“Lena would need counseling, medication, a full support system to even begin to live with her injury. But we don’t have any of that, and I didn’t have the right to do anything to her.”

“You admit it?” Olivia stammered.

“I ‘operated’ on a woman incapable of giving consent. Of course I was wrong.”

“You don’t want to tell me how it had to be done?”

“I do,” Angela sighed. “Lena would’ve agreed if she were awake, mental health should be prioritized as much as physical health, it was the humane thing to do, it’s what I would want for myself, I want to scream and yell it until I’m blue in the face.

“But trying to justifying this is something a Nazi would do. And I’m not a Nazi.”

Olivia chuckled at that.

“Don’t you want to curse me for doing something so unforgivable? If I was practicing medicine, running a hospital, I can only assume I’d be arrested for such a breach of ethics.”

Olivia opened her mouth, but didn’t say anything. She pursed her lips. Angela waited.

“I want to,” she finally said, “I really would, but…fuck. I’d do the same thing. We need Lena up and about. Fareeha is a great sarge, she really cares for us, and Akande knows how to hold us together, but Lena is the one who really keeps our spirits up. She finds a way to keep us all centered.

“Just don’t tell her I said that, she’d never let me live it down.”

“Lips are sealed.” Angela couldn’t help but laugh. “So we finally agree on something.”

“That you needed to fuck with Lena’s head?”

“That what I did was wrong.”

Olivia chuckled at that. She reached into her pocket and fished out a pack of cigarettes; she paused, then offered one to Angela.

“Yeah, looks like we agree on that.”

“Where are we?” Angela sighed.

“Almost halfway through Crimea,” Lena said, having taken up driver duty. “This is too much fucking driving.”

“At least you can stay up front in the daylight,” she said from the back seat.

“Serves you right for being a famous Nazi doctor,” Olivia laughed.

“I’d kill to stretch my legs out,” Angela groaned.

“I’d kill to get a crappy camp stove and a few tins of spam,” Akande grumbled. “We need a real meal to perk us up.”

“You call spam a real meal?” Angela asked. “I had a few cans of that from captured Soviet soldiers; it’s terrible.”

“You haven’t seen what I can do with a can of spam,” he grinned.

“Once we’re in Europe, we need to stop and see what kind of magic you can work.”

“Hate to be a buzz-kill, but getting out of Crimea just puts us in Ukraine,” Fareeha sighed. She sat next to Angela, trying and failing to fall asleep. “We’ll have to be the Balkans before we can be ‘safe’ from the Commies.”

“Then we need to run from the Nazis,” Angela groaned. “Can we catch a fucking break?”

“We can’t. That’s the whole point,” Fareeha said.

“The whole point of what?”

“Of life. The point of life is ‘fuck you, that’s why.’”

“My, you’re a real ray of sunshine.”

“I grew up in an active warzone. What’s your excuse for being a bitter bitch?”

“Being raised in the Third Reich.”

“Alright, you win,” Fareeha threw up her hands. “Your life was worse.”

“Jeez, we’re already getting to the ‘who had it worse’ phase between you two?” Lena chuckled. It led to a rough, dry cough.

“Please, you have to take it easy,” Angela pleaded, passing up a bottle of water. Her worry over her patient outweighed the embarrassment that Lena cast upon her.

Lena took a long pull of water, but kept the van dead center on the road. Angela didn’t like how pale Lena had gotten.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m getting a check-up with Dr. Acula.”

“Doctor Acula?”

“Sorry, that’s an English pun,” she laughed. “Dracula. Doctor, D-R, Acula. Get it?”

Angela rolled her eyes and groaned.

“You got it,” Lena laughed.

“Eyes up,” Olivia said, sitting upright. “We got Russians ahead of us.”

Sure enough, a simple checkpoint with a wooden boom barrier blocked the road. A group of soldiers stood by, waving for them to stop.

“Angela, get that keffiyeh on,” Fareeha said. “We’re keeping a goddamn low profile. Olivia, you’re the speaker. We’re just tourists who you’re trying to convert.”

“Hey Olivia,” Angela smiled, “think you can distract them?”

“Cállate! That was one time!” Olivia yelled. “One! Time!”

Everyone laughed as they pulled up. Angela quickly wrapped the keffiyeh over her head. She kept her eyes down as they stopped in front of the soldiers. Olivia grumbled and cursed, but rolled down her window.

A statuesque soldier with close cropped brown hair walked up to the driver’s side. He looked like he stepped out of a military propaganda poster. He spoke to a still flustered Olivia in Russian, and she replied, gesturing to the squad.

“True believers?” The soldier said, switching to English. “Yet they speak the language of Capitalist enslavers.”

“No one is perfect,” Olivia laughed. “Give them time, they’ll come around.”

“Sorry, English isn’t very good. Zarya, translate for me.”

An even bigger soldier walked forward. It took Angela a second to realize that the soldier wasn’t a man, but a woman.

She cut a very imposing figure. She stood easily two meters tall, and looked like she could put Akande in his place. She had a true pixie cut, with her hair barely coming down to her ears, and dyed it a shocking, bubble gum pink. The only thing more threatening than her had to be the massive gun she carried; it looked like she ripped it from the side of a tank. It hung by her side on a thick canvas strap.

“Sorry, Sergeant Georgiy isn’t too skilled with English,” the giant said with an easy smile. “You can call me Comrade Zarya. You are here to visit the glorious motherland?”

“Y-yes, just showing my friends the heart of the revolution,” Olivia said, clearly caught off-guard by the large woman.

“You’re far from the birthplace of Communism,” she laughed.

“Aye, don’t get me started on the whole ‘birthplace’ thing,” Olivia said, recovering quite well. “Communism lives here, in the hearts of the proletariat. Seeing Moscow is glorious, but we want to see where it all began: in the hearts of the workers.”

“You flatter us,” Zarya smiled. “Forgive me, but you seem quite familiar.”

“I can assure you, we’ve never met.”

“Then you must forgive me again, but you really seem quite familiar.”

“Da, she does,” the statuesque Sergeant Georgiy said.

“Wait,” Zarya gasped, a look of recognition crossing her face. “You are famous too!”

Zarya set her pack down and pulled out a laptop, one bigger and blockier then Olivia’s. She played a video; it showed Olivia leaning out of the van, a Cuban flag behind her back.

“¡ Por la libertad! ¡Lucha por estos!”

And then she pulled her shirt up, flashing the camera.

“You are Cuban Tank Lady!”

The Soviet soldiers standing around them gathered closer to watch the video. Seeing Olivia, their eyes lit up in recognition, and they began cheering.

“Oh, fuck,” Olivia hissed under her breath. Angela barely heard it over the racket the soldiers were making, The soldiers jeered and wolf-whistled, while pushing themselves about to try and get a good look at the suddenly famous woman.

“Just showing my appreciation of the brave souls fighting the Nazis,” Olivia said, waving demurely.

“We can use some appreciation,” one of the Russian soldiers yelled.

Angela could see a look of slight annoyance, maybe even revulsion, cross Olivia’s face. She couldn’t blame her; being asked to flash her breasts would put her ill at ease, too.

“Now, now, let pretty woman alone,” Georgiy laughed.

“But we could use a cheer-me-up,” Zarya grinned. “We’re out in the wilds with nothing!”

“Please, we just want to go see the heartland of Communism,” Olivia said, giving a strained, fake laugh.

The soldiers cheered, obviously expecting a show. Angela tried to keep from laughing; she knew that everyone else in the van couldn’t wait to ride Olivia even harder over it.

Zarya jeered with the soldiers. Then she blinked, and checked her enthusiasm. She pulled herself away from the side window, then began walking around, examining the van.

“Christ, she’s a big girl,” Lena whispered. But she didn’t say it quietly enough.

“Da,” Zarya laughed. “And you are tiny. I could break you in two without sweating.”

“Welp, I got a new kink.”

“Lena, down,” Fareeha snapped.

Zarya made eye-contact with Angela. She quickly looked away, but Fareeha elbowed her.

“’Don’t look inconspicuous,’” Fareeha hissed. “’It draws attention.’”

Then Angela realized that Zarya glared at her with renewed suspicion.

Zarya rapped on the window. Angela wanted to look away, but she didn’t know what would seem more conspicuous; looking or not looking.

“Open the door,” Zarya said.

Shit.

“Open the door.”

The jeering soldiers seemed miles away. The mood of the van suddenly soured. Hesitantly, Angela slid the door open.

“What is your name?” Zarya asked.

“Brigitte,” she lied, her heart beginning to beat stressfully.

“Do you have identification?”

“Please, we’re just passing through.”

“Stay where you are,” Zarya said. Her fellow soldiers heard her tone, and were finally turning away from poor Olivia. “And take off your kerchief.”

“Please, I have to cover my head,” she stammered.

“Too bad,” Zarya hissed. “Take it off.”

Angela slowly began undoing the knot, but clearly moved too slow. The Russian giant reached forward and pulled it off, spilling her blonde hair everywhere. Angela bit her tongue as more than a few strands were pulled out.

“Zarya, does that woman have identification?” Georgiy asked.

“I know that face.” Zarya reached to a pocket of her combat vest and pulled out a deck of playing cards. Angela’s stomach dropped out from under her. “It is a pretty face.”

“Comrade, what is it?”

Zarya rifled through the cards.

“You are the Red Angel of Verdun,” Zarya spat, holding a playing card out. Like the card the Allies gave out, it had a suit and value printed on it, along with her face. “You are a Nazi!”

“The Red Angel is dead,” Georgiy said.

Angela cried out as Zarya grabbed her arm and pulled her from the van as if she were a piece of empty luggage.

“No, she is not.” Zarya held the card up. “She is here.”

The mood shifted. Many of the soldiers saw the resemblance, and grabbed their guns.

“A simple mistake,” Olivia laughed. “We’ve gotten that plenty of times!”

“You are transporting a Nazi,” Georgiy spat.

“Like hell we are! Come on, who wants a show?” She said, tugging at her shirt.

But the soldiers ignored her. They glared at Angela with open hatred.

“Russia remembers her enemies,” Zarya said. “And you are our enemy.”

“Get the radio,” Georgiy said. “Get me command. We have our enemy.”

“Please, you have to let us go,” Angela begged.

“Like hell,” Zarya spat. “You’ll stand for your crimes, Nazi.”

“On knees,” Georgiy said. The soldiers trained their weapons trained on them. “Now.”

“Shit,” Fareeha hissed. She threw her pistol and rifle on the ground. “Do what they say.”

Fareeha got out of the van and onto her knees. Lena hesitantly followed her lead, and knelt next to Fareeha. Akande and Olivia were last, Akande with a gun pressed into his back. Zarya pushed Angela down onto her knees, to Fareeha’s other side.

“What’s the plan now, boss?” Olivia asked.

“We’re fucked,” Fareeha hissed. “Hard and dry.”

The Russians went to talking on their radios, keeping their weapons trained on them. Angela’s heart pounded in her chest, and her stomach twisted with worry. She knew she should be worried about Muninn falling into the wrong hands, but Angela couldn’t help but drown in sorrow as her heart broke.

I’ll never get to make my hospital.

Chapter Text

Angela’s knees cried out in agony as she shifted her weight yet again. Forget being shot, she’d been kneeling for an hour. Groaning, she moved to sit on her butt.

“Don’t move,” Zarya snapped.

“Or what, you’ll shoot me?” Angela asked, giving a bitter peel of laughter. “I know I’m dead. Let me get comfortable.”

The massive Russian snorted at that, but let Angela be. Fareeha and the rest of the squad got off their knees as well, with a few whispers of thanks and sighs of relief.

“What do you think will happen?” Fareeha asked her, stretching her leg as she sat.

“You’re asking me?”

“All I can think of is that they dig a shallow grave for us and take you in to be tortured,” the sergeant said. “I was hoping you’d have something better in mind.”

“’A shallow grave for you?’ You’re not Nazis.”

“But we’re helping you. Guilty by association.”

“Almost like we can’t win.” Angela paused. “Wait, let me guess: that’s the point.”

“You know me so well,” Fareeha chuckled darkly.

Angela’s heart pounded in her chest, her gut twisted. Her mind drifted from her dreams of opening a hospital, and the reality of her capture began to sink in.

God, this isn’t just about me, she thought shamefully. The Soviets will get Muninn. The purges would get worse.

Angela knew that the Stalins purged the ranks of their citizens to solidify their rule. That meant that many people in the USSR were good Communists like she had been a good Nazi; outwardly compliant but inwardly subversive.

If there weren’t model Communists, the Stalins wouldn’t need their purges. And since Muninn can make everyone perfect Communists, Stalin could conquer the world. It would be just as bad if Hitler recaptured it. I can’t let that happen, but how? We’re already captured.

Angela’s mind spun as she tried to come up with a plan. She looked at their captors, especially the statuesque Georgiy. He looked every inch the perfect soldier; perhaps too so.

They can’t all be good little Communists, she thought. They have to be like me: hiding subversive thoughts at best, maybe even fighting Stalin at their worst. Ha, I wonder if there is a Soviet Blackwatch.

But what could she do when the soldiers saw her as a Nazi, barely any better than Hitler?

Hitler. That had to be the key. Angela couldn’t decide who was the bigger butcher: the Hitlers or the Stalins. But without a doubt, the Stalins were better at staying in power.

The Hitlers stay in power because of the Reich’s support system, because of the SS. But the Stalins remained in power because of their family’s political guile, because they know what makes their enemies actual enemies.

Can I use that, play off of it? All I need to do is send word to Muninn to Stalin.

Stalin wasn’t an idiot; he’d have to verify her claim. If he got word of Muninn, Stalin would purposely leak the information to Nazi counter-intelligence, all to see how Hitler reacted. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume as much, Stalin had done such things before. Hitler still had a sore spot about the sudden turn-around of the Fourth European War.

If Hitler remained ambivalent, it would mean that Angela had been lying. But if Hitler reacted unfavorably, if he threw an infamous temper tantrum and began ordering all of his available armies to invade to reclaim the Muninn, that would be proof that Angela told the truth, and showed the value of Muninn.

If the Soviet soldiers knew there would be one last, great purge, maybe they’ll let us go.

Angela paused in her wild speculation. For her plan to work, she would be announcing to the world that she was alive, that she had defected. Once word got to Hitler, he would audit Blackwatch; he would demand to know how she, the greatest medical mind in the Third Reich, could have turned traitor.

Brigitte and Uncle Reinhardt would be targeted. But if Angela wasn’t able to talk her way out of their detention, she would be sent to Moscow. She shuddered to think of the things Stalin would do to her to pry the Muninn knowledge from her head, or the kind of torture they’d inflict on Olivia to get her to crack the rest of the journal.

Angela took a deep breath. Reinhardt knew that her ‘death’ could only be covered up for so long; eventually, the world would learn that she defected. Blackwatch had closed all their anti-Reich projects, and had taken steps to survive such an audit. And Angela knew her godfather had half a dozen contingency plans set up regardless of what happened.

Besides, if Stalin ever brought her to Moscow, she might as well be dead. Any pain and torture inflicted on her would be fleeting; once the Soviets pried out all the Muninn knowledge from her head, they would either use it on her to solidify her loyalty, or they’d simply kill her. It seemed that no matter who caught her, a shallow grave awaited her. She had to risk this, for the sake of the entire world if not just for herself.

Angela’s pulse picked up, and the stress in her veins seemed to redouble. She had to launch this crazy idea of hers. All she had to do was wait for the right time.

Soon, the soldiers started talking; it sounded like they had gotten their orders. Georgiy said something, and Zarya stepped forward.

“Get up,” she snapped. “We’re taking you in.”

“Can we talk you into letting us go?” Angela asked.

“Like hell, Nazi,” she spat.

“I’m not a Nazi,” Angela said. “I faked my death, I defected. I have a top-secret super weapon the Nazis want, and I’m trying to get it to Allied High Command.”

“Is it a good idea to go blabbing about that?” Olivia asked crossly.

“What’s the worst that can happen? We get captured by the Russians?”

Olivia rolled her eyes, but she still chuckled darkly.

“What weapon is that?” Zarya asked.

“It’s in my bag.”

Georgiy went to the van and began grabbing bags, throwing them on the ground.

“Gentle, please,” Angela pleaded. “That bag, there.”

Zarya translated, and Georgiy pulled it out.

“There’s a box in there, with a laptop.” Georgiy pulled out the box and opened it. He gently pulled out the Muninn helmet. “That’s the weapon.”

“It looks like a plastic strap for the head,” Zarya said.

“That’s only part of it. It can brainwash someone.”

“Like getting them to kill someone?” Zarya laughed. “Please. That’s only in the movies.”

“It worked on Amélie Lacroix.”

The big Russian woman went silent, fixed her with a steely glare.

“You know her, yes? We used it on Amélie, and made her kill her husband.”

“A likely story,” Zarya snorted. “You Nazis would say anything to save your lives.”

“Then tell your officers,” she said. “Please, just know this can’t end in Nazis hands.”

“I bet,” Georgiy snorted.

“Please, tell them I have what made Amélie Lacroix kill her husband.”

Georgiy rolled his eyes, but gave an order to a nearby soldier, one who had a radio. The soldier in question laughed, but walked away to put the order through.

“Did you really have to do that?” Akande asked.

“It’s the only move I have.”

“And that is?”

“To try and get them to realize how bad Muninn is.”

“Enough talking,” Zarya said. “Face forward.”

Soldiers came, pulling them to their feet and pushing them against the van. Angela’s hands were zip-tied behind her back. The soldiers led them down a road,  towards several waiting Russian trucks. They were pushed into one with just enough room to sit everyone. Georgiy climbed in to drive, and Zarya rode shotgun. They began driving down the rough road.

“I’m not sure what you got planned,” Fareeha whispered, “but I hope it works.”

“I do, too.”

The roads felt rougher in the Russian truck. Angela tried to sway with the rough drive, but couldn’t do much being pressed between Fareeha and Olivia. Poor Lena moaned at the treatment; the trip clearly aggravated her already precarious health.

The radio buzzed, and Georgiy talked to his men. Angela watched, her heart pounding in her chest. She had one shot at getting out of this, she couldn’t mess it up.

The Russians took a fork that led to a small village. There were a string of small, drab concrete buildings on the outskirts; it had to be their rough barracks. They pulled in to the tiny motor pool. There were a few squads standing guard, and a few were waiting at the motor pool, cheering at Angela’s capture.

They were roughly pulled out, pushed towards the ugly buildings. The barracks looked like they were made from prefabricated walls, glued together with quick-dry concrete. The Reich had plenty of similar buildings; all of them were intended to only last several years, back in the fifties. It seemed that the Russians had kept their buildings as up to date as the Nazis did.

They pushed her into the building, through a few hallways. Soon they were in a jail, with two big cells. Each cell had three beds bolted to the walls, with an open toilet.

Their zip ties were cut. One Russian cut Akande lose, and pushed him into his own cell while Angela and the rest of the women were pushed in to the second one. Lena fell to the ground, and gave into a coughing fit.

“What is wrong with her?” Zarya said, pointing to Lena with her massive gun.

“She’s injured,” Angela said, going to Lena’s side. Fareeha jumped to help her squad mate. “You can’t treat her so roughly.”

“It was only a shove, she is too delicate.”

Lena hacked up a storm, splattering the ground with flecks of blood and spit.

“She’s injured!”

“You’re a doctor, no? Heal her.”

Angela glared at Zarya, but the big woman slammed the cell doors closed. Her blood burned with stress and worry as she gently took Lena by the shoulders.

“We have to move you,” she said. “We’re just going to the toilet. It’s only a few feet.”

Lena nodded. Fareeha helped her led Lena to the stainless steel toilet. Lena paused, then violently retched. The vomit looked like coffee grounds.

“We need a hospital,” Angela called.

“Like hell, Nazi,” Zarya lazily yelled back. The big woman pulled up a chair; it seemed as if she would be their guard.

“She’s bleeding internally,” Angela insisted. “Please, she needs medical attention!”

Zarya and the other Russians turned away, talking among themselves, but they seemed perfectly fine with doing nothing.

“Give it to me straight,” Lena mumbled from the toilet. “How bad am I?”

Angela looked at Fareeha. The sergeant somberly nodded.

“Bad,” Angela said. “It’s possible the bleeding is caused by aggravation to the nanoparticles in your intestines.”

“So I’m bleeding out?”

“I can’t tell, not now. All I know is that there’s bleeding.”

“Fucking great,” Lena groaned. “Wish this would get a move on.”

“How is she?” Akande asked from the other cell. His voice cracked from worry; Angela could picture his brow furrowing from hearing Lena puke.

“Not good,” Olivia said. She went to the bars to talk. “Lena’s bleeding internally.”

“Let’s get you to a bed,” Angela said. “Keep you on your side.”

“What’s that gonna help with?”

“If you puke, you won’t drown on your own vomit.”

“Man, I’d hate to go out like that,” Lena chuckled.

“It’s possible the nanoparticles have retained some plasticity and are still trying to repair any damage. Get as much rest as possible.”

“Would it help?”

Angela paused.

What would the proper bedside manner be for a situation like this?

“It wouldn’t hurt,” she said weakly.

“Good enough for me.”

Fareeha helped Angela move Lena to a bed. Her head barely touched the pillow before she passed out. 

“What now?” Olivia asked.

“We hope that it’s the trip to these jail cells that aggravated Lena’s wounds, and nothing else.”

“That’s not much,” Olivia snorted.

“It’s all we have,” Angela said, wringing her hands.

“Olivia, we’re doing our best,” Fareeha gently said. “We have to let things play out. We’ll deal with it as it comes. Angela, you said you have a plan?”

“I do, but it’s a stretch.”

“Then we’ll pray to Allah that this actually pans out,” Fareeha said. “Akande, get comfortable, we might be here for a while. Same goes for you two.”

Angela didn’t like waiting, but she didn’t have anything else to do. She sat on the floor.

“Hey, none of that,” Fareeha said. “You get a cot.”

“And leave you on the floor?”

“Lena needs a bed, and Olivia might not look it, but she’s worried sick,” Fareeha whispered, keeping her worry from Olivia. “You get the last one.”

“I don’t want you to stay on the floor.”

“Then we’ll share, is that better?”

Angela realized what she talked herself into.

“T-that’s fine.”

Fareeha scooted over, giving Angela a spot by Lena. She sat down, and Fareeha took her hand, giving her a gentle squeeze. It nearly sent her into stammers, but fortunately Fareeha let her go quickly. Angela nodded her thanks.

Now came the worst part: waiting.

Voices roused Angela from her half-daze. She blinked, realizing that she drifted off to sleep with her head on Fareeha’s shoulder. She sat up, trying not to feel embarrassed. But that quickly passed as the voices rose in volume; Zarya argued with another soldier. Angela felt her pulse picked up, her chance to escape might be coming soon.

She looked around. Lena slept on, twitching and wheezing every so often. Olivia lay on the cot, looking very much asleep.

“Is this part of your plan?” Fareeha asked, nodding to the arguing soldiers. Angela could hear the weariness in Fareeha’s voice; she clearly struggled to stay awake.

“I hope it is.”

The soldier spat something final and stormed off, leaving Zarya alone in the jail. The big woman huffed, sitting down heavily in her wooden chair.

“What happened?” Angela asked.

“None of your concern,” Zarya shot back.

Angela got up and walked to the bars.

“It sounds like something happened. Please, I can’t take the suspense.”

“You can’t wait to hear your fate?” Zarya laughed. “Very well. Word of your survival has reached your Führer. Hitler is throwing a bitch fit, and is calling for your death.”

That means that Stalin had leaked her survival to the world. That means he used this to get a reaction out of Hitler, to see if the Muninn had any real value. And Hitler, of course, reacted like the spoiled child he was, playing into Stalin’s hand.

My gambit could still work!

“Let me guess: Stalin is suddenly very interested in me.”

That got Zarya to fix her with a confused stare. Angela didn’t need to read minds to know what Zarya thought: how did she know that?

“Care to know why Stalin is interested in me,” she smiled, “the Red Angel of Verdun?”

“Shut up. He’ll cast judgment on you,” Zarya hissed.

“Don’t be so naive,” Angela laughed. “He wants to see what I have. He wants to talk to me about that.”

“Stalin hasn’t give us orders yet. Sit down.”

“But if Hitler is calling for my death, that means I’m valuable, no?” Angela said.

I have to paint a picture, I have to show Zarya what would happen if Stalin got his hands on Muninn. Angela steeled herself, looking for anything to get a verbal edge.

“What do you mean?” Zarya asked.

“Muninn. I told you, it brainwashed Amélie. It turned her from a French Resistance leader into a perfect soldier, a perfect Nazi. Stalin must be interested in that.”

“Shut up, Nazi.”

“Stalin must be interested in that; he can make everyone a perfect Communist.”

“I am a perfect Communist,” Zarya spat. “I am Mother Russia!”

“And I’m a perfect Nazi,” she chuckled, gesturing to herself. “I’m the Red Angel of Verdun; months ago, I was the very face of the Aryan nation! You must’ve seen the propaganda posters I’m on. Yet here I am, a defector, running to the Allies. What does that tell you?”

Zarya turned her chair away from the cell. Angela felt like screaming.

“Is that all you’re going to do?” Angela gasped. “Ignore me?”

“You are good at talking,” Zarya said. “It is not that fancy a skill to have.”

“But aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know how we changed Amélie?”

Zarya snorted and pulled out a book. Angela ground her teeth.

“Don’t you want to know what Stalin would do with me?”

Zarya ignored her. Angela wanted to pull her hair out!

“Do you like being strong?” She gasped.

Zarya blinked at that, turning around to give her a questioning look. “What?”

“Do you like being strong?” Angela repeated.

“What do you think?” Zarya laughed, letting her physique be her answer.

“Then how would you like to be a hausfrau? A housewife?” Angela did her best to speak as calmly and evenly as possible. “A woman who doesn’t work, who stays home to care for the house. She lives only to cook, clean, please her husband, and pump out babies.”

“What lies are you spitting?” Zarya sputtered. Angela saw her face pale.

“Muninn can change that for you. Well, not for you, but for the Soviet Union,” she said. “I know that the Third Reich relies on women for some positions, but they don’t like it. You look like a great soldier, a very formidable one. Yet they seem to have sent you out here to a far-away field, to guard a small part of the Russian border. Did they do that because you’re a woman? Are they trying to drum you out?”

Zarya stiffened.

I hit a nerve!

“Would the USSR rather have you in the kitchen, popping out babies? The Reich does.”

“Shut up,” Zarya spat.

“Muninn can make that happen. You must spend a lot of time in the gym to be that strong. Would you rather spend that time at a home, having babies?”

Zarya remained still. Too still to be natural, she had to be holding an even expression.

“All I would have to do is place that helmet on your head, and suddenly, you don’t like working out anymore. Suddenly, you want to find a man, get married, and have his babies until you can’t have babies anymore. Your sergeant Georgiy seems very charming…”

Zarya trembled, her mouth set, but kept glaring at her.

“A baby, each year,” Angela said, her heart pounding in her chest. “Maybe two! That’s what Muninn can do to you. I can make you want to stay home and be a good Communist hausfrau. Both the Hitlers and Stalins want women in the kitchen, having babies, leaving everything for the men. It’s medically recommended that women refrain from sex for four to six weeks after birth; Muninn will make you want to wait only three until you start trying for children again.”

“Shut up.”

“But it doesn’t have to be that way. Let me and my friends go, let us get to the Allies. We can keep your mind your own, not the USSR’s.”

“…shut up,” Zarya stammered. “I’m a good Communist.”

“And I’m a good Nazi. Well, maybe I’ll be a good Communist soon. Maybe when Stalin gets Muninn, he’ll turn me into a baby making machine before he does the same to you.”

“I said shut up!!” Zarya roared. She stood up so fast, she threw her chair against the wall.

Angela caught a fleeting look of terror wash across Zarya’s face. The moment passed as the big Russian stormed out of the room, turning off the lights before slamming the door behind her. It rang heartily, the frame creaked, and Angela blinked at the sudden darkness that engulfed her. The muted sound of a heavy bolt being slid into place punctuated her retreat.

“Goddamn.” Angela jumped; she didn’t know that Olivia woke up. “You play for keeps.”

“Seriously,” Lena croaked, “that was fuckin’ bad ass.”

“I, I’m just trying to get us out of here,” Angela mumbled. She rubbed her eyes, trying to rub away the afterimage of the harsh lights. Peeling her hands off the bars made her realize just how tightly she squeezed them.

“You might talk us out of the whole USSR,” Fareeha said. “That Russian looked like she was about to tear an entire tank apart.”

Angela’s eyes adjusted, picking up the scant light that came in through the tiny windows.

“She just might,” Akande said from his cell. “A big girl like that can do what she wants.”

“Angela,” Fareeha said, “I think you made the absolute best out of a shitty situation.”

“You put too much hope in me,” Angela weakly smiled. She shuffled her way back to the cot; she ran into Fareeha’s hand, and the sergeant helped her to sit down.

“I don’t think so,” Fareeha smiled. “I have a good feeling about this.”

As the stress and adrenaline wore off, Angela could feel her stomach churning. The sight of Zarya’s hidden terror replayed in her mind.

My God, Angela realized, I scared Zarya. I bullied her. I terrified her. Her stomach tightened, and Angela felt a wave of nausea wash over her.

Dimly, she realized that she rubbed her wrists, rubbed at her wing and feather tattoos. Little more than a week ago and Angela cursed her tattoos, she cursed them when Fareeha kissed her. She hated that they made her feel terrible, that they reminded her of her misdeeds.

But now, seeing Zarya become so scared after talking to her, bullying her, she thanked them. After all, she had gotten the tattoos to be reminders.

Of course I’m terrible, Angela thought as she traced the outline of the feathers. I’m no doctor. All I can do is hurt.

She bitterly chuckled, thankful of what her tattoos reminded her of.

You made sure to teach me that lesson, didn’t you, Uncle Reinhardt?

Chapter Text

Angela’s alarm clock woke her up. With a groan, she slapped the snooze button, and struggled to drag herself up out of bed.

She looked at her right wrist. She knew exactly how many feather tattoos she had, but to some part of her mind, they were still new. She had first gotten her tattoos to symbolize the four men she tortured and killed in Verdun, along with the two wings for her parents. But in the years since then, she had gotten more feathers. She had to kill more men and women.

There were several feather tattoos on her wrist, enough to make two full wings, with another mass of feathers below them. Maybe the next time she hurt someone, she’d get a wing to connect them all. She looked at her left wrist, which held more feathers and wings. Her sins had grown, and had moved to another spot where she could count them.

God, I hate you.

Angela took a quick shower. She liked having her own place, but it became a blessing and a curse. Living alone, she had to fight to keep herself from falling into a true pit of self –pity and –medication.

Finished with her shower, she dressed, and lit her first cigarette of the day. She knew she shouldn’t be smoking, but the habit had taken root. Maybe someday soon she’d have to force herself to cut back, but that day wasn’t today.

She smoked and ate a light breakfast, two scrambled eggs. She did her dishes, gathered her things, popped another cigarette onto her lips, and went out the door. Another day alive, another day in the Reich.

She lived in Steglitz, an upscale borough of Berlin. As a famous doctor and propaganda tool, she had a public face to live up to.

Angela left her apartment, locking the triple bolted door before walking down to the garage. Of course the Red Angel of Verdun had her own car. As the bright star of the Reich, the new face of propaganda, she’d couldn’t stoop to take public transit like some common, plebian Nazi.

She got behind the wheel of her government issued car. She stopped to catch her breath, to fully adjust to the world she lived in.

Angela flipped down the sun visor, looking at herself in the little mirror.

“You’re not a good person,” she told her reflection. “You’ve done terrible things. You can’t go back, you know that, right?”

Her reflection gazed back, full of scorn.

“Yes, how could you forget?”

Angela took a second to light another cigarette; she’d have to work on cutting down some day, but she needed the nicotine. Today, she had to put on airs, she had to pretend to be a good Nazi. Today, she had to see an old school friend.

She started her car, pulled out of the parking garage, and onto the sparsely filled streets. With gasoline highly rationed, electric cars were more popular, what with the numerous Eastern Wars they had with Russia and the omnipresent War for the Future of the Reich, or whatever bullshit name the propaganda people came up with next. Fortunately, the war had long been in the ‘cold war’ phase, with every major player tending to their own borders and needs before worrying about the state of their enemy.

Angela drove through the city, dodging dozens of buses, leaving the common masses behind. She grudgingly admitted her rank came with a nice perk. She hated getting stared at in public, either from stares of amazement of who she was, or leers because she was a pretty face.

She found the coffee shop that Heidi wanted to meet at, parked, and walked in. Calling it a ‘coffee shop’ proved a stretch; only the upper echelons of the Reich had access to real coffee. Everyone else, even most of Blackwatch, had to made due with the fake instant variety.

“Hello,” the cashier said with a professional smile. “Here to eat in, or to go?”

“Eating in,” Angela replied.

“Would you like to sit inside, or outside?”

In her gloom, Angela realized she nearly missed a wonderful spring day. The sun shone bright, the wind felt warm and gentle, and the temperature perfect.

“Outside.”

“Excellent choice,” the cashier smiled. “It’s just so nice out. Hard to believe we had a really bad nuclear winter only a few months ago.”

“Yes, hard to believe that. Hazelnut coffee and a slice of coffee cake, please.”

Angela knew that the phrase ‘nuclear winter’ wasn’t exactly right, but the difference between that and the real thing didn’t matter. The winter had been bad, but not nearly as bad as the winters during the Darkest Days, when everyone first used their nuclear arsenal. Scientists were positive that the harsh winters were caused by the cooling effect of debris in the high atmosphere, a grim reminder of having multiple nuclear bombs detonated in the same hemisphere.

Another sin of the past coming to judge them. It might not fit the true scientific definition, but nuclear winter was a bitch.

Thanks to the instant coffee, Angela didn’t have to wait long for her order. She thanked the server, then walked outside to grab a table. Fortunately, nearly everyone had to get to their jobs, giving Angela with her pick of seats. She sat at the nearest table, and took a bite of her coffee cake. The heavy taste of fake sugar overloaded her taste buds, if only to distract from the lack of everything else.

The coffee cake had no real amount of nuts or fruity jam. Like everything in the Reich, it only had basic flour and a heaping helping of sucrose to keep it from being flavorless, soft bread.

Angela knew the bland flavor wasn’t from a nuclear winter, despite crops failing with depressing regularity. No, the blandness came from the lack of trading partners in supply rich nations. Yet another reason that the Hitlers were terrible for Germany. At least she could flavor her coffee. Angela lit a cigarette and took a deep drag of death, supposedly cancer-free.

“Angela!”

She turned around. Heidi, her old school ‘friend’ had arrived.

“God, Angela, it’s been forever,” Heidi said, hugging her.

“At least four years.”

Heidi let her go, beaming. Her ‘friend’ had barely changed at all. A little more plump than what could be considered ‘normal’ in the Reich, but that had to be baby weight from her last pregnancy. Heidi had her brown hair in an easy, although stylish, bun.

“I know you’re super busy with Blackwatch, but I’m so glad we can chat,” Heidi said.

Chatting. This felt strange. Heidi was a shallow, vapid, empty-minded Nazi wife, busy pumping out children with her husband; the picture perfect fascist family. But at the same time, Heidi proved so earnest in their talks that Angela actually found it relaxing to spend a little time around her. Anything to get her mind off the present.

“Of course!” Angela smiled. “It’s nice to be able to catch up.”

“And I’m so glad you’re able to help me out,” Heidi said. “I never thought I’d be a journalist, but here I am!”

Angela knew that was a stretch of the word. Heidi wrote a few columns for Gute Frau, a pro-Regime magazine targeted to women. Pure trash to be sure, but Heidi had been begging Angela for a chance to interview her. Being Blackwatch’s de facto second in command, she had found another strange celebrity that she never wanted.

But Reinhardt said that it would pay to have a ‘good’ public image. It gave her a little more wiggle room from the omnipresent audits from the Gestapo.

“Yes, it’s funny where life takes you,” Angela smiled, tapping the ash off the cigarette. “Sadly, I can’t stay forever. I have a meeting with Blackwatch command.”

“Oh you, always so professional,” Heidi smiled. “We’ll have to catch up properly later.”

Heidi took a small voice recorder out of her pocket and turned it on. She pulled out a small list of questions and went to reading them.

“You’re always working, always in the lab. What are you working on right now?”

“I’m doing two things,” Angela said. “I’ve been tasked by Hitler himself to find a way to save soldiers of the Reich. My project is a new method of healing. I’m getting closer to a major breakthrough with nanoparticles; at the moment, I can heal small cuts and bruises. Hopefully soon I’ll be able to heal larger wounds, like bullet wounds.

“I’m also working with Dr. Markus Gärtner to try and find a way to fight PTSD, more commonly known as shell shock or combat fatigue.”

“Doing your best to return the soldiers of the Reich to full power?”

More like trying to quiet my own inner demons, she thought.

“Exactly,” she said instead.

“What did it take to get to your position?”

“Lots of work. I have to truly dedicate myself to medicine. I’ve had plenty of late nights reading established practices, studying new procedures, and creating new methodologies. I’ve wanted to be a doctor from a young age, and I have to work very, very hard. There were plenty of times where the deck was stacked against me. But I knew I had to fight against it.”

Angela knew girls and young women were Gute Frau’s target audience, making them believe that they were second to men. But Angela wanted to be a positive role model. If only one girl could be inspired by her words, maybe it would be worth it.

“And where does dating come into it?” Heidi asked. Just like that, the moment disappeared. “Surely you’ve got someone special.”

I’d rather chew my own arm off than have a Nazi touch me.

“I don’t, actually,” she said instead.

“What? A beautiful Aryan like you should have men lined up around the block. Think of the children you could have!”

Fascists think women need to be in the kitchen, popping out babies, her mother had said. They think men should be manly men, and women should be the kind who stay home and tend the hearth.

Twenty-odd years later, her mother’s words proved true. Angela could feel a little ember of hatred smolder in her chest. She took a drag of her cigarette to try and smother it.

“The men try, but I’m married to my work,” she made herself say.

“But you have such good Aryan genes. The Reich will be stronger with your babies.”

“My ‘babies’ are my work,” she smiled. “I’m sorry, but I’ve chosen this life.”

“You’ll change one day, mark my words,” Heidi laughed. “What can you tell us about working with Blackwatch? Your uncle is Reinhardt Wilhelm. What is he like?”

Isn’t this interview supposed to be about me?

“He’s a great man. He’s dedicated to Blackwatch, to protecting what he holds dear.”

“Are there any women in his life? He’s been an infamous bachelor for years. Has that rubbed off on you?”

She said she went to Heaven, her uncle had said about his love. I found her hanging in the empty room on the second floor.

“There was a woman once, but she passed on,” Angela said. “Since then, like me, he’s been married to his work.”

“The Reich needs more men like that, but he should find another woman.”

“If the time comes, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Oh, an exclusive! Thank you!”

Angela very much doubted that Heidi would ever get that exclusive.

“You’re always so fashionable. How do you know what styles to pick?”

Another question that wasn’t truly about her, or the work she did. Angela didn’t have much expectations of this interview, and she still felt disappointed.

“I’m more about functionality. Lab work and medical work, mostly. I pick whatever looks good, and what everyone else says is good.”

“Oh, so you follow fashion?”

What a nice twist of her words. The interview began grating on her nerves.

“In a sense.”

“But the tattoos on your wrists are so beautiful. Surely that took a lot of planning.”

Angela looked at her wrists. Like she could tell anyone what the tattoos meant to her.

“Actually, that was an accident,” she said, making herself smile.

“It worked out! What do they mean?”

“Oh, you mean what they represent?” Angela asked, unable to correct her ‘friend.’ “Each feather is for a heart I’ve broken.”

Angela spoke literally.

“Oh, you’re the worst,” Heidi laughed. “Just a few more questions. You know what the soldiers of the Reich call you, yes?”

“’The Swiss Valkyrie.’”

“You’re a shining symbol of Swiss assimilation into the Reich. What would you want to say to your fellow countrymen to get them to join the Reich, both in body and soul?”

Angela blinked. ‘Assimilation?’ She never expected Heidi to use such a big word, let alone pronounce it correctly. Then again, the question had an obvious political slant, it must be a plant to use it as propaganda, or to test her. She would have to be careful.

“I was very lucky when I came into the Reich. My uncle, Reinhardt, took me in after my parents…were unable to become citizens.” Angela did her best to stomach her pain. “I’ve seen the best of the Reich, and I know we can all enjoy those benefits together. I’d tell my countrymen that they need to see what’s good in life, and fight to make it a reality.”

Angela answered as vaguely as she could. Hopefully the Gestapo would see her as being a good little Nazi, while her countrymen could see her as calling to continue resisting. At least, Angela hoped the Swiss would see it that way; her name still seemed synonymous with ‘traitor.’

“Excellent,” Heidi smiled. “I’d love to see Switzerland fully embrace the Reich. It’s such a beautiful country, it would be amazing if they could fully assimilate.”

That Angela doubted. Switzerland still found ways to resist. Because of that, the Reich limited food shipments, and expanded the ghettos to hold dissidents. Everyone in Switzerland went hungry, if not outright starving.

The burning ember of rage grew in Angela’s chest despite the nicotine she took to contain in. But at the same time, she felt a perverse pride of her home’s continued resistance.

“Finally, while the Reich calls you the ‘Swiss Valkyrie,’ do you know what our enemies call you?”

How could she not?

“They call me ‘the Red Angel of Verdun.’”

“I’m told you got that nickname because of the work that went into locating terrorist’s locations during the Verdun Uprising. If our enemies were reading this right now, what would you say to them, speaking not as the Swiss Valkyrie, but as the Red Angel of Verdun?”

Use the scalpel like this, Fräulein. That’s it. Make it dance, watch him sing.

Damn the SS. They ruined her. She’d never forget the horrible things they made her do.

But at the same time, Blackwatch were able to resist in their own way. By the time the Verdun Uprising ended, Blackwatch had directly saved over five hundred French citizens, and indirectly saved up to another thousand.

That didn’t stop Angela from feeling like it didn’t matter. Her actions had damned her. All she wanted was the war to end and the Reich to fall, so she would never have to hurt someone again.

“What would I say to them?” She said. “Pray that we never meet.”

Angela meant it as a plea. If they never met, she would not be forced to hurt them, she wouldn’t get another tattoo.

Heidi heard it as a threat.

“Oh, wonderful,” she laughed. “Thank you so much for this.”

“You’re welcome,” Angela made herself say. She stubbed out the remains of her cigarette. “I’m sorry, but I really have to get going.”

“Yes, you and your damned work. Seriously, you need to find a husband. I know you’d make an excellent mother! I see a Cross of Honor of the German Mother in your future, you only just have to see the men who want you!”

Angela would rather amputate her own leg with a rusty butter knife than let a man touch her, let alone a Nazi man.

But she had an image to maintain, so she smiled and hugged Heidi before she left.

Angela entered Blackwatch headquarters. The large, open foyer and the grand marble tiling no longer held a sense of awe over her. In the main level, they were just as patriotic as the next Nazi, with plenty of murals and icons of eagles and the damned swastika everywhere.

The good weather did little to improve her mood; she never should have agreed to that interview. Knowing the Reich, they’d probably print millions of copies of Gute Frau and ship it all over Europe. They’d probably even ‘leak’ copies to the Allies and use her as propaganda. Again.

“Angela!”

Then again, maybe her day would get better.

“Brigitte,” she smiled.

Her god-sister ran down the main hallway, her long brown hair trailing behind her, and wrapped her in a tight hug.

“How are you doing?” Angela asked, hugging her back. She forgot the last time she had gotten a hug, and it did a better job of relaxing her than her last few cigarettes.

“Good,” Brigitte said, but Angela heard a hitch in her voice.

“What is it?” She asked, letting Brigitte go.

“You smell like smoke.”

“God, I’m sorry Brigitte, I know how much you hate smoking.”

“I don’t hate smoking, I hate that you’re putting a nail in your own coffin. You’re a doctor, you know how bad it is for you.”

“I do,” Angela admitted. “But to me, the point is putting a nail in my coffin.”

“That’s what I hate about it. It makes you like this.”

Angela smiled sadly. Her mood didn’t sour because of her smoking, she smoked because of her mood. But maybe Brigitte had a point. Maybe smoking made her extra fatalistic.

“I’ll try to cut down for you.”

“Thank you. I can’t imagine losing my sister.”

“You won’t lose me for a long time. I’m getting close to making a serious breakthrough in nanoparticle tech. I can already accelerate the natural healing process; soon I’ll be able to scale it up and improve the effectiveness of it.”

“Your special project is improving, then?” Brigitte asked. “What about the pig who shares your workspace?”

“Ugh, Markus,” she groaned. “That asshole can’t keep his hands to himself.”

“We need to get you into a Blackwatch laboratory,” Brigitte said, her voice tightening with anger. “He’ll never be able to do that again.”

“Sadly, Markus and I are the best scientists in the Reich,” Angela said. “And since we’re the best, we have to work in laboratories that can be closely monitored.”

“The right hand has to see what the left is doing, yes?” Brigitte sighed.

“Sadly, that’s the case,” Angela nodded. “Markus says he’s making progress with his Muninn; he claims to have cured several soldier’s PTSD, but he still has yet to make a fully stable version.”

“Then if you make that breakthrough with your nanoparticles, maybe you can get away from that asshole Markus, and make a healing staff so you can avoid using knives and guns.”

“That would be nice,” Angela said. “Being able to fully heal and do none of the dirty work…that would be a dream come true.”

“If you figure out how to do it, can you let me join you as a doctor?”

“I know that tone all too well,” Angela said. “Brigitte, are you sleeping well?”

Her sister looked at the floor.

“No, I’m not,” she said, lowering her voice. “I’m just…I’m just nervous. I remember when you went to your first deployment, and how different you were coming back.”

Verdun changed everything for her.

“That’s the shame of living in this world,” she said as calmly as she could. “But we have to stay strong. Eventually, we get to make a difference.”

Angela’s phone beeped an alarm.

“I have to get to this meeting,” she said. “But I want to see more of you. Want to have dinner at my place?”

“I’d love to,” Brigitte smiled, “but Uncle wants me in officer training tonight. Later?”

“Definitely.”

“Tell mom I said hello!”

“I will.”

She hugged her sister and turned down a hallway, making her way to the elevators. She took it to the top floor, and walked to her uncle’s office.

Being the commander of Blackwatch gave Reinhardt a very large office, and a personal secretary. Nazi tradition, stolen from older American norms, meant that women were secretaries. But her uncle wouldn’t give such a position to just anyone.

“Morning, Ingrid,” Angela smiled as she walked up to her uncle’s office.

“Ah, hello Angela,” Ingrid smiled. She sat at a large desk outside Reinhardt’s office, commanding attention; but being a secretary made Ingrid just another woman, one who didn’t deserve to be remembered. “You’re just in time, everyone’s here.”

“Excellent. Oh, I saw your daughter. She says hello.”

“Did you give Brigitte a hug for me?” Ingrid smiled.

“When wouldn’t I?”

Ingrid stood up to give Angela her own hug.

“And how are you doing?”

“I’m getting by.”

“Sounds like you need a check-up.”

“Are you a spymaster, or my doctor?”

“Worse: I’m a mother,” Ingrid smiled. “And it sounds like you need someone to talk to.”

“I guess I do,” Angela said. She couldn’t help but smile; Ingrid proved even more dedicated to being a mother than a spymaster. And since Ingrid ran the largest counter-intelligence ring in the Reich, that spoke volumes to her dedication.

“Come on, let’s get in there,” Ingrid said. “Hopefully this won’t take all day.”

Angela opened the door to her uncle’s office. He sat behind a beautiful walnut desk. Paintings of the three Führers hung on the wall. Not for any love of the Hitlers; they were there in case the Gestapo forced their way in to finally audit them proper. Blackwatch headquarters might be safe, but even they had to bend to the will of the Gestapo.

If only they could supplant them as the favored internal police.

“Ah, my two lovely ladies,” Reinhardt said as he looked up from his work. As usual, he wore his Blackwatch dress uniform. One of the perks of the job let them wear uniforms without the swastika. “I was just about to start asking where you were.”

“And leave you alone?” Ingrid laughed. “Please, someone needs to keep you on track.”

“Ach, you wound me,” Reinhardt laughed. 

“I’d do more than that if you ever started getting sloppy.”

“I expect nothing less,” her uncle laughed. “Everyone just arrived, so shall we?”

“Were you waiting for us?” Angela smiled.

“More like planning a glorious entrance. It pays to be fashionably late.”

Angela rolled her eyes as he led them to an adjoining meeting room. Two men and three women sat at a table, ready to plan Blackwatch’s next move, a projector waited for them.

“I don’t want to keep everyone waiting,” Reinhardt said as he walked in, “or to waste time with pointless pleasantries. Let’s get to business.”

Reinhardt walked to the head of the table, and plugged in a laptop. The projector turned on, showing a map of Poland.

“Poland has been occupied since the beginning of the War, the model of Nazi Lebensraum. And by that, I mean used as slave labor to hold up the Reich’s weakened manufacturing and agricultural needs, since they’ve been slow to rebuild what the Allies bombed.

“The Polish are resisting where they can, but most of the rebellious population is kept in the east, close to the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact and Russia. Many of the more loyal, or beaten down, Polish are in the west. They’re able to move to safer, more stable portions of the country due to a higher citizen score.

“The citizen score has been around since the fifties, but computers have changed everything. Fortunately, Hitler’s desire to make an intranet with integrated citizen scores has had a buggy launch, just like everything in this country. We’ll use that botched roll out as part of our next big operation: disrupting citizen scores, and to get more radical citizens to the safer, more controlled Western Poland; maybe we can even smuggle subversive factions in. This will help incentive the current population to act against the Nazis.”

“An ambitious goal,” one man said. “What are you proposing?”

“Building the Reich’s intranet has proven to be a logistical nightmare,” Ingrid said. “It’s been moving in fits and starts since the nineties, but Hitler wants the project accelerated because of the success of the various social media sites in America.

“Speaking as a spymaster, social media is the next big thing. You’ll be surprised what people are willing to say with a little pseudo-anonymity.”

“That sounds like too good an idea to come from Hitler,” Angela laughed.

“Of course it is! The SS have been pushing for this, and hard,” Ingrid smiled. “Creating a national intranet is a massive affair; making our own social media platform is something else entirely. We’ve plenty of opportunities to insert our agents into various levels of the project.”

“I take it we can’t just shut it all down?” Angela asked. “Spying on citizens is one thing, but to have them give up their anonymity is something else.”

“Sadly, we can’t,” Reinhardt sighed. “The American’s social media is too good to not steal. And since both the SS and Gestapo have the ear of the Führer, they want what the Americans have.”

“To put it bluntly, Pandora’s box has opened,” Ingrid said. “The best we can do is to co-opt it so it doesn’t meet the SS’ demands, but ours.”

“Hitler wants the citizen score baked into the platform,” Reinhardt said. “Be a good little Nazi, and you get points to spend on extra food, goods, leisure, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. If you are a good enough goose stepping Nazi, you could even move to a better neighborhood, with better schooling for your children, and with social media, you can brag about your fortunes to other citizens, maybe encourage them to be more loyal.”

“Then what are we to do?” A Blackwatch woman asked.

“We hamstring it,” Reinhardt said. “And maybe we use it ourselves.”

Ingrid tapped a key on the laptop, showing a population map of Poland.

“The developers charged with building the Reich’s internet are overworked,” Ingrid said, “to say nothing of the coders and engineers trying to build the rip-off social media platform. We’ll have our agents pose as regular workers, rank and file Nazis, and they’ll bury logic bombs, dud code, even algorithms that work counter to the desired effect. It will be slight, but once rolled out, it gives the chance for ‘subversive’ citizens to move into those better neighborhoods.”

“I’d suggest even finding a way to put in a backdoor so we can hand-pick citizens to move about,” Reinhardt said. “We tip the scales, we can move them to more loyalist neighborhoods, and then they can help radicalize the population there.”

“Which is where the next stage of our plan comes in,” Ingrid said. “Destabilizing the good citizens to allow subversive behavior to take root.”

Angela’s stomach twisted fretfully. She didn’t want Blackwatch to be like this. She didn’t want to see work like this done again. But she knew that something had to be done.

“If the naturally rebellious citizens can’t find those who share their hatred, or worse, see the perks of being a good citizen, we risk losing their hatred,” Reinhardt said. “We need to give it room to blossom, so we can further erode the Reich’s control. Even if nothing comes of it, having entire neighborhoods sheltering anti-Reich sentiment is a boon to us.”

Angela didn’t like the tone of her uncle’s voice.

“We already sabotage various Reich projects,” Reinhardt continued. “Infrastructure, agriculture, even education plans. We must step up our destabilization to help stir resentment.”

“We’ll be sabotaging civilians again?” Angela asked, trying to keep her voice even.

“We can’t have them think the Reich is ‘good enough,’ we have to keep them angry.”

Angela forced herself to stay calm.

“There are various infrastructure and agriculture projects running in western Poland. That’s where your teams come in,” he said, nodding to the assembled men and women. “Send your agents in incognito, and hamstring them. Bridges and roads must have improperly mixed concrete; not enough to cause catastrophic failures, but enough to make them crumble faster, to create potholes sooner. If they start to crumble in months, all the better.

“Angela, I’d like you to work with the agriculture team.”

“I’m a doctor, not a farmer,” she said, trying to smile despite the sinking horror growing in her gut. “A busy one at that. I have my own project from Hitler that needs to be worked on.”

“True,” Reinhardt smiled, “and I’m sorry to eat up your free time, but we need your insight. Seeds must be coated in pesticide to toe the line of starvation.”

“Y-you want us to destroy our own food?”

“It is brutal, but entire crops don't have to be lost. We just have to keep the crops from fulfilling their full potential, from being able to easily meet the demand of the Reich.”

“We’ll be starving our own people.” Anger, rage, and a sickening sense of resignation twisted in her gut.

“We’ll be keeping them on cut back rations,” he gently corrected.

“This won’t starve the Hitlers or the upper echelons.”

“It isn’t supposed to, it’s supposed to keep heavy rationing on the citizens. We keep their bellies empty, we keep the anger alive in their hearts. If they see how Hitler and his cronies have full bellies while they starve, we keep them angry. That means we can give the subversive citizen an ear to spread their dissent to. Then we get more leeway, more safe houses, more dedicated anti-fascists. Not that we have to try very hard.”

Angela held her peace as everyone laughed.

If I do this, she thought, I’d have to get more tattoos. God, my arms will be covered with feathers. I’d be starving so many people…

“What’s the time table?” One woman asked.

“For the social media project, we need agents ready for insertion within the week,” Ingrid said. “For the infrastructure and farming project, by the month’s end. Naturally, the flashy project has Hilter’s attention, and with it, his coffers.”

“Just like Hitler to put the newest, shiniest toy over food,” a man snorted.

“That just makes the other projects easier,” Reinhardt said. “We drain their resources, we make the loyalists question Hitler, and make the fence-sitters hate the Reich. If we can convert them to our cause, we can find a better way to overthrow this bastard.”

The men and women nodded, and filed out of the room. Angela stayed rooted in her seat. Ingrid and Reinhardt saw the look on her face, and they knew what she wanted. Ingrid got up to leave, knowing she wanted to speak to her uncle alone.

Reinhardt waited until the doors were closed.

“Do you have anything to—“

“Why are we hurting our own people again?” Angela demanded. “We’ll be starving them. How are we any better than the fucking Nazis if we starve an entire country?”

Reinhardt sat down across from her, bearing her glare with a resigned sigh.

“Do you know what makes people compliant?”

“Are you really fucking lecturing me now?”

“I am,” he said, his voice taking a hard edge. The sudden change giving Angela pause. “Do you know what makes people compliant? It’s a full belly. Humans are naturally selfish; if their family is fed, they relax. ‘Things aren’t bad,’ they think. ‘We have food. Everything is good.’ Do you remember what it was like it Switzerland, the first two years after it fell?”

“I could never forget. We were starved, kept under a calorie embargo.”

“A fucking disgrace,” Reinhardt hissed, shaking his head. “Starving people can be easily controlled, but hungry people stay angry. That is what we need: controlled anger. We need them to remember why the Reich is terrible. We can’t do that if they have a full belly. ‘My children are healthy and plump, these Nazis can’t be too bad.’ The Nazis, the SS, and of course the fucking Gestapo know this all too well, and they exploit it. Full bellies are compliant. We have to wake them up from that compliance.”

“By starving them.”

“You do know that we can’t create an opposition party, yes?” Reinhardt chuckled flatly. “We can’t politically run against the Nazis. It’s a hard call, but revolutions live and die by their support. If the people favor you, the revolution stands a chance. If they don’t, you’ve died before you began.

“Angela, we’re going to overthrow the Hitlers and this fucking Reich. It will happen. But we can’t revolt if everyone thinks that Hitler isn’t that bad. We have to put him in a tough position and let him chose the path that will most benefit him.

“So what if half of Germany goes hungry? Hitler will still have his steaks and caviar. And when the people see him growing fat while they wither, they’ll know how bad he is. That makes them angry, and that’s what will strengthen us.”

“Typical fucking German,” Angela sneered.

“What did you call me?” Her uncle said, his voice heavy with shock and indignation.

“I said you’re a typical fucking German, thinking you know hardship,” she spat. “You brag that you know how the unerwünscht feel cold, how the ghettos have so much soul. You talk like you know what it’s like to be a fucking Swiss bitch, a traitor to your own people. You don’t know what it’s like to truly go hungry. You don’t know what it’s like to be looked down on.”

“You’re one to talk,” Reinhardt chuckled darkly. “You look the most Aryan out of all of us.”

“What do you think that got me in Switzerland? Everyone thought I was a traitor, a Nazi lapdog just by how I looked. I was too German for the Swiss, and too Swiss for the Germans. You want to know hardship? Grow up without anyone you can truly count on.”

“That’s not true. You had me, you had Ingrid.”

“And she’s a fucking saint for helping me. But there’s hardly anyone my age I can talk with. Why do you think I threw myself into my studies? The only one who even put up with me is Heidi, and she’s a brainwashed Nazi hausfrau.”

“You have Brigitte.”

“I love her, but she’s fourteen years younger than me. We’re an entire generation apart. Every day I wake up, everyday I wake up alone. How could you know what it’s like? How can you know what true struggle is like?”

“You remember that I had a wife, yes?” He pressed.

“At least you had someone. I have no one.” Angela shook her head. “Do you remember when Switzerland tried to revolt against the Nazis the first year they conquered it?”

“How couldn’t I? They shut everything down, no food in or out.”

“Did you have to enforce that? Did Blackwatch have to do it?”

Reinhardt finally looked away in shame.

“We did,” he mumbled. “We tried to defy it, smuggle in what we could, but it was never enough. We never got to you.”

“We went so hungry,” Angela mumbled. “We…I helped kill a boy.”

Reinhardt paused. He looked at her with hurt, sadness, and regret in his eyes.

“Angela, I…I didn’t know.”

“I never told my parents.” She crumbled from the memory. “Back before they…I was with my friends; we were in the woods, looking for something to eat. Berries, mushrooms, anything, we promised to share it with everyone.

“But Jost…he found a stash of dried fruit, instant noodles, and crackers. He tore it open and started to eat it before we could get it away from him. We all yelled at him, and he ran from us, he couldn’t stop himself. We chased him, and we threw things at him, and…and…

“I threw a rock.” Angela heard, felt, her voice crack. “I was so angry, we were all so angry. Our stomachs were about to bloat, and he was eating all that food. It hit him in the head, and he fell. We caught up to him, and…the older boys started kicking him.”

Tears blotted out her vision. Angela could feel the shame and pain bubbling out of her. Reinhardt sat in silence, hands shaking as he listened.

“We kicked him and hit him and kicked…I, I don’t know for how long. But we stopped eventually. And, and…he was dead. God, I can still see his body. But we had the food, he didn’t eat all of it. We took it, we handed it out like we promised, and…we never told anyone. We just said he fell into a river. His parents, they were already broken from the invasion. They just nodded, and cried and…and did nothing.”

Angela folded in on herself as the tears came in force. She gasped and cried.

“Angela,” Reinhardt said quietly, “I…I’m so sorry, I never knew.”

“I never told anyone,” she sobbed, drying her tears with the back of her hand. “Hunger does terrible things to people. And you want me to do the same fucking thing.”

“Not that,” Reinhardt gasped. “God, never that. It’ll never be that bad, you have my word.”

“I can’t trust your word right now.”

“Please, you have to.”

Silence fell on the room. Angela couldn’t meet his gaze during that time, nor could he.

“We still have to do this,” Reinhardt said. “The game we play…you’re right. We’re insulated. We feel some repercussions, but not the full brunt of it. But if we don’t do this, we risk something ever worse: Nazi appeasement. Not saying anything against them is a victory for them. They must be turned away at every turn, the Nazis must never be seen as tolerable.”

“Bad or fucking worse,” Angela cried. “Get someone else to do your dirty work.”

Reinhardt fell quiet for another minute. Angela choked back her tears.

“I want you to replace me one day,” her uncle said.

“What?”

“I want you to be my replacement. You’re already the heir apparent, I want to make it official. But to lead Blackwatch, you have to make the tough calls. Calls like this. And you have to learn the brutal calculus that comes with it.”

“You want me to play games with other’s lives?”

“It’s a weighty responsibility, but I know you have it in you; for better and worse. Do we risk having thousands go hungry so we can stoke the anger of a subjugated people, or do we do the humane thing and give them food and let the Nazis take the credit? Because the Nazis will take the credit. Questions like that are what make and break Blackwatch. I want you to be the one to make them, one day.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re smarter than you ever know, and I guess because you know what it’s actually like. You’ve been in the worst positions. You know what it’s like for the everyman. These decisions can’t be made lightly, but you can make them with more insight than anyone here. Including me, a spoiled German.”

Angela looked away. She knew her uncle lived humbly, or as humble as one of his rank could live. He didn’t even waste food.

“This is why you recruited me, isn’t it?” She asked.

“This is why I chose to groom you for command.”

“I won’t let these people go hungry.”

“You have to. But you can do it better than anyone else.”

She gave him a withering look.

“That came out wrong,” Reinhardt stammered. “You can give the agriculture project much needed insight into their actions. You’ll stop them from going too far. You’ll keep them somewhat humane. Please, I’m begging you.”

“Then you get your angry population, and helping to groom me into command material.”

“Yes, that was the plan,” he nodded.

You twisted old fuck, Angela thought. Her uncle played a long game.

But he wasn’t wrong: the Nazis must be stopped, and only she knew what hunger made people do, what it turned them into.

Maybe I can keep this starvation project vaguely humane. Keep it from going too far while stoking anti-Reich resentment. Angela wanted to smile, but didn’t. If the Nazis are ever seen as ‘not that bad,’ then it’ll be a matter of time until things became worse.

“I fucking hate this,” she spat, “and right now, I hate you.”

“I expect that,” her uncle smiled sadly.

I have to get a tattoo for all these people I’ll be hurting. She paused. And a few bottles of wine. Damn my consciousness, I have to drown it.

Chapter Text

“Wake up.”

Angela woke with a rough start; Fareeha gently shook her.

“What’s going on?” She mumbled. “What time is it?”

“Very early in the morning,” Zarya said. “Do we have to carry your small friend?”

Angela rubbed her eyes. The lights in the jail cell were still out, but the massive Russian woman held an electric lamp in her hand, throwing out harsh yellow light in the barren room. Olivia gently woke Lena. The Brit groaned as she came around.

“W-what’s happening?” She mumbled. “Are we being executed?”

“Not yet,” Zarya said, opening the cell door.

Angela wasn’t the only one to stare. Zarya ignored them, opening Akande’s cell. He stepped out, looking like a normal man next to the robust Russian.

“You’re helping us?” Fareeha asked, clearly stunned.

“Your Nazi is right,” Zarya mumbled. She seemed tense, strung out, scared.

“I’m not a Nazi,” Angela mumbled, out of reflex. That wasn’t what she wanted to be, but with the memory of her uncle’s lesson fresh in her mind, the terrified look Zarya had as she ran off, she felt unsure of even herself.

“You might not be. I just received orders from Stalin; he wants the Red Angel and this Muninn thing brought to Moscow immediately. We’re to execute everyone else.”

“Then why are you helping us?” Lena asked. “I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but helping a defector and her Allied escorts can’t be good for you.”

“It’s a death sentence,” Olivia nodded. “Wouldn’t they kill everyone you know?”

“They told me my family is already dead,” Zarya whispered, her voice trembling.

“So you’re risking your life for what?”

“I…I can’t say. The Red Angel is right about one thing; Stalin would kill to get his hands on this brainwashing machine. Then there will be one last purge. It would be the worst thing to happen to Russia, to those who resist.”

“You mean there are Russians fighting Stalin?” Angela asked. “Can we meet them?”

“Meet them? What…ah, you mean a group to fight Stalin. We don’t have that, not that I know of. I have a friend; we resist in our own way, but we can’t make a big group, not when the KGB has their spies and loyalists everywhere.

“This Muninn, it has Stalin in a tizzy. The KGB believe you’re telling the truth, and if the KGB say you have a weapon, then you have a very terrible weapon.

“I…I do not want to be a good Communist woman,” Zarya whispered. “I want my own life, where I can be me. Stalin will not control my life, where I work, how I live, he will not tell me to be a mother. I will not let him.”

Angela realized she’d been holding her breath. She exhaled with relief.

“Wouldn’t your squad report you?” Fareeha asked.

“They should, which is why we have to move,” Zarya said. “This place, this outpost, it is not for perfectly loyal soldiers. It is for those who might cause a fuss, who need to be watched.”

“I thought they sent political enemies to gulags, or Siberia,” Olivia said.

“Siberia is for those who have spoken out against Stalin; this outpost is for their relatives. We have not spoken against Stalin, so we still have use. This outpost is a last chance to be good Communists.” Zarya grinned bitterly. “Where else can we go? There are Nazis in front of us, and even more loyal Communists behind us.”

“Does this mean you did something you shouldn’t have?” Olivia asked.

“I failed to report my family. How could I?”

Just like my parents, Angela thought. She could feel her heart break.

“But I might as well be a traitor,” Zarya grimly laughed. “Russia thinks I am the enemy, all because of who I am.”

“’Who you are?’ Wait, hold up a second,” Lena smiled. “Getting scared of having children? I’ve seen this before, are you gay?”

Despite the yellowed light, Angela could see a blush rise in Zarya’s cheeks. Angela kept quiet, her reaction to fade into the background became overwhelming.

“I knew it!” Despite Lena’s jovial tone, Angela could see a strained look on her face, as if putting on a smile and laughing taxed her. “You’re just like some of my lesbian friends, gettin’ antsy ‘bout having kids!”

Lena ended up coughing, collapsing. Olivia caught her.

“Lena, you can’t do this to yourself,” Fareeha said.

“Please, we have to move,” Zarya mumbled. “Now.”

Akande pushed past Angela, taking Lena’s shoulder. He and Fareeha carried her out.

Zarya led them down the hallway of the building, past several rooms; Angela could hear snoring. Zarya opened a door, and they walked into an open air garage. Sergeant Georgiy stood by an empty truck.

Everyone came to a dead stop, and Sergeant Georgiy glared at them.

“Zarya,” he said, looking at the group, “are we moving prisoners to Moscow?”

“No, sir,” Zarya replied. Angela gasped at her defiant tone.

“Should they be in their cells then?” He asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes sir, they should be.”

“Then you…” Georgiy glared at her, “are defecting?”

“Yes sir, I am.”

“Good. Our bags are packed, let’s go.”

Everyone stared at Georgiy. Angela looked at Zarya, and saw a grin growing on her face.

“You knew about him,” she spat.

“I did,” Zarya laughed. “He is my friend, the one I told you about.”

“You fucking daft bitch!” Lena spat. “You gave me a heart attack!”

“Russian poker face wins again,” Georgiy grinned, laughing with Zarya.

“He’s in on this, too?” Fareeha asked, still visibly nervous.

“The USSR would get worse if Stalin brainwashes everyone,” Georgiy said. “Making us do the things we do not want to do is Russian way. But to enjoy doing it? That is too much.”

“Don’t tell me he’s gay, too,” Lena said.

“You told them?” Georgiy demanded.

“Not about you, but about me,” Zarya stammered.

“Damn, we got two gay Russian besties here!” Lena said, putting on a forced grin.

“Can we talk on the move?” Akande hissed. “We need to get out of here.”

“Yes, yes, get in truck.” Georgiy pulled out handcuffs. “Sorry, you need to be prisoners. Zarya is lucky to be the one receiving the orders, but when we do not report back, they will send more orders and people to find us.”

“We need to knock her out,” Angela said, pointing to Lena. “She’s too hurt to move.”

Zarya handed Angela her backpack. She opened an aide kit.

“Slip me the good shit, doc,” Lena said.

“Only the best,” she smiled, pulling out a small syringe of anesthetics. Lena laid down in the back of the truck, and Angela injected her; she quickly passed out.

Georgiy put them all in cuffs, and shuffled them into the truck. Even with Lena lying in the back, Angela felt cramped.

“Look dejected,” Zarya said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “Stalin wants you dead and buried, you can’t look excited.”

“Is that the plan?” Olivia pressed. “We just…pretend you’re going out to execute and bury us?”

“We keep it simple,” Georgiy said, “it is less likely to go wrong.”

“Dios te salve, María, llena eres de gracia…”

Zarya pulled out of the garage. The dark engulfed them as they drove down the rough road, with only the headlights offering any kind of light. Soon they reached a lightly illuminated checkpoint.

Angela stared at the floor, her heart pounding in her chest; Olivia continued praying. Fareeha seemed quiet, resigned to her fate. Akande just sat there. Because of his size, he didn’t have to look sad; he only had to hunch his shoulders, and he became the picture of defeat.

The truck stopped, and Zarya chatted with a soldier. Georgiy said a few things, and the soldiers laughed. But they continued to ask them questions.

Angela’s throat clenched as she heard a slight pause. It might not have been enough to alert the guards, but to her, it sounded like it lasted for eons. She looked up, and saw Zarya leaning over to the guard. She peered down at him, and said something very slowly, very deliberately. Angela could hear the guards roughly swallowing.

They meekly replied, then Zarya drove off. A minute passed before she spoke.

“You said you’re going to the Allies,” Zarya said tensely. “You have an extraction point?”

“Nothing so fancy,” Fareeha said. “We have to make our way across Europe.”

“Across Europe?” Georgiy spat. “Are you mad?”

“We don’t have a choice. We had to leave Egypt when the Nazis invaded.”

“You drove all the way up to Russia, just to cut across Europe?” Zarya demanded. “You said you were defecting! You should have an extraction point, a helicopter to fly you away!”

“The Allies can’t fly this close to the Nazis and Soviets,” Fareeha said. “And forget about a boat, not with the Mediterranean ten kinds of fucked up. Sorry, we’ve got nothing.”

Georgiy began shouting in Russian, pounding on the dashboard.

“You should have told us,” Zarya spat.

“Would that have changed anything?” Angela asked. “We can complain, or we can do something about it. It’s not like we can go back.”

“We cannot go back,” Georgiy mumbled. “They would kill us even before we defected, because of what our tastes are. We know that. All it takes is one slip…”

“You tricked us,” Zarya hissed.

“You never asked what the plan was,” Olivia said. “You need to ask before jumping.”

Georgiy snorted. He tried to hide it, but only ended up laughing harder.

“Zarya is good at jumping without thinking,” he roared. “She is best at it.”

Zarya grumbled again, but kept driving.

“I’m sorry for this, too,” Fareeha said. “But we have to move. We’re not crossing the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact, are we?”

“No, we are not that crazy. We’re headed to the Balkans. It is a mess there, the Soviets rarely go in. We should get through to Europe that way.”

They drove all throughout the night. Lena stayed knocked out, but coughed on reflex. Soon the sun came up, and they entered the outskirts of a rough town.

“Is this a place where we can get supplies?” Fareeha asked.

“We don’t have much money,” Georgiy said, having taken over driving.

“We need to get something to keep us going.”

“That would never get us through Europe,” Zarya hissed.

“It doesn’t have to,” Angela said. “Blackwatch has several safe houses on the border of Romania and the former Czechoslovakia. We can resupply there.”

“Blackwatch? Those butchers?”

“We act loyal, but we work to destroy the Reich from within.”

“That is too convenient,” Georgiy snorted. “Even if it is true, it is still several hours away.”

“It’s our only choice.”

“Fine,” Georgiy grunted. “We will find a motel. Get supplies, then run further.”

I knew things were bad, Angela thought as she looked out the window of the truck. Nazi attacks, Soviet meddling, I knew it would be bad, but this? This isn’t anything like the reports.

Many of the buildings had been bombed out decades ago, and hadn’t been properly repaired. Some had rough sheet metal put up to act as roofs, but many were left to the elements. The regular buildings were similarly run down, lacking in paint and in uniform materials.

But the people seemed alive, cheerful even. More so than they had any right of being. They gave the military truck a questioning eye, but kept their peace.

We must be close to the USSR line to not draw any suspicion.

Georgiy pulled into a rough parking lot, in front of a shabby looking building. Zarya got out, and walked in. Minutes later she came back with two keys. She pointed down the rough drive, and jogged along the truck as Georgiy found their rented rooms, which were accessible from outside doors.

From the sounds that Lena made, the drugs were wearing off. Fareeha and Akande gently pulled her out of the truck, quickly carrying her into the room, Angela hot on their heels, her aid kits ready to be used. Two beat up beds greeted them, along with a tiny table that held an ancient TV. A bathroom sat at the far end of the room, and looked like it never had a good day.

“Are people used to seeing a black man and a Middle Eastern woman?” Fareeha asked.

“Please tell me you are joking,” Zarya snorted.

“Had to ask,” Fareeha sighed. “Akande, we can’t be seen. Olivia, go with Zarya and Georgiy, try to stock up on anything we’ll need until we get to the safe house Angela promised.”

The three nodded, and went back to the stolen truck. Angela examined Lena as she got laid out on the bed.

“How is she?” Fareeha asked, voice brimming with worry.

“Her pulse is weak; she’s losing blood.”

“Ugh…What’s going on?” Lena mumbled, coming around.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Angela smiled. She put on a good face for her, a face she knew she’d need if she were to practice medicine again. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit, doc. Absolute shit. My head’s all fuzzy, feels like I’m gonna puke.”

Akande grabbed a trash bin and set it by the side of the bed in the blink of an eye.

“Angela…C-can you cut me open and fix me?” Lena asked weakly.

“Lena, it’s not that—“

“Just do it. Please.” Angela could hear the strain in Lena’s voice.

“I can’t guarantee that the surgery will be a success. This isn’t even an operating room, you could get an infection.”

“I’ll take a case of crotch rot over a belly full of blood,” Lena said. Her voice cracked, and Angela saw her eyes tearing up. “Please. I don’t want to die here.”

Angela looked at Fareeha.

“Is…is she in her right mind?” She whispered.

“You’re the doctor,” Fareeha said.

“And you’re her sergeant. Is she in the right mind to make these decisions?”

“I bet my life on it.” Fareeha spoke with conviction; it didn’t match her expression.

“Then…I’ll see what I can do,” Angela sighed. “I’ve never done a surgery in a motel before. Well, I’ll need you to take your shirt off.”

“Just go gentle on me, doc,” Lena grinned as she pulled at her hem. “It’s my first time.”

Angela could hear the strain in Lena’s voice, she could hear the effort she put into the joke. But damn if it didn’t make her laugh. She helped Lena pull her shirt off, and helped her lay back down. The sight of her already Caduceus-healed abdomen filled her with stress; another dose could hurt her.

But looking at the tattoos that covered Lena’s body, it reminded her that she had a life to save. A good life, and a good soldiers. Angela took a few seconds to steady herself, then injected her with sedatives.

“I’ll need both of your help. Akande, can you help me hold Lena open?”

“Can…I, I want to help, but…” Akande stammered, his face paling.

“I can do it,” Fareeha said.

“Then Akande, get as many alcohol wipes as you can find, you’ll have to clean the tools. Both of you wash your hands five or six times.”

As the two worked to clean themselves, Angela got her tools ready. She went from kit to kit, gathering everything she’ll need. She also set her Caduceus nearby.

When the two came back from the tiny bathroom, she went in and began washing her hands. She looked at herself in the mirror.

This is a motel, Angela thought. A dirty motel, and I’ll be cutting open a patient. God.

As much as she tried, Angela ended up laughing to herself.

After this, any work I’ll do at my hospital will seem trite.

Taking a deep breath, she tied her hair in a simple bun, washed her hands again, and walked out of the bathroom. Both Akande and Fareeha had taken the opportunity to slip on some latex gloves and face masks, and she followed suite. Her tools sat on a roll of sterile gauze.

She cleaned Lena’s stomach with iodine packets.

“Scalpel.”

Akande placed the knife in her hand, and she began opening up Lena. Akande looked away, while Fareeha blanched. But both their nerves held.

“Take those retractors and hold them here,” Angela told Fareeha.

“Allah…”

“You’re doing great.”

Peering in, Angela saw that Lena’s abdominal cavity had indeed been filled with dried and clotted blood.

“Gauze.” With a few rolls in hand, she went to dab-drying as much as she could. “Looks like she tore a few spots open; I’ll have to suture them. Needle.”

Angela worked as quickly as she could. Despite her anxiety, she fell into a kind of meditative rhythm. She couldn’t help but think back to her short time in a column of Egyptian refugees, or in the school the extremists had taken over. Despite the terror, the shock, the rough environment, she had finally helped people. She healed the injured, she cured the sick, she even delivered a baby into the world.

There will be more of that at my hospital. I just have to get to freedom.

And as Angela sat in a broken, dirty motel room, she cherished the effort of saving another life. The stress never left her, the paranoia that she might be infecting Lena with some sickness of a non-sterile room, but Angela felt her body surging with energy, with passion.

The door to the motel open, and Akande quickly stood up to block the sight of the surgery.

“What in God’s name are you doing?” Zarya demanded.

“Lena needs surgery,” Angela said. “We’re working as quick as we can.”

“Shit, the perra loca actually went through with it,” Olivia gasped.

“You’ll have to go to the other room,” Akande said. “Please.”

Olivia left a few bags, then quickly hustled the Russians to the next door room.

“Is she…is this good?” Fareeha asked.

“It’s the best I can get with what we have, and where we are,” Angela said. “I hate to rely on this, but we need her as healed as we can make her.”

Angela picked up her Caduceus and turned it on. It hummed and purred in her hands.

“Why don’t you want to rely on that?” Fareeha asked. “It’s practically magic.”

“If you can stand the sight, look here and here. Those areas are heavily inflamed; the nanoparticles are causing irritation in her system, more might hurt her further. I just need to use a little to seal up the wounds. That way, she can move without reopening anything.”

With a dose of nanoparticles, the sutures pulled themselves closed, sealing the tears even more. The device chirped; Angela slid a fresh cartridge of nanoparticles in.

“Now we seal her up,” she said, setting the Caduceus down. “I’ll need more thread.”

When she finished, Angela used more iodine packets to clean Lena up. Then she grabbed her Caduceus and gave her a dose. The nanoparticles healed her stomach closed, all without damaging her remaining tattoos.

Her Caduceus clicked on empty, and she slid another cartridge home. But by then, she had finished. Lena lay on the bed, with barely a scar on her stomach.

“Excellent,” Angela smiled. “Pass me another IV, we need to get more liquid in her. I’m also giving her a dose of penicillin.”

Akande gave her a bag, and she hung it on a wall-mounted lamp. Angela sighed, sitting on the ground and leaning against the wall. Fareeha rummaged through the bags Olivia left, and chuckled. She held up a fresh wrapped pack of cigarettes, shaking them. Not that she had to try, Fareeha’s hands were trembling, almost uncontrollably.

“Yes, please,” Angela sighed. Fareeha gave her a hand and pulled her to her feet. They moved to the front of the motel room and opened a window.

“So, how did it go?” Akande asked, walking up. “I never helped with a surgery before.”

“You could have fooled me. You were rock steady.”

“I’m calm under pressure,” Akande smiled as Fareeha lit his cigarette. “Comes in handy.”

“I’ll say.” Angela took a second to grab Fareeha’s hand, forcibly lighting hers next. “It went better than I expected. She should be up soon, and we’ll see how it went.”

“You don’t know how the operation would go?” Fareeha asked, arching her eyebrow. “You’re the one cutting her open.”

“In the middle of a fucking motel room, and she’s filled to the brim with experimental nanoparticles. There are dozens of things that can go wrong, but it seems to be steady.”

“And the previous work you did to her, that’s okay?”

“The nanoparticles that are making up her kidneys and lower digestive tract are handling remarkably well. It was always a goal to stretch the tech to assist with rebuilding organs, but that’s further down the developmental line. This is mark one, and I was hoping to have it assist with current operations, emergency, or battlefield medicine.”

“Ah, it’s to help out with crash doctors,” Fareeha nodded.

“’Crash doctors?’”

“That’s what we called the EMTs growing up. Some Nazi weapon would crash into us, and the doctors would come running.”

“That’s…pretty morbid.”

“Black humor has a way of lightening the mood,” Akande laughed.

“You learn to be pretty glib when you grow up in a war zone,” Fareeha nodded.

“You’re remarkably put together for someone who grew up in such a place.”

“You haven’t seen me on leave,” Fareeha grinned.

“Or with a few beers in her,” Akande added.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Angela said. “How did Lena join your squad? Shouldn’t she be with British troops?”

“Nazis propaganda is made to divide us, show us how different we are, how we sholudn’t be working together because someone will backstab us,” Fareeha said. “To show a strong, united front, the Allies made the Troop Transfer Program. Volunteers get sent to regions they normally wouldn’t get sent to, and we get to learn a little bit about each other. Lena used it as a way to get out of Britain.”

“Come to think of it,” Akande said, “she never really told us much about her life back home. Plenty about Britain in general, but never about her actual life.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Fareeha said. “The most she said to us is that she didn’t come from anywhere special, and wanted to get out.”

From the bed, Lena groaned.

“I didn’t think she’d wake up that soon,” Akande said.

“I gave her a lower dosage of ketamine,” Angela said, finishing her cigarette. “I don’t have much left, I want to ration it.”

“What would’ve happened if she woke up when you were still cutting her up?”

“I had another dose ready.” She went over to the bed. “Lena? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Ugh. Three. Two. Five. One.”

“Sounds like you’re all here. How are you feeling?”

“I’ll get the others,” Akande said, walking to the door.

Lena sat up, and stretched. Her back popped as she twisted around. She stopped, and hugged her knees. Angela could see her shaking, and also the relief in her eyes.

“Fucking hell, I…I feel better,” Lena said, a smile growing on her face.

“Just be sure to take it easy.”

Lena paused. Something changed on her face. Suddenly, she had a gentle smile, and wide, friendly eyes, as if nothing ever happened.

Oh. Realization hit Angela. This must be the British ‘stiff upper lip.’

“Well, at least I can move a little easier,” Lena beamed. “Think I can run again.”

“Please, don’t do anything strenuous,” Angela begged. “Just because you’re in one piece doesn’t mean my Caduceus has completely glued you together.”

“I’m with Angela,” Fareeha said. “Lena, don’t push it. We can’t stop every hundred miles or so to cut you open again.”

“Alright, fine,” Lena pouted. “Thanks, Angela. Really, I feel so much fucking better. God, I…I was so scared, but I’m feeling butter now.”

“You’re welcome. And you can’t get hurt any more. I only have four blocks of nanoparticles left.”

Akande led Olivia and the Russians in.

“Is she…are you better?” Zarya asked, worry in her voice.

“Fit as a fiddle,” Lena beamed.

“That a girl,” Fareeha said. “We need to plan our next move. Olivia, can you and Zarya rearrange the truck? We’ll need to make it as comfortable as we can.”

“Can I do that?” Lena asked.

“You were just under the knife, we told you to take it easy.”

“And this Caduceus stuff has me taped up.”

“You can’t re-open any wounds.”

“Fareeha, I need to get up and move,” Lena said. Her normally strong and even face, her stiff upper lip, slipped. Angela could see the terror in her eyes. “I need to feel normal again. I can’t go back to sitting on the side, puking up blood, I need something to take my mind off this shit. Please, just some moving around will make me right as rain, I swear.”

“Boss, I got an update from my network,” Olivia added, holding up her laptop. “I can debrief us so we know what we’re up against.”

“Fine,” Fareeha said. “Zarya, you okay working with Lena?”

“No problem,” Zarya said. “I can do all the heavy lifting. She will supervise.”

“Great. Get to work.”

Lena gingerly got up, struggling minutely.

“Stop staring at me,” she pleaded. “Please, I don’t like it.”

Fareeha nodded, and Akande and Olivia looked away. Georgiy followed their example, but Angela kept a close eye on Lena. She slowly walked to the door with Zarya, who held it open. Once they left, Olivia sat down on the second bed with her laptop. Georgiy took a second to pull out a small can opener, and opened a few cans of soup.

Cold soup, Angela thought as she ate. God this feels like home.

“First, news from the world,” Olivia said. “Cairo is still up for grabs. It hasn’t fallen, but the Allies still can’t fully say they retook it. And as our Russian friends have told us, Hitler got wind of Angela’s defecting, and he’s throwing a temper tantrum. He wants to pull everyone back and kick start another Eastern War to retake you and the Muninn.”

“Hitler wants to go to war over me?” Angela said. “Why don’t I feel honored?”

“Because you’re a bad Nazi,” Fareeha laughed. She offered Angela another cigarette.

“The worst,” she nodded. Angela leaned in close, letting Fareeha light it for her.

“Regardless, Stalin wants you as well,” Olivia said, nodding at Georgiy. “He found out about you defecting , so he’s trying to mobilize everything he can and hunt us down.”

“That cannot be much, can it?” Georgiy asked with a stoic expression.

“Of course not. Both he and Hitler dedicated everything to the Middle East theater; they can’t just pull up shop and come back. But they still have some army they can march with.”

“Hitler is mobilizing the Heimatarmee?” Angela asked.

“The what?” Akande asked.

“The home army. It’s mostly draftees too young, old, or injured to fight, and Wehrmacht divisions who are on leave.”

“That’s what Hitler wants to do. Thing is, he can’t just deploy them at the drop of a hat,” Olivia said. “If the entire home army went to the Balkans, the Soviets could invade through northern Poland. Sorry, ‘the country formerly known as Poland.’”

“Stalin does not have much army as well,” Georgiy said. “Just defense, like Germans. But if Germans drop their pants, Stalin will go in.”

“Which puts him in the same place as Hitler is,” Olivia replied. “If Stalin sends in his defense armies to catch us, Hitler will march on Moscow, and if Hitler does the same, Stalin moves on Berlin; a true Mexican Standoff. But they have other options, smaller groups like kill teams.”

“Where are the Allies?” Fareeha asked. “Can you reach out, try to get us a ride?”

“Boss, we’re up to our tits in Russians and Nazis. Up past the tits. We can barely get a good radio signal out here. We need to get to France before we can reach anyone.”

“Well, I’ll take a Nazi kill team over a Nazi panzer division,” Akande groaned.

“Which is what our strength is,” Olivia said. “We’re small, we can slip through some defenses. But it’ll be hard with a Soviet truck.”

“Once we hit a Blackwatch safe house, we can get a new car,” Angela said. “Wait. Have there been any reports on Blackwatch? Have they cursed me?”

“They’re lumping you in with Brutus, Longinus, and Judas.”

“Has Brigitte Lindholm said anything?” Angela pressed. “She’s my sister.”

“Angela, she’s just as fucking pissed at you as everyone else—”

“Please…!”

Olivia sighed, but relented. “She’s calling you a ‘Swiss whore.’”

Everyone stared at Angela as she laughed.

“I’m sorry, that’s our code word,” she smiled. “Blackwatch knew they’d have to disavow me when the world found out I defected. So whenever Brigitte calls me a Swiss whore, she’s really saying she loves me.”

“Having a sister is fucking weird,” Fareeha laughed.

“Where’s this safe house?” Olivia asked, pulling out a cheap paper map from the bag.

“The border of Romania,” Angela said, pointing it out.

“That’s a full day of driving, maybe two. Our best bet is still to dip down into the Balkans,” Olivia said, pointing the route out. “They’re mostly lawless failed states, but we won’t run into any armies down there.”

“As okay as we can be in the Balkans,” Fareeha snorted. “We roll out in the morning. Olivia, stay online as long as you can. Try to get your network to keep an eye on us; any heads up about kill teams or search parties will keep us ahead of the game.”

“Already got feelers out, boss.”

The door opened. Lena and Zarya walked back in.

“She did an excellent job supervising,” Zarya said.

“Great, we just finished planning out our route,” Fareeha said.

“Wait, wait, let me guess,” Lena said, “we’ll be driving damn-near non-stop.”

“It’s like you’re psychic.”

“Glad I got a little bit of moving in,” Lena sighed. “I hate being cooped up in a car seat.”

“I know what you mean,” Angela said.

Chapter Text

Dawn came too soon, and with another breakfast of cold, canned soup. Once everyone finished eating, Angela followed the squad to the truck as the last bit of night faded away.

Georgiy jogged ahead, reached into the bag of supplies they bought the day before, and pulled out a can of black spray paint. He covered the stenciled USSR star along the van.

“Now we are true deserters,” he grinned.

“Bet it feels good sayin’ that, yeah?” Lena asked, putting on a backpack.

“Lena, please take the back,” Angela said. “You need to lay down as much as possible.”

“But I feel fine,” Lena protested.

“Do you?” Akande smiled. “Really…?”

“Almost fine,” she grumbled.

“Lena, we all know you want to help,” Fareeha said, “but we need you to rest.”

“Can I at least take a driving shift sometime?”

“I can make this ‘rest’ suggestion an order,” Fareeha said flatly.

“Fine, fine, I get it,” Lena said, tossing her hands up in the air.

She climbed in and took the very back seat of the van. Angela took the next row, and she heard Lena sigh in relief as she laid down, despite her grumbling just a second ago.

“Zarya, you said we’re still in range of Soviet airplanes, right?” Fareeha asked.

“Yes,” she replied as took the driver’s seat. “I do not know how the Nazi air defense is, but Stalin might send out drones to look for us.”

“Then we need to stay in cover as much as possible; stick to forests as much as you can.”

“It is not like we can go too far into the Balkans,” Georgiey chuckled. “Too many mountains, we will not have enough gas.”

Zarya turned on the engine and pulled onto the road. Angela tried to get comfortable as they drove, but sleep evaded her; she simply felt too giddy. Even with Fareeha sitting next to her, eventually drifting off to sleep with her head on her shoulder, Angela couldn’t find it in her to relax.

Not that that seemed to bother Fareeha or Akande. Both were sleeping in a matter of seconds.

Zarya and Georgiey didn’t seem tired, and they chatted in Russian as they drove. Time seemed to drag, the scenery seemed to flow together in a haze of trees, open hills, and the occasional outskirts of towns that they avoided.

Minutes blended into hours as they drove through the Balkan countryside, making Angela question her sanity. Time couldn’t be moving this slowly. But move slow it did.

“Hey, boss,” Olivia called. She had her laptop open. “Think we got trouble.”

Angela gently shook Fareeha awake.

“What? What’s happening? Anyone shooting at us?”

“Not yet,” Olivia said. “Got a hit off my network; Nazi forces are making a bee-line for the Balkans. Looks like they guessed our plan, and are trying to catch us before we can make a mad dash across Europe.”

“What are we up against?” Fareeha asked.

“That’s the thing; I don’t know,” Olivia sighed. “The Krauts are keeping their cards close to their chest; my network could only get a hint from spy satellites. We can only guess.”

“What about the encryption keys I gave you?” Angela asked. “Are those not working?”

“Once the Nazis found out you were alive, they changed them real quick. We’ll need a crypto-breaker or a supercomputer to crack them, my laptop doesn’t have the processing power or juice to crack this.”

The mood grew tense. Lena sat up from the back row, her eyes full of nervous energy.

“Wake Akande up,” Fareeha said. “We’ll need to plan, see what ideas everyone has.”

“Olivia,” Angela said, “is there a way you can access the Nazi intranet?”

“The Nazi-net? You want to update your mandatory social media profile? Change it from ‘dead’ to ‘alive?’” She said in a good-natured grin.

“I rarely use my profile,” Angela huffed. Yet despite herself, she did laugh a little. “I can get us help. Blackwatch has a few secure sites, places we can request data dumps, or call for backup. They’re unindexed, unsearchable, and our tech teams constantly monitor them.”

“Unindexed sites are good,” Olivia nodded. “I’m surprised you can get away with them.”

“It isn’t easy. The Gestapo constantly audits data centers. We have to move them around.”

“Seriously? They look at each data center?”

“The Gestapo learned very quickly how much of a fool’s errand it is to scan for each web site remotely. It’s easier to mandate that every web page has to be located on a state-run data center, and audit the centers accordingly.”

“You some kind of computer expert now?”

“Just enough to know how to stay safe,” she smiled. “You’re still the computer witch.”

“Damn right I am,” Olivia grinned back. “Well, the Nazi internet can only be accessed on-site. That means we need to find a place to connect the internet.”

“We cannot go to the Reich just for a computer,” Zarya said.

“Then it’s a good thing there are kill teams out looking for us,” Akande said. “Would they have some Nazi hot spot they carry to let them online?”

“It’s the only way to keep in contact with the temperamental Führer,” Angela nodded.

“Shit, this is crazy,” Fareeha said, shaking her head with a grin. “We’re planning on finding a kill team instead of running from them.”

“Come on, boss, it’s the only way to get any kind of info,” Olivia said.

“I know, but there’s so many unknowns. How many kill teams there are, how big the teams are, what kind of hardware they have…”

“It can’t be much,” Angela said. “Hitler can’t move his standing armies, not without giving Russia a chance to invade.”

“I still don’t like it,” Fareeha said.

“But running into danger is my kind of crazy,” Lena grinned.

“Olivia, is your network able to give us the location of that kill team?” Fareeha asked.

“Don’t think so, boss. Best I got is a general head’s up.”

“Then we’re running blind until we find them,” Fareeha hissed. “Right, no more sleeping. Get everything ready; we might be running into some fucking Nazis at any second.”

Weapons were pulled out and loaded. Akande readied Zarya’s massive gun for her, placing it by her. Angela took out the pistol that Lena gave her back in the Middle East, and got ready for the worst part: waiting for something.

The sun crested the sky as they made their way across the string of failed nations. The road remained relatively flat, but off in the distance Angela could see the ground raising up, marking the beginning of the mountainous region of the Balkans.

But they kept away from the mountains, remaining in the relative safety provided by the trees. Angela occasionally looked up at the sky, just to see if she could see a plane or drone, but she only saw rolling clouds that covered the sun. Fortunately, the towns they passed through were small, with roughly built houses or bombed out ruins. Angela saw a few people going about their business, loading up flatbed trucks, driving about in second-hand Soviet cars, or trading at open air markets.

“Wish I could’ve seen this place before all the ethnic shit went down,” Fareeha said. “This is a beautiful country.”

“I heard the cities were amazing,” Angela said, gazing out the window with Fareeha.

“Yeah, then the damn Nazis had to fuck it up again.”

“As much as it pains me to say, it wasn’t the Nazis that started the first ethnic cleansing,” she sighed. “It just came to a head in the nineties.”

“But the Nazis didn’t help, did they?”

“Of course they didn’t!”

Fareeha laughed, looking out of the window.

“Such a fucking shame. I wish the Allies could have done something.”

“I wish we could have, too,” Angela sighed. “Blackwatch tried running as many covert operations as possible during the cleanses, but it was just too hard to do any real good. Not without endangering ourselves.”

“But at least you did something,” Fareeha said.

Angela looked at her wrists. She didn’t get any tattoos for the various ethnic cleansing, but she always felt like she could have done some true good.

“It wasn’t enough.”

“But it was something.” Fareeha spoke gently, but her voice had a firm edge to it. She didn’t speak in a reprimanding tone, but in a tone of confidence, of reassurance.

Angela paused at that.

“Yes, it was. I’m sorry, but when you get in the business of saving people, you will always feel that you need to save more.”

“That’s what I like about you,” Fareeha smiled. “You’re so damned committed to helping.”

Angela felt her cheeks reddening, so she busied herself by looking out the other window.

The ride lapsed into silence as everyone kept their eyes peeled for any signs of Nazis. But in the villages they drove by, or drove through, they only saw a handful of people, either walking about, or driving this way and that; no one gave them a second look.

“Guess they don’t care about some Russkie defectors,” Lena said, looking at the civilians who looked back at them.

“That is good,” Zarya said. “We might be in trouble if they reported us.”

“Report us?” Akande asked. “To whom?”

“Anyone who might give our position away to Stalin. We are still in range of Russian air support. They bribe locals for their help.”

A radio squawked out something garbled. Olivia fumbled, pulling open her laptop.

“What was that?” Fareeha said.

“I was frequency hopping, trying to see if I got anything,” she said, typing on her laptop. “Got a burst of static on an encrypted Nazi radio channel.”

“What are they saying?” Georgiy asked.

“I don’t know, it’s encrypted. But they’re talking, and if it’s by radio, we’re in range.”

“The average Nazi combat radio has a maximum range of ten kilometers,” Angela said. “It’s shorter in cities, maybe five. We must be close.”

“Even if we shoot for a medium of seven, it’s still a lot of space,” Fareeha said, “but better than running blind. Zarya, slow down. Everyone, be on the lookout.”

“This is bad,” Georgiy grumbled. “Urban fighting is not good for a small group.”

Angela looked out the truck. They had entered a destroyed city, passing a few signs that she could neither read nor make out. But the city seemed decently big. There were already a few ruined concrete buildings several stories tall, and they were just on the outskirts.

All the while, the sky grew darker, and the clouds grew bigger and heavier.

“Georgiy is right, a small group in a truck is a prime target,” Zarya nodded. “We should ditch the truck.”

“Can I vote to not hoof it?” Lena asked.

“Have to side with the Russians here, Lena,” Fareeha said. “I don’t think we should drive around in anything Russian related when the Nazis are this close.”

“No, we should stay in the truck, not just for Lena, but to stay mobile,” Angela said. “If we get spotted, we can run.”

“If we get spotted, we already lost,” Fareeha said. “The best chance we’ll have is to slip away, and we can’t do that in a big truck. Besides, the streets here are getting clogged with broken cars and debris; a big truck hampers us, blocks us in. If we hoof it, we can get to places the truck can’t get to. Zarya, pull over, we’re walking.”

Zarya pulled off the main road, taking a pothole thick side street, then stopped the truck.

“I’ll carry your load,” the large woman told Lena. “You need your rest.”

“Aw, you’re making me blush.”

Angela got out and gathered her backpack as the squad left the truck. She double-checked everything, making sure that she had both her Caduceus and the Muninn.

“Ready,” she said.

“Good,” Fareeha said. She had her backpack on, and her rifle shouldered. “Move out.”

Zarya and Akande walked point, followed by Olivia and Fareeha. Angela walked just behind Fareeha, with Lena and Georgiy bringing up the rear.

They stuck to side streets, walking by buildings and apartments that became closer and closer packed together. Angela thought she had started walking through Munich, or at least a small, abandoned suburb of Munich. The streets were long and twisting, with old, rusted cars stuffing them to near congestion.

Fareeha made the right call, leaving the truck, she thought.

In the distance, thunder rumbled.

“Better not fucking rain,” Lena mumbled.

“Don’t you jinx it,” Akande hissed.

But the air felt sticky with humidity, the sky growing more and more overcast.

“Any signs of anything?” Fareeha asked.

“No, nothing,” Zarya said.

“Shit, this is creepy. Like a damn ghost town,” Lena mumbled.

“This isn’t exactly the most stable place,” Olivia said. “Maybe people are staying indoors to get away from whatever fight is threatening.”

“Maybe they’re trying to stay away from the Nazis,” Angela said.

“Could be that, too.”

“Quiet, I hear something,” Akande said.

Everyone got real quiet, and began moving slower. The group pressed themselves up against buildings as they walked on. Zarya quietly peaked her head around the corner, then ducked back.

“Contact,” she whispered. “Nazi truck, twenty meters out.”

“We actually found them,” Fareeha said. “Fuck, we should go around them.”

“Boss, I need to get my hands on their hot spot,” Olivia said.

“I know, I know, but there’s so much we don’t know.” Fareeha paused. “Fuck. Okay, we need to end this fight as fast as possible; nobody move or shoot until I do it first. Lena, Georgiy, Olivia, you keep eyes on our rear. Akande, you’re with me. Zarya, you’re our heavy support; keep your head on a swivel, and bring the pain if we call for it. Hooah?”

“Hooah,” Akande said.

“Good. Let’s go kill some Nazis.”

Angela pulled out a set of ear protection, opened an aid kit, and readied her Caduceus. Akande and Fareeha quietly ran around the corner of the building, using hand signs. Zarya stood by the corner, shouldering her machine gun. She slowly, quietly, racked the bolt.

Angela peeked her head around the Russian. Sure enough, a truck with a giant swastika painted on the side sat in the middle of the road, surrounded by small shops, ruined buildings, and rusted cars. It seemed lightly armored, more for transporting a squad from a firefight than actually driving into one.

A soldier sat in the turret. He smoked nervously, chatting with a friend of his. Angela cringed; the soldiers were more boys than men.

They must be part of the German Home Army, she thought. No, maybe they’re still in the Hitler Youth.

Fareeha and Akande slunk behind rusted cars, hidden by the heaps. Suddenly, a man wearing a long black trench coat walked around the truck, and they ducked out of sight. Fortunately, they weren’t spotted.

Angela blinked.

An SS officer? What is he doing here?

“Focus!” The SS officer snapped. Angela realized how long it had been since she heard German. Part of her didn’t miss it. “We’re in enemy territory!”

“S-sorry, sir, but we have eyes in the sky,” a boy said. “Good ones, too.”

“We’re here to hunt down the traitorous Angel and her untermensch companions, recover the greatest machine ever to grace the Fatherland, and to support the newest tool in the Reich’s armory. We cannot sit idly by! We could be attacked at any moment!”

Fareeha rose up from behind the car and pumped three rounds into the SS man, once in the head, two in the body. He fell roughly, dead before he hit the ground.

Angela closed her eyes as Akande opened up on the truck, his machine gun clattering away. At first, the truck’s armor held, the bulletproof glass flexed but stayed strong, but he shot it from point blank range, on full-auto.

Angela could hear the glass giving. The boy soldiers yelled, then went quiet.

“Contact,” Zarya yelled, opening up with her own massive machine gun. Angela opened her eyes, curiosity demanding that she see. A team of boys had walked into the open; they were barely able to fill their cheap uniforms. They spotted the attack, but were shocked into inactivity.

That hesitation proved to be their deaths. Angela watched as tracer rounds tore their tiny bodies apart.

“Clear,” Fareeha barked.

“Clear,” Akande called.

“Olivia, smash and grab!”

The Spanish woman sprinted to the truck, pulling the door open. A dead body fell out, but she paid it no mind as she rooted around. Angela couldn’t bring herself to watch.

“Got it,” Olivia cried. “Enemy intelligence is ours.”

“Bug out,” Fareeha said. “This way!”

Georgiy and Lena ran. Zarya shook Angela, pulling her from her stupor.

I should get tattoos for the lives of those boys.

Still she ran, bringing up the rear. Fareeha and Akande were already at the corner of the street, scanning it for enemies. Lena slowed, clutching her stomach. Zarya scooped her up like she weighed nothing; she didn’t even break her stride.

“See any Nazis?” Zarya called.

“Nothing,” Akande said.

“Good,” Fareeha said, loading a new magazine. “Let’s keep it that way. Go.”

They ran for a few blocks, putting distance between them and the ambush site. They had to be in the downtown area; the buildings were tallest here, but only for a block or two. The city had clearly seen many battles, having nearly been razed to the ground.

“There.” Fareeha ran into a store. It used to be a convenience store, long since robbed, looted, and burned. They ran in, and saw a stairwell leading to a higher level.

“Second floor. Go.”

Akande led them up the nearly ruined stairwell. Walls were destroyed, opening up almost the entire ruined floor. Even the outside walls were crumbling, giving them a view of the area. Debris littered the ground, making them all check their steps.

“Good one,” Fareeha said, coming to a stop. “Lena, how are you holding up?”

“Fine, but I don’t think I’ll be running marathons soon,” she said, gasping for breath as Zarya set her down. “Shit, that winded me.”

“We can’t make Lena run anymore,” Angela pleaded. “It could reopen up her wounds.”

“I’m sorry, but we couldn’t stand around an ambush site,” Fareeha said. “Speaking of which; Olivia, what did you get?”

“One Nazi hot spot, a journal from the SS asshole, and a radio,” Olivia grinned. “It should be keyed into their local channel, no hacking required.”

“Give me your laptop when it’s connected,” Angela said, trying to forget the boys that were killed. They were Nazis, yes, but they were still boys. “I’ll get a data dump.”

“Repeat, shots heard, verify target,” the radio chirped. A woman spoke. She spoke in German, but with a French accent. “Repeat, shots heard. Handler, come in.”

“’Handler?’ Who’s that?” Olivia said.

“That’s the Widowmaker,” Angela gasped.

“’The Widowmaker?’ Which Widowmaker?”

“That was the name Markus gave to Amélie after we used Muninn on her.”

“Amélie? Amélie Lacroix?” Lena demanded. “She’s here?”

“That’s why the SS were here,” Angela said, realization dawning on her. “They claimed the Widowmaker as their own, and sent It on assassination missions in France. They must have pulled It back, sent It here to track us down.”

“Why Amélie?” Lena asked.

“Her mind has been reprogrammed by Muninn. She’s the Widowmaker now, blindly following orders. Hitler can’t pull his armies out to track us down. So he sent the Widowmaker after us. It’s the only trump card he can play.”

“Handler, respond.”

“Shit,” Fareeha said, breaking the silence. “This complicates things.”

Angela grabbed the radio.

“Uh—this is Handler, over,” she said. “We thought we saw the enemy, but it was nothing, trigger itchy soldiers.”

“What are you doing?” Fareeha hissed.

“Trying to get It to stand down.”

“Krieg Nine,” came the response.

“Uh…Blitz?”

The radio went dead.

“Well done,” Olivia chuckled.

“I had to try!”

“Does anyone know what that means?” Georgiy asked. “Anyone who speaks German?”

“I don’t know, I can only guess ‘Krieg Nine’ is a code word challenge,” Angela said. “And I failed it. I have no idea what the Widowmaker will do.”

“Olivia, you said you got a notebook off the SS man, right?” Fareeha said. “That’s probably got their codes in it. Angela, work with her.”

“Not a problem, boss.”

“Can we please find a way to save Amélie?” Angela begged.

“Hell no, we have to get you to Allied High Command,” Fareeha said. “We can’t take any side missions.”

“But Amélie is a brainwashing victim.”

“Just like everyone else in the Reich, right?” Fareeha chuckled flatly.

“I…I mean, please, I have to save her, I have to make this right.”

“Angela, I’m glad you want to help, but you’re the VIP; you take priority.”

“But we have a chance to stop the Widowmaker from hunting us,” Angela pleaded. “Markus’ programming is absolute; Amélie is now a wind-up soldier, and if It is hunting us, It will never stop. But if It is in the city, or near the city, we could catch It. We can undo the programming, and then no one will be chasing us.”

Fareeha gave her a hard look. Angela looked back, trying not to let her hands shake. Markus might’ve created Muninn and the Widowmaker template, but she had been the one that brainwashed Amélie. She felt responsible for her pain.

“Not getting chased does sound good,” Fareeha finally said. Angela let go of her breathe.

“We’re rescuing her?” Akande asked.

“Angela has a point; if Amélie is here, we can catch her, and turn off this programming. Keeps us from having to check our backs, and it denies the Nazis an edge on us,” Fareeha said, her voice filled with passion. “Besides, she’s a victim. We should at least try to save her.”

Angela smiled. Maybe this would be a way to earn some kind of redemption for her sins.

“Everyone, dig in,” Fareeha said. “We’re not moving until we know what Amélie is up to, or where she is.”

Angela rubbed her eyes. Going through the SS notes gave her a headache. They had their own way of organizing information, and it just seemed so ass backwards. It didn’t help that it started drizzling. It made the ruined buildings that much more foreboding.

“This is a fucking pain,” Olivia groaned. Together, they had scavenged a few busted chairs to sit on as they worked.

“Glad I’m not the only one who thinks so,” Angela mumbled.

“Hey,” Lena said, walking up to them, two cans of soup in hand. “I don’t mean to seem antsy, but what’s the status of this?”

“We’ve cracked the Widowmaker’s orders,” Angela said. “Just as we expected, It’s part of a hunter-killer team.”

“And she has her own codes that can get her to do stuff, act independently if needs be,” Olivia said, taking the soup. “We think we can knock her off her programming, keep her down while we move in.”

“And how is that done?” Lena asked.

“Code words,” Angela said.

“If she’s brainwashed, can you just tell her to sleep?”

“The Widowmaker’s default programming has a failsafe; It can only be put to sleep in person. That’s to keep It from being sabotaged by people like us, from a distance.”

“Wait, why can she even be controlled?” Lena asked, her brow furrowing. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to change her programming with Muninn instead of with code words?”

“It would be, but Markus built the coding for his Widowmaker template with a degree of generic-ness. He wanted to show the SS that Muninn can be used for any application, not just in a limited sense, and certainly not to be limited by being away from a Muninn should they have to reprogram it. So he made the template reprogrammable with the correct code words.”

“And the SS just grabbed her, and started using her?”

“The Widowmaker template has proven Itself very useful,” Angela said, shame coloring her voice.

“Gilipollas,” Olivia cursed. “But you’ve got the codes, right?”

“They’re right here.” Angela held up Markus’ little red journal.

“Fucking great,” Lena said. “Well, when do you think we can make a move?”

“Soon,” Olivia said.

“Even better. I’m getting cagey.”

Lena turned to walk back to Zarya. Angela stirred her soup with a cheap metal spoon when a gunshot cracked the air, making her jump. Something hot and salty splattered her face. And Lena hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Chapter Text

“Lena?” Zarya cried.

She had fallen like a puppet with its strings cut. 

“Lena!”

Angela realized that she had been splattered with Lena’s blood.

“Holy shit, sniper!” Fareeha shouted. “Everyone back!”

Fareeha, Akande, and the Russians all back peddled. Angela could hear Olivia falling and scrambling backwards, but she couldn’t move.

Lena lay on the ground, limbs tangled. Blood, brain, and skull fragments speckled the floor. Angela could hear her pulse thundering in her ears, but that faded, replaced with an dull, all-encompassing ring, a kind of tinnitus that muted the screaming and yelling.

“Where did that come from?” Georgiy screamed, sounding a million miles away.

Angela felt locked in her own body, staring at Lena’s corpse.

“Outside, east bound,” Akande barked.

Olivia pulled Angela off her chair. She hit the unyielding floor, but the shock and pain jolted her, getting her body to finally click into gear, letting her move.

“Everyone, stay down,” Fareeha said, her voice thick with emotion. Despite that, she spoke calmly, evenly. “Keep low, move to the hallway.”

The wall had a gaping hole in it, exposing it to the outside. The shot came from there.

Angela followed Olivia, pressing herself against the ground. Her body shook as she crawled.

I’ve never seen a friend die before, she realized.

Angela crawled out into the debris-strewn hallway. Everything had gotten so quiet.

“Angela, can…can you save her?” Fareeha asked. She stoically tried to keep it all bottled up, and seemed to mostly succeed.

“Fareeha, I’m so sorry, but she’s dead.” This didn’t feel real. It couldn’t be real.

“Fuck!” Fareeha slammed her fist into the ruined wall, shaking dust loose.

Angela numbly looked at everyone. Akande seemed emotionless, but intentionally so; Angela could see him keep a very, very even face. Olivia trembled, but didn’t seem any different. Fareeha looked the most animated, her eyes darting this way and that, but she kept a firm grip on her gun.

Georgiy didn’t seem very effected, but Angela could see his hand flexing, opening and closing, fiddling with a clasp on his gun. Zarya looked the most distressed, with her mouth pressed into a very thin line.

“This was Amélie,” Olivia mumbled. Angela could hear stress in her voice; no, not stress, but anger. Forced anger, as if Olivia wanted to be angry instead of sad. “She was ordered to track us down. Looks like she found us.”

“How the hell do we know that’s Amélie?” Akande pressed.

“We checked the SS’ handbook; there’s no other Nazi forces in the area. Since we failed the code word challenge, she’s assuming her handler is dead, and will act alone. She’ll hunts us down, no matter what.”

“Can we still stop her?” Fareeha asked.

“I…I need a new radio frequency to reach her,” Angela mumbled. “I can get it from Blackwatch.” The ringing in her ears faded, but she wished it didn’t; it would save her from the stressful beating of her heart. “I just need the laptop.”

“Everyone, listen,” Fareeha said. “This…shit, Lena was a good soldier and an even better friend. She didn’t deserve this. Once this is over, we’ll give her a burial, the best we can with what we’ve got. But we need to get Amélie.”

“You want us to rescue the crazy fucking sniper?” Georgiy demanded.

“If we don’t, she’ll hunt us down. She’s also brainwashed; we have to try and save her.”

“Bullshit, we should kill her—“

“We have to save someone!!” Fareeha yelled, her voice cracking.

Georgiy looked around, trying to find anyone to speak out against Fareeha. But everyone nodded their agreement. Even Zarya grudgingly nodded.

“A burial. That is good,” he grumbled. “It is what I would want.”

“It’s what anyone of us would want,” Olivia said, her carefully held neutral tone cracking.

“Then we find a way to save Amélie, then we bury Lena,” Fareeha said. “Angela, please, see if you can find out what frequency Amélie is on, see if we can trigger something in her to give us an opportunity to get her.”

She nodded. Olivia logged into her laptop for her, then went to rubbing her eyes, cursing to herself, trying to get angry.

Angela tried to type, but her hands kept shaking; she had to resort to hunting and pecking. She connected to the Reich-net, and entered an un-indexed website.

A simple, crudely-made website for travel to Bavaria greeted her, showing small, family owned bread and breakfasts. One could mistake it for a real mom-and-pop web site.

She navigated to a ‘reserve’ page, and put in her request.

Contact info for Balkan trip needed. South-eastern border of the Reich. ID 18375.

She didn’t have to wait long. The laptop chirped, showing an added file.

Itinerary connected. [Zip attachment, Swiss Whore.]

“Got it,” Angela said. She couldn’t help but smile at the file name.

Olivia snatched the laptop from her hands.

“Shit, Blackwatch is something,” she gaped. “We’ve got access codes for every single goddamn radio frequency in the area, and planned troop movements for the next week.”

“Blackwatch looks out for its own,” Angela said, her pride tasting sour on her tongue.

“So what do we do with this?” Zarya asked. “Can we tell this sniper to let us go?”

“It won’t be that easy,” she sighed. “We can’t give the Widowmaker any mission altering orders by radio. We need to be in the same room as It.”

“You make it sound like Amélie is a wind-up soldier,” Fareeha said.

“It is. Markus’ Muninn isn’t finished; all he could do was make a person act like an automata.” 

“Amélie is blindly following her orders, killing who they tell her to kill without remorse, and that’s version one-point-oh?” Olivia spat.

“This is why we need to stop her,” Fareeha said. “We have a plan. Angela, you get on a radio, get Amélie to fall back to a certain position. Once we’re out of her view, I’ll make a move for her, grab her, and de-program her.”

“You, deprogram the Widowmaker?” Angela said. “I’m sorry, you don’t know the process.”

“I can learn real quick.”

“Can you read German?”

“No,” she grumbled.

“Then I’ll have to accompany you,” Angela said. “Olivia might’ve decoded a large part of Markus’ journal, but I’m still the only expert on Muninn. You’ll need me if you want to save Amélie.”

“She’s got a point, boss,” Olivia sighed. “She knows this shit better than anyone.”

“You’re the VIP,” Fareeha said stubbornly. “We have to keep you safe.”

“Argue when we are not under sniper fire,” Georgiy spat.

“Fine,” Fareeha said in a huff. “Get on the radio.”

Olivia handed the stolen Nazi radio to Angela. She consulted the stolen SS notebook, and keyed in the correct passcode.

“Hamburg Radio Nine-Seven to Frankfort-Two. Frankfort-Two , respond,” Angela said, switching to German.

Angela counted the seconds, waiting for a response.

“Hamburg Radio, confirm frequency,” the radio hissed.

“That’s the challenge,” Angela said. “We’ve got It.”

She flicked back to the radio.

“’Hamburg rises from the ashes of nuclear attack.’”

“Challenge confirmed. Frankfort-Two, ready for orders.”

“It took it,” Angela sighed in relief. “Frankfort-Two, status report.”

“Situated in a three-story building in grid E7,” the Widowmaker reported. “One hostile down.”

Angela but her lip. For Lena to be reduced to a ‘hostile…’ She flipped through the stolen SS notes, blinking back tears.

“Fall back to position nine. Await updates.”

“Understood. Moving.”

Angela counted one minute, then two.

“I think we’re good.”

“Then we need to move,” Fareeha said. “Angela, where did you send her?”

“To a house half a kilometer away. It’s here on the map.”

“Akande, you’ve got the squad while I’m gone,” Fareeha said. “Get us set up for the night, we might get more hostiles in bound. And can…can you…can you take care of Lena? We can’t leave her out like this.”

Fareeha turned to Angela, a look of grim professionalism on her face.

“Remember, you’re the Package. It’s my duty to protect you. Stay with me, and move when I tell you to. Let’s go.”

Angela grabbed her bag and Fareeha shouldered her rifle, making her way down the stairwell. Angela followed; soon they were out into the rainy, ruined streets.

“Will she be looking for us?” Fareeha asked.

“No, It’ll be waiting for the SS to debrief It,” Angela said, clutching the waterproof bag close to her chest. The rain wasn’t heavy, but she had already gotten soaked.

Fareeha led the way, and Angela fell in behind her. They ran through the rain and the damaged city, the streets eerily quiet. A strange sense of serenity filled her; the city looked peaceful and unsettling.

It’s like no one is in the city but the souls of the dead, watching us, judging us.

“Slow down,” she said, placing a hand on Fareeha’s shoulder. “We’re getting close.”

“Where is it?”

“There.” Angela pointed to a large, bombed out two story house. But still stood steady.

“And Amélie isn’t looking for enemies?”

“No, It’s waiting for friendlies.” Angela brushed her wet hair back.

“Then let’s get her.”

Fareeha jogged towards the house, Angela hot on her heels. Part of her expected to be killed at a moment. She expected the world to go dark, for a shot to ring out that lead to nothingness, but nothing happened. They made it to the house easily enough.

“Where would Amélie be?” Fareeha asked.

“Top floor.”

“Can you get her to not shoot us? Maybe clean her rifle?”

“I think so.”

She reached into the bag and pulled out the SS man’s journal.

“Frankfort-Two, weapon check,” she said into the radio.

“Understood. Checking and cleaning.”

“We have a minute or two.”

They ran through the destroyed house. Fareeha pointed out a stairwell and took the stairs two at a time. At the landing, Angela saw the Widowmaker.

Being installed in Amélie’s mind, the Widowmaker had her looks; long black hair, pale pallid skin, elegant demeanor, but the Widowmaker wore a SS combat uniform.

The Widowmaker had Its rifle broken open, beginning the cleaning process. It looked up, and saw Fareeha changing. Hissing in reflexive anger, the Widowmaker tried to pull out a pistol.

Fareeha threw her rifle, making the Widowmaker bring its hands up to knock it aside. She charged, tackling the thin, brainwashed woman.

“Angela! Do the thing!”

The Widowmaker spat and yelled a guttural, rage filled scream. It thrashed and kicked, but Fareeha drove it to the ground, and wrapped her arms around It.

“Now! She’s really fighting!”

Angela ran over, Markus’ book in hand. The Widowmaker sunk Its teeth into Fareeha’s shoulder, drawing blood and a scream.

“Longing. Rusted. Seventeen,” Angela began.

The Widowmaker began thrashing even harder; It’s programming made It resist any attempts for an enemy to deprogram It. It bit Fareeha even harder, muscles and sinew standing out on Its stolen jaw, but Fareeha kept herself from crying out.

“Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight Car.”

Suddenly, the Widowmaker stopped fighting, going completely limp. It let go of Fareeha’s arm. Angela urged Fareeha aside. As soon as Fareeha moved off, the Widowmaker sat up, eyes blank.

“Soldier?” Angela said, completing the activation process.

“Ready to comply,” the template said.

“Thank God,” Angela sighed. “Give current mission.”

“Locate and kill traitor Angela Ziegler with extreme prejudice.”

“Erase standing order.”

“Erased.”

“Give current mission.”

“No current mission.”

Fareeha stared with horror.

“New mission: protect Angela Ziegler and companions. Angela Ziegler is commanding officer. Confirm.”

“Mission: protect Angela Ziegler and companions. Angela Ziegler is commanding officer.”

“What are you doing?” Fareeha demanded.

“I’m giving It new orders.”

“We’re here to save her, not to use her,” Fareeha snarled.

“If I don’t erase the last orders and overwrite them, It might revert back to them; It could kill us if we’re not careful.”

“So we save her from being a tool of the Reich, and use her as our own personal slave?!”

“We can’t do anything else for Amélie! Not now! We can only keep the Widowmaker on our side, keep It—“

Angela turned, and saw Fareeha’s fist a split second before it hit her. She fell to the ground, her head exploding in pain. Stars danced across her eyes.

“’Use her?’” Fareeha spat. “That sounds like something a fucking Nazi would say.”

Terror filled Angela as she looked up at Fareeha from the ground. Fear froze her veins. But not fear of getting hit again. She dreaded what Fareeha would make her do.

“Please,” she gasped, “you don’t understand—“

“I think I understand plenty well,” Fareeha snapped. “You can undo this, right? You can get her back to Amélie, not this fucking fascist wind up doll?”

“Please don’t make me—“

“Fucking do it, Red Angel.”

Hearing Fareeha call her the Red Angel in such a bitter tone hurt more than getting punched. She shakily got up, but moved too slowly for Fareeha. The sergeant grabbed her shirt, hauled her up, and pushed Markus’ journal into her hands.

“Bring Amélie back.”

Her hands shaking, Angela flipped to the right page, the one just after her trigger words.

“Fragile. Erase. Ghost. Nine. Famous. Malign. Clock.”

The last word barely left her mouth when Amélie started screaming.

“Amélie!”

Fareeha ran to Amélie, but the woman could only scream. She screamed and wailed in utter anguish. She pulled at her hair, dug her nails into her face.

“Amélie, please, it’s Fareeha Amari. You remember me, don’t you? We’ve met a few times, me and my mother, Colonel Ana Amari.”

Amélie twisted and thrashed. Fareeha held her wrists, keeping her from clawing herself.

“Amélie, please! Say something!”

But Amélie could only cry and howl, utterly inconsolable.

“Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight Car.”

Amélie stopped. It wasn’t a gradual end to her crying; one moment she wailed endlessly, the next she stared ahead, dead eyed and silent. Fareeha fell backwards, stunned.

In but a split-second, Amélie had been replaced with the Widowmaker.

“Soldier?” Angela asked.

“Ready to comply,” It said in French-accented German.

“Give current mission.”

“Mission: protect Angela Ziegler and companions. Angela Ziegler is commanding officer.”

“Go to sleep.”

The Widowmaker laid down and closed Its eyes. Fareeha watched in utter terror.

“That is why I didn’t want to deprogram Amélie,” Angela said, shame faced. “We’ve done terrible things to her…I’ve done terrible things to her. You weren’t there when we first used Muninn on her; it broke her. It utterly shattered her. And Markus didn’t even have the common courtesy to destroy the part of her mind that made her Amélie.

“Fareeha, we made her kill her husband. We made her kill her countrymen. She probably sees those deaths every second she’s awake.”

“I…I didn’t…”

Fareeha tried to compose herself, but she had clearly been shaken to her core.

“C-can we still help her?” She asked in a whisper.

Angela nearly suggested using Muninn on her again to fix her, but bit her tongue.

Fareeha just saw Muninn destroy Amélie, she’ll never want to use it again. God, using it again would be something a Nazi would do.

“I,” Angela started, “don’t know. Certainly not here.”

“Then let’s get her back,” Fareeha mumbled.

“Wait.”

Angela grabbed her aid kit. She pulled out some alcohol pads and antibiotic gel. Fareeha saw and pulled her shirt off, to give her easier access to the bite.

“The human mouth is filthy,” Angela said, her voice barely a whisper. “We can’t let this get infected.”

She pulled out her Caduceus and gave her a quick dose, closing up the wound.

“Thank you,” Fareeha mumbled, pulling her shirt back on, eyes on the floor.

“Widowmaker, wake up.”

The Widowmaker sat up on command. It reached for their rifle, and finished reassembling it.

“Give current mission.”

“Mission: protect Angela Ziegler and companions. Angela Ziegler is commanding officer.”

“Follow me.” She turned to Fareeha. “We’re ready.”

Fareeha gathered up her rifle and made her way down the stairs. Angela followed, the Widowmaker at her heels. They left the building, and made their way back to their temporary base. They climbed the stairs, but Fareeha stopped before they reached their landing.

“Friendly coming out,” she called, sticking her arm out of the landing and waving.

“Star,” Akande yelled.

“Midnight,” Fareeha replied.

“Copy that, sarge. We got you.”

Angela followed Fareeha onto the floor. Akande had set up his machine gun facing the stairwell, giving him control over the area. Seeing Fareeha, he nodded.

Seeing the Widowmaker, he pointed his gun at her.

“It’s okay,” Fareeha said, “she’s with us. We got her.”

Akande hesitantly followed them into the room. Lena had been set off to the side, wrapped in a blanket. Everyone avoided the bloodstained area where she last stood.

Georgiy sat with Zarya; the two of them were talking quietly, wringing their hands, looking utterly dejected. Olivia sat on a piece of rubble, tapping her foot, looking at the ground.

“Fareeha,” Akande mumbled. He held out his hand; Lena’s dog tag hung from his finger. Fareeha took it, and reverently added it to her own tags.

“Why the fuck is she acting like a zombie?” Olivia demanded, pointing at the Widowmaker.

Georgiy and Zarya looked up. Seeing the Widowmaker, they cursed, and reached for their guns.

“Stand down, it’s fine,” Fareeha said, stepping in front of the Widowmaker. “We got her. It’s fine, and…shit, just don’t.” Fareeha’s voice fell. “She’s on our side. Angela was able to program her to ‘watch out’ for us. That just means she won’t try to kill any of us.”

Angela watched as everyone stared death at the Widowmaker.

The Widowmaker stood on, disinterested of their hatred.

“Right,” Fareeha mumbled. “Let’s try to get some rest. We bury Lena first thing in the morning, then we’re on the road again. Georgiy, can you and Zarya go get the truck?”

“I think we should get the SS truck,” Akande said.

“That truck is shot to shit.”

“Yes, but if we’re getting closer to the Reich, a communist truck will cause us trouble, even if we painted over the red star.”

“Fuck, that’s right. I’m sorry, it’s…”

Fareeha trailed off, looking at Lena.

“It’s okay,” Akande said weakly. Tears welled in his eyes.

“Thank you. Get that truck, clean it best you can, and we leave after we bury Lena.”

“What about Amélie?” Zarya asked, pointing.

“I’ll put the Widowmaker to sleep,” Angela said.

Angela could feel everyone glare at her as she led the Widowmaker away from the group.

“Widowmaker, sleep.”

The Widowmaker laid Itself out on the ground, and quickly went to sleep.

“I’ve…I need some space,” she mumbled. “I’ll be on the other side of the building.”

Angela left the room. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her as she left, but let them stare. She just felt too numb. She barely even felt her throbbing eye.

I need more tattoos. For Lena, for the boys that we killed. Fuck, I should’ve brought a marker, just to put something on my skin.

The other side of the building proved just as ruined as the one they stayed at. The outside walls were almost all destroyed, giving her a commanding view of the empty city. It still drizzled. She sat on a pile of rubble and stared out.

God, I wish I had a cigarette.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, rubbing her wrists. Eventually, someone knocked on the wall.

“Hey.”

Angela turned around, and saw Fareeha in the empty doorway. She lamely pointed to a spot next to Angela. Angela nodded, and Fareeha slowly walked in, sitting next to her.

“We got the SS truck.” Fareeha must’ve read her mind, because she held out a cigarette. “Akande found a piece of rubble and a screwdriver. He’s chiseling a headstone.”

“Good.” Angela took it, and lit up the cigarette with Fareeha’s cheap lighter.

“We should get some sleep. And try to eat.”

“We don’t have much soup left.”

“Good thing you’ve got a safe house close by.”

Angela nodded.

“I’m sorry about hitting you,” Fareeha said.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. You might have a black eye because of me.”

“I deserve worse.”

“You don’t.”

“I’m the Red Angel of Verdun. I know exactly what I deserve. I’m glad you hit me.”

“I didn’t mean to punch you, it’s just…it was heated.” Angela could hear the shame in Fareeha’s voice. “What I did was wrong, I lost my cool, and I’m sorry I did it. I can’t believe I could do such a thing.”

“No, you were right, the way I talked about using the Widowmaker, it was something a Nazi would say. And I never, ever want to be a Nazi.”

“You’re not a Nazi.”

“I was raised to fit in with Nazis, I’ve picked up habits to stay hidden. That’s why I’m glad you stopped me. You made me realize how much I was being a Nazi. If I do something like that again, please, punch me again.”

“Stop blaming yourself. You’re just used to passing as a Nazi.”

“That doesn’t excuse my actions.”

“Of course it does! You grew up into a wonderful person in the worst place on Earth.”

“I’m not a good person.”

Fareeha gently took her hand.

“You are,” she said. “I’ve seen you be the best person anyone could be.”

“We’ve known each other for less than a month.”

Fareeha held up her wrist, showing off a tattoo in Arabic.

“This came from a Latin phrase, facta, non verba. Do you know what that means?” 

“‘Deeds, not words.’”

“Exactly. I’ve seen the way you’ve acted. You risked your life to save Lena’s. You ran through gunfire, risked your life to save me! Trust me, as a soldier, you never know someone until you’ve seen them in the shit. When it goes pear shaped, you learn who you can trust. And I trust you.”

Angela looked at the ground.

“You have to stop punishing yourself.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle darkly.

“Do you know what these tattoos are for?” She asked, holding her wrists up.

“Each feather is for a heart you’ve broken,” Fareeha grinned.

“W-what?” Angela sputtered. “How did you hear that?”

“You said that in an interview.” Fareeha couldn’t hide the grin that stretched across her face. “That, and a really long photo op. The Reich published it and leaked it. It was like they were trying to get it to go around the world. Typical Nazi propaganda.”

“You…you read that?” Angela blushed.

“You’ll be surprised what you’ll do when you’re bored as shit,” Fareeha laughed. “Don’t worry, I didn’t read it for the articles.”

Dammit, that fucking interview with Heidi would be the death of me…

“They’re not for the hearts I’ve broken, that’s just a cover,” Angela mumbled. “They’re for a person I’ve hurt.” She pointed to a purple feather on her left wrist, part of one of the full wings. “This feather is for Amélie.”

The humor evaporated from Fareeha’s grin.

“And those wings?” Fareeha gently asked, pointing to the two minimalist wings on her right wrist. Those wings were the only ones that were designed to be actual wings; the rest were feathers that had amalgamated into wings, piecemeal. 

“They’re for my parents. God, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone this.”

“You don’t have to—”

“No, I want to. Then you’ll know why I’m not a good person.”

Chapter Text

The bus pulled to a stop. Angela jumped off and ran up the driveway to their new house.

“New” house. They’ve been living there for five years. Angela knew they had a house before this one, but it had been destroyed when Switzerland fell. It all felt so long ago, like a half-remembered dream.

“Mom, I’m home,” she said, opening the door.

“We’re in here Angela,” her mother called.

She dropped her bag off in her room, and made her way to the kitchen. Her father stirred another large pot of soup, while her mother cut some greens.

“There’s my little angel,” her father said. “How was school?”

“Fine,” she said, sitting at the table.

“That doesn’t sound like a ‘fine,’” her mom said. “Honey, the greens are done here.”

“Thanks, soup will be ready soon.”

“Mom, could we get some chicken soon?” Angela asked, doing her best not to grimace.

“There’s chicken in the soup,” her mother said, making her way to the table.

“I mean real chicken, not the bits dad puts in the soup.”

“Honey, you know times are lean,” her father said. “I know this is asking a lot, but we have to use what we’ve got.”

Angela glowered, but held her tongue.

“Angela, honey, talk to me,” her mother said, sitting next to her. “How are you feeling?”

She really didn’t want to have this talk. So Angela set her face, and smiled at her mom.

“I’m okay.”

“No,” her mother smiled back, “you’re not.”

“I am!”

“A mother can always tell when her daughter is putting on airs. That goes double when her daughter is lying.”

“Mom, I’m okay. Really, I am,” Angela insisted.

“She’s getting better at lying,” her father chuckled.

“She is,” her mother nodded.

Angela could hear the sadness in their voices. And hearing how they saw through her lies, she felt like shrinking back, curling up, waiting to be punished.

“I’m just doing what you’re telling me to do,” she said lamely.

“Honey, we’re not mad at you for lying; we’re glad you’re getting so good,” her mother smiled. Angela could tell her mother forced it.

“God.” Her father leaned on the counter. “We’re rewarding our daughter’s lying.”

“I hate this place too,” her mother said. “But Angela, we’re glad you’re getting so good. Tell me, why do we lie?”

“To keep ourselves safe from the Nazis.” The answer came to her automatically, a well-worn habit they had spent five years pushing into her head.

“And why do we lie to them?” Her father asked, talking as he grabbed bowls.

“Because if they catch us, they’ll send us to camps to be exterminated.” Angela had said that so many times it became mundane, yet it never failed to send a shiver down her spine.

“You’re getting to know what that means, don’t you?” Her mother asked, a sad smile on her face.

“Y-yes,” Angela mumbled.

“Talk to us, what are you feeling?”

“It’s…it’s just…” Angela gasped. “I don’t know. I try to think like how you, dad, and Uncle Reinhardt want me to think; taught me to think. It just gets so confusing. I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

Her mother took a deep breath in; Angela knew she did that because she tried to stay calm and composed. Yet she could see her mother’s eyes tearing up. Her father took her hand.  Her mother squeezed his hand so hard, Angela could see her muscles straining. Not that any of them had many muscles or fat on them, they were mostly skin and bones.

“That’s what I’m scared of, Angela,” her mother said. “God, part of me even hates myself for teaching you how to like to everyone, even yourself.”

“But we have to do it,” her father said. “Because if we don’t, you’ll be caught.”

“What do they tell you about the Jewish people?” Her mother asked.

“That they were a cancer that was bleeding the Fatherland dry, and that they were gotten rid of.”

“What about homosexuals?” Her father said. “Communists? Priests? Unionist? The great ‘war against Jewish Bolshevism?’ The ones who speak out against the ‘glorious’ Reich?”

“The same thing.”

“Angela, darling, we don’t want you to be taken away,” her mother said. “We don’t want to end up like those poor souls. We’re finding ways to fight back, and we’ll find a way to win. But we have to make it look like we’re playing their game. And to do that, we have to lie. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

Her mother wrapped her arms around her, and held her close. Her father joined their hug.

“That’s my girl.”

Angela hugged them back. It felt like forever, but a wind up timer rang.

“Soup is done,” her father said. “Let me get it.”

“Do we have to have so much soup?” Angela asked.

“I know, I know, you’re getting sick of it,” her father sighed. “But we can stretch our food rations further if we have soup.”

“But don’t you and mom work on smuggling things in? I saw you with books and rice last week.”

“Angela,” her mother snapped. “You shouldn’t snoop.”

“Honey, we’re already breaking the law teaching her how to think right,” her father laughed, carrying the pot to the table. “What’s the harm of having her see our protesting?”

“You protest by smuggling?”

“What you have to know about resisting is that every action counts,” her father said. “In this damned Reich, the Nazis made any kind of public protesting illegal; it’ll get you a one-way ticket to a camp. So we have to find other ways of resisting. Smuggling food, wine, books, music, anything to help break the Nazi hold, if only in a person’s mind.

“Uncle Reinhardt works for Blackwatch, and their longest act of resistance is smuggling in Allied movies and music. If people keep their mind free of Nazi-sponsored media, they can resist the Nazis and fascism.

“Why do you think the Reich is everywhere, wants to do everything? If the only thing people know is the Reich, they won’t be able to exist without it. Smuggling books and the such shows them there’s life outside of the Reich. And people will get to be free, if only for a bit, and we can resist the Reich a bit more.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“Ah, she’s finally at the age to learn!” Her father beamed.

“Darling, please,” her mother gasped.

“If we don’t start now, when would we?” He smiled. “Angela, you’re a Ziegler. We can trace our lineage back to the fifteen-hundreds. We’re an old line, and a proud one.”

“And a damned one,” her mother snorted.

“You love that about me,” he grinned.

Angela groaned as her parents kissed.

“Your mother isn’t wrong, though. We Zieglers have a…flaw about us,” he continued. “We’re drawn to do the right thing, even if it ends in tragedy for us.

“When the War began, your grandparents, my parents, saw the danger Hitler represented. They knew that if Germany fell for that silly little man and his moustache, the world would burn. So they began talking, asking about, making connections, all on the off-chance something truly terrible came to pass. Sadly, it did.

“Your grandparents worked with sympathetic Germans to rescue the innocent people the Nazis sent off to their extermination camps. That’s how we met your Uncle Reinhardt and his family.

“We all worked together; us Zieglers, the Wilhelms, Oskar Schindler, the nascent Blackwatch, they all smuggled prisoners out of the camps, out to the world at large. That’s our legacy, Angela. We have to do the right thing. And that’s what we’re doing now, in our own little way. We resist the Reich, and one day, we’ll help bring it all down.”

Angela felt a chill wash over her. Doing the right thing. Yes, that rang true with her. She smiled as he spoke.

“Oh God, I can see it working on her,” her mother groaned.

“You knew what you were getting into when you married me,” her father laughed.

“I hate and love that about you.”

This time, Angela didn’t groan when her parents kissed. She laughed instead.

“Now, let’s eat,” her father said. “Come on, more soup for all of us.”

Angela’s stomach decided that it should growl at that very moment.

“I see you’re looking forward to it,” her mother laughed. “I thought you wanted something more than soup.”

“Is the all-soup lunch wearing on you, my angel?” Her dad asked, a gentle joking tone to his voice.

“N-no! I like the soup! I love it! I eat everything you pack me!”

“Angela…” Her mother spoke firmly, yet with a smile on her face. “Do you eat everything we give you?”

“I do!”

“Then how much of everything do you eat?”

“Everything in the thermos!”

“She’s getting very good at lying,” her father said. He walked to the sink, and started felling up glasses with water.

“Yes, she’s getting too good,” her mother nodded.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do,” her mother laughed. “You’re getting better, but a mother always knows when her daughter is lying. Now, why are you so hungry? You’re a growing girl.”

“I share it—“

A phone rang, cutting her off. Her parents went silent, and the words stopped in her mouth.

It wasn’t the ringing of their normal phone, the one that sat on the counter by the door. That phone rang in a simple, flat tone. This phone rang in a series of chips; two medium chirps, one high, and one low.

“Reinhardt?” Angela’s mother gasped.

“I’ll get it,” her father said tightly. He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out the secret, hidden phone. Angela felt her breath leave her as her father picked up the handset.

“Reinhardt? You shouldn’t be calling this—“

Her father stopped mid-sentence. He staggered back, collapsing against the refrigerator.

“Honey? What—“

“Reinhardt said the Gestapo found us,” he rasped.

Suddenly Angela couldn’t breathe.

“T-they couldn’t have found us,” her mother stammered. “We were careful! We never let anything get traced back to us.”

Her father fumbled with the phone, pressing a button to turn on the speakerphone.

“Reinhardt, tell her.”

“We have feelers in the Gestapo; they just sent me word,” her Uncle said. “They set up multiple undercover operations in Switzerland. I thought Blackwatch had located them all, tagged them so we can avoid them, but we missed a few. You fell for one of them. They have you on tape making anti-Reich pamphlets.”

“Oh God,” her mother cried.

“I told you, be careful,” her Uncle barked. “I told you, keep your head down. Don’t do anything to risk yourself! You weren’t supposed to join anti-Reich movements! You knew the Nazis would be looking for resistance!”

He wasn’t berating them, he begged them, pleaded with them from the future.

“Then we’re supposed to do nothing?” Her father said, his face white. “Zieglers don’t sit idly by. We don’t take inaction. When we see a wrong, we work to right it. That’s what made our grandparents work together to save those trapped in the holocaust camps.”

“God. Damn your thirst for justice. Damn it…oh God, I’m so sorry.” Her Uncle started crying. “I can’t stop this. This is beyond me. They’re going to arrest you. You have to do something, you have to run.”

“Run?” Her father laughed dryly. “We’re in Switzerland! The Nazis control Germany, Italy, Poland, and half of France! Where can we run to? We’re surrounded.”

“I’m trying to save you, you damned fool!”

“The borders have been closed,” her mother mumbled, her eyes brimming with tears. “Smuggling is getting so much harder, even with the pipeline in Saignelégier.”

“I won’t have your blood on my hands. I have too much staining me, I won’t have yours as well!”

Reality finally started to sink in. The Gestapo caught them. Angela suddenly knew that their lives were over. She ran over to her mother and father, and they grabbed her, held her close.

“We have to run,” her mother sobbed. “We have to do something.”

“Something…” Her father said. He stared into space. Then he looked at Angela. “Yes, there’s something we can do.”

“You must do it fast, the Gestapo plan to raid your house in the morning.”

“Reinhardt, I have to call in the favor you said you owe me.”

“Yes?”

“You must live up to your duties as godfather.”

The phone went dead silent for several seconds.

“I understand.”

Her father turned to her.

“Angela, you have to report us.”

“What?” She gasped.

“You have to call the tip line and tell them we’re enemies of the state.”

“Daddy, I’m not turning you in!”

“Reinhardt, if Angela calls the tip line and turns us in, will it keep her safe?”

“We’ll have to sell it. Make a big scene, make it very dramatic, but they’ll believe it. They need the new generation to be loyal to the Reich.”

“Angela, you have to turn us in,” he said.

“I won’t!”

“Angela.” He gently held her face in his hands. “Angela, your mother and I love you more than life itself. And right now, our lives are over. But yours, yours is just starting. We have to save you, and the only way to save you is for you to report us.”

“No, no, no, I won’t!”

“Angela, you have to,” her uncle said. “The Gestapo will be coming for you tomorrow. If you don’t report your parents, they will take you, too. They will starve you, beat you, and they will finally kill you.”

“I…I can’t do that!” Tears were pouring down her face. “Please don’t make me!”

“You must,” her mother said. “We have to save you, Angela. This is the only way.”

“Call me,” Uncle Reinhardt said. “Call me first, but not on this line, use the regular phone; that is tapped, the Gestapo will hear you. Come to me with the suspicion that your parents are traitors. We’ll make a show of it, we’ll dress it up so you’ll stay safe. Then you’ll have to call the report line. Tell them your parents are distributing anti-Reich propaganda; they’ll know that you are a good citizen, you don’t have to be sent away and killed.

“I’ll pull some strings, make sure I’m at the raid tomorrow morning. We will have to become actors, make a big scene of the arrest. Make it very stirring and emotional, just to get you off their radar. But they will buy it. They’ll let you live, and you will live with me.”

Angela buried her face in her father’s chest. She screamed and cried and beat her fists against his chest.

“I can’t! I can’t do it! I won’t do it!”

“Angela, Angela honey,” her mother said. She gently grabbed her shoulders and held her close. “This is the only way to save you. Please, you must be strong, for us.”

Angela sobbed and cried. Both of her parents held her.

“We’ll get her to make the call soon,” her father said.

“I’ll be waiting.”

Angela sat there, crying, clutching at her mother’s shirt.

“Angela, we have to save you,” her father said. “To do that, you must turn us in. You’re a smart girl, you know this is the only way.”

She hated that she knew it.

“Angela, this is your next lesson in doublethink,” her mother said. “You must call us traitors to the Reich, but you must know we’re not the bad people the Nazis make us out to be. Do you understand?”

“I do.” She wanted to chew her own tongue off saying those words, for admitting for even a second that this would be the only thing that she or her parents could do.

Her parents heaved a sigh of relief. Her father tossed the secret phone aside, got up, and grabbed the regular phone, the one that would be tapped by the Nazis. The one she had been told to never use.

“Remember, you have to be a good actor. Call your uncle. Please.”

With shaking hands, Angela dialed. Uncle Reinhardt answered on the fourth ring, nearly letting the call hit voicemail.

“This is Wilhelm,” he said in a worn-out sigh.

“Uncle Reinhardt.”

“Ah, my little Angela!” He roared. How did he make it seem like he knew nothing? How did he pretend like there wasn’t a problem in the world? “Why are you calling so late? A growing girl lie you should be in bed.”

“I need your help,” she said, her voice faltering despite her best efforts. “I…I found pamphlets in daddy’s briefcase.”

“Pamphlets?” Her uncle’s voice suddenly grew serious. “What did they say?”

“I didn’t read them all, but it was against the Reich.”

“You…are you certain?”

“I am. He wants Switzerland to rise against the Reich.”

“That damned snake! I trusted him..!” Uncle Reinhardt’s fist pounded his table, but he backed away from the phone to compose himself. “Are your parents home?”

“They are.”

“Did you call the tip line?”

“No, not yet.” Angela felt like she had been placed on a runaway carousel. “Uncle, I’m scared.”

“This is scary, Angela, but it is natural. You did a good thing, calling me. You’re a good girl, much too good for that man. Dammit, I brought a snake into this glorious house. I’ll be there tomorrow; keep yourself safe until then, do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Good, good. Thank you for reporting them. It must be hard for you.”

She had to pretend to be a good Nazi.

“They’re enemies of the Reich.”

“That they are. Tomorrow, I’ll save you. Now please, call the tip line. I can’t be the only one to know of this.”

“I will. Thank you,” she said before hanging up the phone.

The world spun for Angela. Hate coursed through her veins, she could never forgive herself for speaking these lies.

“You did so good,” her father said, giving her a squeeze.

“Angela, please,” her mother begged, “call the tip line.”

Her school made her memorize the tip line number; she easily punched it into the phone. Her fingers felt numb, disconnected.

“Tip Line,” the woman on the other side said. “Who is this?”

“M-my name is Angela Ziegler, and my parents are…” She took a deep breath. It would be just like tricking the teachers in school, the soldiers who patrolled the town, and the Nazi soldiers who questioned her every few days. She could lie; her mother said she had gotten better.

“My parents are traitors to the Reich. I saw them with propaganda pamphlets.”

“What did these pamphlets say?”

“That the Reich is evil, that the Swiss needed to fight again. I didn’t read it all.”

“Good girl, Angela,” the Nazi woman said with a smile. “This is a very brave thing you’re doing. Are your parents in the house?”

“Yes, but they don’t know I’m calling.”

“Good girl, such a good girl,” the woman cooed. “I’ll send this to the Gestapo, they’ll be there in the morning. The Reich thanks you for your services, Angela. Heil Hitler.”

“Heil Hitler.”

Angela wanted to die as she spoke those two damned words.

“Angela, thank you,” her father sighed. “I’m so happy that you’ll—”

She puked. Her mother grabbed for a trash can as she coughed and spat, crying and heaving even though she hadn’t had any dinner. She felt like dying. She wanted to die.

All the while, her parents held her close.

“It’s okay,” her mother said, a smile on her face. Angela could hear the joy in her mother’s voice; she sounded happy, relieved, ecstatic even. “Angela, oh my little girl, it’s okay.”

“You did so good,” her father beamed. “You learned so much, you did so good.”

Angela could only hold onto her parents and cry.

“Angela. Honey. Listen to me,” her mother said. She gently took Angela’s head in her hands, and looked at her.

Her mother looked both in pain, and overjoyed. Her eyes held nothing but terror, yet her face looked so serene, so at peace, so happy.

“Things will be difficult for you. Oh God, I can’t imagine how bad things will be for you. But you’re strong. You’re a Ziegler, your father’s daughter, my daughter, I know you’ll be fine.”

“Your uncle will take care of you,” her father added. “Trust your uncle, he’ll do what we can’t.”

“Angela, darling…” Her mother’s voice cracked, her face slipped, and Angela saw nothing but raw terror in her eyes. But only for a half second. “We have to go over your real lessons now, and we have to be quick about it. What is doublethink?”

“Accepting two contradictory beliefs as being correct,” she said numbly.

“And who hears what is expected to be said?”

“The Nazis.”

“And who hears what you truly feel?”

“Right now, only family. Un-uncle Reinhardt…”

“Yes, only him right now,” her mother said. “He’ll help you master this. Do you remember what Switzerland was like before the Nazis?”

“A bit,” she mumbled. “It’s so hazy. Like a movie with bits missing.”

“Cherish those memories, Angela,” her father said. “They’re yours; no one can take that from you, not even the Nazis. Now, how are your school lessons? Are they still teaching you math?”

“They want the boys to be soldiers, or mathematicians and scientists.”

“Just the boys?” Her mother laughed bitterly.

“They say we have a duty to the Reich to grow up, find husbands, and have strong sons,” Angela cried.

“Of course they do,” her mother said. “Angela, my love, fascists will always hate women. They will always want to push them into the home, the kitchen, the bedroom. They will always say you’re not enough, that boys are better, that you should give up.

“Please, never give up.” Tears poured from her mother’s eyes, even as she spoke in the clearest voice Angela could ever remember. “Never let them think you are nothing because you are a girl. Please.”

“I won’t,” Angela cried.

“I know you won’t,” her mother smiled. “Tell me, what do you want to be?”

“W-what?” Angela mopped at her tears.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“I…I want to be a doctor.”

“Then be a doctor, Angela,” her father said. “I know you’ll be the best doctor on the continent. Angela, you have such a drive, you have such a good mind, you’re so strong and smart, you can be the best doctor anyone has ever seen!”

“Yes, and don’t let that be the end of it,” her mother said. “Build your own hospital! Help everyone you want, for free! But…but know that the Nazis won’t make it easy for you.”

“They’ll want to push you into the kitchen,” her father nodded. “Push you to have children when you don’t want to. You can’t let them. You can’t let them tell you what to do, what to think, what to feel. You must make them think they have power over you, but you can’t actually give that up. Do you understand?”

“I do, daddy, I do,” she sobbed.

“Then don’t let them get you down,” her mother said. “Be strong, fight for yourself. No one else will, other than your uncle. You have to be strong, you have to fight against what the Nazis tell you. If you want to be a doctor, you’ll have to fight for everything. So be strong, Angela, I know you can be.”

“Yes, you’ll have to be very strong,” her father nodded. “Angela, God, I’m so sorry to be putting you through this. My angel, you’re a Ziegler, and Zieglers cannot stand by idly when injustice exists. Your uncle will help you nurse this feeling, but please, keep it alive in your heart. Never stop fighting for what you know is right. Follow your heart, and you’ll never fail.”

Angela clung to her mother and father. If she let go, even just a little, they would be snatched away. They would be taken away, and she would be left alone.

And her parents clung to her. Angela could feel her shirt being soaked with tears, yet they continued to talk to her.

“You’ll be strong,” her father sobbed. “God, I just know you’ll be strong! You’ll thrive, you’ll grow into such a good woman.”

“And you’ll be the kindest woman ever,” her mother said, her words starting and stopping in time with her sobbing. “You’ll be the greatest doctor in the world, Angela, I just know it. Please, never stop fighting. You’re your father’s daughter, you’re his blood, you’ll be strong and wise and unstoppable, I just know it, please, stay true to yourself…”

Angela cried as they talked, she sobbed, she wished and prayed to God that this would all just be a bad dream, that she would wake up and everything would be better.

But as her mother and father talked to her, she knew this would never end. In the deepest recesses of her mind, Angela knew that this would be the last night she would have with her parents. It made her hold them tighter, cry harder, beg more, yet she knew it wouldn’t change anything.

And Angela hated herself for knowing that.

“Angela,” her mother whispered. She cried so hard, she started to fall asleep, she cried so much she had nothing left. Angela dimly realized that her parents were carrying her to her room. “The next time we see you, we’ll be enemies of the state. Please, curse us. Spit at us. Make the Nazis think you hate us. Please, do it for us.”

“We have to know that you’ll be taken in by your uncle,” her father said. “Can you promise us?”

“I don’t want to,” Angela mumbled, her tears exhausting her.

“Please.”

“I hate you,” she cried. “I hate you for this.”

“Angela, please…”

Her heart cried out in pain. The deepest part of her screamed, twisted, and yet she knew that this would be the last true thing her parents heard of her.

“I will.”

The relief on her mother and father’s face drove the dagger in her heart deeper.

“You’re such a good liar,” her mother said. “You’ll be fine. I know you will.”

Angela wanted to cry, to shout, to scream her agony, but she had already screamed and cried so much, she simply couldn’t anymore. Her father set her down on her bed, and she could only give a weak choke before exhaustion overtook her.

A massive crash woke her up. Angela jumped, screaming.

“Get on the ground!” Men yelled from the hallway. “Get down!!”

Angela screamed as men kicked open her door. They wore black body armor, held black machine guns, wore black helmets and black balaclavas.

There wasn’t anything on them, just black on black on black. Angela shrunk back against their cruel gazes, screaming in terror.

“We have the girl,” one man said. “Weapons down.”

The lead man lowered his gun, and knelt down next to Angela’s bed. Her screaming stopped when she heard his gentle voice.

“Hello, Angela,” he said. Even though he covered his face, Angela could hear his smile. “We’re here to save you. Thank you for telling us about your parents; they’ve been very bad.”

Her parents told her that she had to be strong. She had to be a better liar than she ever thought possible. So she lied to the man with the gun, despite shaking like a leaf in a gale.

“Thank you.”

“Come, there’s someone here for you.”

He took her hand and led her out of her room. He led her into their new house’s tiny living room, where her heart twisted and screamed in pain.

“I’m a German citizen!” Her father yelled.

Angela saw her parents face down on the ground. Armed men knelt on them, guns pointed at the back of their heads. Her heart pounded in her chest.

“I don’t deserve to be treated like this!”

“You’re a Swiss spy,” a massive voice rumbled.

Uncle Reinhardt stormed into the room, along with a man in a black trench coat. The trench coat wearing man had a cap with a silver skull on it, while Uncle Reinhardt wore a simple dress uniform and a black military beret that bore the symbol of Blackwatch.

Angela stared at her uncle. It had been years since she last saw him. His blonde hair and beard were beginning to gray, but that only seemed to highlight the look of barely withheld rage. She never seen him so angry.

“I trusted you,” Uncle Reinhardt rumbled. “I gave you a chance to prove yourself to the Reich, and you spat in my face. I trusted you, and you turned on me, you Swiss bastard!”

“Oh, you finally opened your damned eyes then?” Her father laughed. “Switzerland can’t fight the Reich from the outside, so we fight from the inside. We’ll fight, we’ll find a spot on your back to stick our daggers, and we’ll win.”

“You’ll never win, the Reich is the future.”

“Oh, get off it,” her father snorted. “How could you ever think I liked you in the first place, you fucking Nazi? I used you.”

“I see it now, and I will guard myself better.”

Angela knew her father and uncle were lying, but she had such a hard time believing that. They seemed to absolutely despise each other.

“But there is hope in the Swiss people,” Uncle Reinhardt said with a smile.

“Never. We’ll fight to our last!”

“That I doubt. It was your daughter that turned you in.”

“What?” Her parents looked up in shock, or as much as they could look with the armed men kneeling on them. They stared at her as she went to Uncle Reinhardt’s side.

“Angela,” her mother gasped. “Please…”

The Nazis looking at her mother saw her pleading, begging for this to not be true.

Angela looked at her, and saw her mother begging for her to continue.

“You stood against the Reich,” Angela made herself say. “How could I not?”

The Nazis laughed. Her mother looked at her with tears in her eyes.

“You’ve gotten so good at lying.”

The Nazis heard her mother cursing her.

Angela heard her mother praising her.

“Yes, there is hope for the Swiss people,” Uncle Reinhardt grinned, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “You made me her godfather; I’ll live up to those duties. I’ll raise her right, make her a model Aryan citizen. And the Reich will grow.”

Her mother and father screamed, then black bags were brutally pulled over their heads. Bound by hands and feet, they were dragged out of the house. Angela bit the inside of her lip to keep herself silent. She bit so hard, she tasted blood in her mouth. She wasn’t able to move, she couldn’t move, otherwise she’d start screaming herself.

 “Well, this is certainly a turn of events,” the Gestapo man said. “This cell helped us invade, all while plotting our downfall at the same time; the Swiss play a very long game. But good for us and the Aryan race, their children are not as susceptible to Jewish brainwashing.”

“Yes, it is good indeed,” Uncle Reinhardt said.

“And our little Angela!” The Gestapo man said, kneeling down to her height. “You have been very brave. You’re exactly the kind of girl the Reich needs to last a thousand years. We’re keeping our eyes on you; we expect to see great things of you.”

Angela could only nod as he patted her head, as if she were a puppy.

“If you’ll let me be selfish, I’ll leave the clean up to you,” Uncle Reinhardt said. “I need to bring my goddaughter home. She’s undoubtedly hungry for some breakfast.”

“For such a special day, you should treat her,” the man said, handing him a ration card.

“Please, I am Blackwatch. I don’t need this,” Uncle Reinhardt said, gently turning it away.

“Yes, we both work for the same goal.” He snapped a crisp salute. “Heil Hitler.”

“Heil Hitler.”

Uncle Reinhardt put a gentle but firm hand on Angela’s shoulder, and led her out of the house. A full team of Nazi soldiers stood by to turn away the gathering neighbors, who were pointing and staring.

Anger and pain seared her pain. She felt as if she were being shown off, paraded around, forced to look like a good little Nazi. A few sanctioned reporters were taking pictures, and the feeling of being used redoubled. She hated this.

A large car with impossibly dark tinted windows sat at the curb, with a driver waiting for them. He wore a beret similar to Uncle Reinhardt’s; it bore the Blackwatch logo.

“Thank you, Phillipp,” Reinhardt said as the driver opened the door for him. He ushered Angela into the back seat, and got in himself.

“Just a little longer, Angela,” her Uncle said.

Phillipp the driver got in, and pulled away. They drove a few blocks before he spoke.

“This car is safe,” he said. “There are no bugs, no one is looking for us, and the widows are tinted very dark. For the next thirty minutes, you can be yourself. But then, we have to go back to being good Nazis.”

Angela broke down crying. She buried her head in her Uncle’s shoulder. He held her close, sobbing just as hard as she did.

Chapter Text

“Allah,” Fareeha gasped. “Oh, Allah.”

The cigarette in Angela’s hand had burned down to the filter, unused.

“These wings are a memorial to myself,” Angela mumbled. “I killed my parents.”

“Stop.” Fareeha took Angela’s hand again, gentle yet firm. “Stop saying that. You’re not a bad person. You’ve had to do bad things, but that’s not you.”

“How can you say that?”

“You just said that the only way your parents could save you was to have you turn them in,” Fareeha said. “They sacrificed themselves for you.”

“I know that,” Angela sighed. “Does it change what I did?”

Fareeha looked at the ground.

“I’ve had too much time to think about what happened, what I had to do. I…I want to be better, I want to be a good person, but I know I can never truly be.”

“But you’re done everything to help people,” Fareeha said. “You saved Satya when she was captured in Italy. You’ve saved my life when I got shot, you helped heal all those refugees when we fled Egypt. You’ve…dammit, why can’t you see that?”

“Growing up in the Reich tainted me,” she mumbled. “I’ll never escape from this.”

“Life isn’t about living with horrible things we’ve done; it’s growing despite it. You’ve got to know that you’ve done incredible things for everyone, and that counts. That matters.”

“You really think so?” Angela asked, looking at the gorgeous, dark-skinned woman who made her heart beat so fast.

“I know so,” Fareeha smiled. “When we were running from Cairo and you slipped away, I thought you were trying to defect back to the Reich. Or maybe trying to cut open some innocent children, or sew infant twins together, or…I don’t know, I thought you’d try to do some evil Nazi shit.

“But I found you helping refugees. I couldn’t believe it; the Red Angel of Verdun, the most infamous Nazi doctor in the world, down in the dirt and grime to help Egyptians! And you were using that miracle device you had, using up irreplaceable blocks of what-have-you because a literal nobody needed it to make their lives just a little bit better.”

“Nanoparticles,” Angela said, gently correcting Fareeha with a smile.

She had helped deliver a healthy baby girl, then. A baby who would be named after her.

“Yes, those. You only made twelve, you said, right? And you just used them like you didn’t have a care in the world. You said you became a doctor to help everyone; if fleeing refugees aren’t considered an ‘anyone,’ I sure as fuck don’t know who would be.”

The memory washed over Angela, a soothing wave of goodness to chase away the awful sins of her past.

She went from family to family, healing men, women, and children with light and heavy cuts, broken bones, and infected wounds.

She had done what she wanted to do: heal the sick, help the wounded, be the positive change she wanted to give the world. She had gotten so drawn up in looking at the dark of her past, she missed the light.

“You can’t focus on the bad,” Fareeha said, her rough fingers gently tracing her wrist. “Those tattoos? They’re only holding you back. Trust me, if you only look at the bad, you’ll only take yourself down.”

Angela chuckled.

“There’s that grind, trying to break me down,” she said glibly. “My uncle told me the world tries to grind you down. We have to find beauty in it, otherwise we’ll break.”

“Good words,” Fareeha smiled. She needed to smile more; she had such a wonderful smile. A smile that sent Angela’s knotted stomach flipping.

Suddenly, an anguishing scream echoed from the other side of the building; it made the hair on Angela’s neck stand up. Then a gunshot rang out. Someone fell, screaming in Russian.

“Amélie,” Angela gasped, jumping to her feet.

They ran back to the room they had claimed. Zarya thrashed and cursed on the ground, clutching her leg as blood poured out from a bullet wound. Georgiy knelt by her, putting pressure on it. Akande and Olivia were in a tangle of limbs holding Amélie, who had a rifle in her hands, the barrel scant millimeters from her mouth.

“Let me,” Amélie sobbed. “Let me! Gerard! I’m so sorry!!”

Fareeha jumped into the tangle of limbs, ejecting the magazine and racking the bolt, clearing the bullet and rendering the gun useless. Markus’ journal lay next to Olivia; Angela picked it up, and started reading the code.

“Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak.”

“Non! Don’t make me go away!!”

“F-Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. Freight Car.”

Amélie instantly went limp. Everyone let go and moved back, and the Widowmaker sat up.

“Soldier?” Angela gasped

“Ready to comply,” It said in German, eyes wet and vacant.

“Go to sleep.”

It laid down, and began sleeping. With the Widowmaker dealt with, Angela ran over to Zarya.

“Olivia,” Fareeha gasped for breath, standing up. “Did you switch off Muninn?”

“I…” she mumbled, “I thought…”

“Fuck! No, I should have told you. But…fuck, this whole thing…” Fareeha pulled at her hair. “What happened to Zarya?”

“Amélie tried to kill herself,” Akande stammered. “She grabbed her gun, she got it in her mouth. I pulled it out, but she got the shot off.”

“Stray fucking bullet,” Georgiy snapped, his hands drenched in blood, “of course it hits Zarya.”

“Angela?”

“I’m taking care of her,” Angela said, grabbing her backpack.

“Thank you. Allah, just…fuck. This is why we kept her in brainwash mode.”

Zarya had been shot in the femoral artery. She had minutes to live before bleeding out. Fortunately, Angela had her Caduceus. The tiny handheld machine whirled to life, breaking down nanoparticles.

“Amélie has been fucked with, and she’s a mess because if it,” Fareeha continued. “We keep her this way until we can help her, which will probably be when we get back to the Allies.”

Angela sprayed Zarya’s leg. Her eyes bulged out of her head as she saw her wound knit closed. The wound closed just as Angela ran through another block of nanoparticles; she had three left.

“What the fuck is that?” Georgiy demanded.

“My life’s work. Zarya, how are you feeling?”

“Woozy,” Zarya said dumbly.

“You lost a lot of blood. Please, be careful. I’ll get you an IV; drink plenty of water, get some sleep.”

“Akande, how are we supply wise,” Fareeha asked.

“We’re fine on bullets. We have a couple of trench tools for…for…”

He trailed off, but everyone knew what he tried to say.

“We need to get some rest,” Fareeha said. “We’ll bury Lena at first light.”

Angela spent the night tossing and turning, sleeping ten minute at a time, and staying awake for eight. Judging from everyone’s haggard faces in the morning, she wasn’t the only one.

Akande had found a big chunk of concrete and chiseled Lena’s name into it. He and Zarya grabbed a side, and began carrying it outside. Zarya put on a stoic face, but Angela could see that she still struggled; it looked like she still hadn’t fully recovered from the gunshot wound the night before.

“Angela,” Fareeha said, standing over Lena’s covered body. “Can I…”

Angela nodded, and took Lena’s feet; Fareeha took her shoulders. They went down the stairs, Georgiy at point. The Widowmaker walked behind them, wary of any attacks. Olivia directed them to a small park. Grass and weeds filled it, but there were a few trees and bushes as well.

Akande and Zarya set the makeshift tombstone down, took an entrenching tool each, and started digging. Fareeha eventually switched with Akande, while Georgiy took over for Zarya.

Angela soon took the shovel from Fareeha to help dig. The rain from yesterday had made the ground muddy, yet soft. Soon, they had a deep enough hole. Zarya and Fareeha carefully laid Lena in the hole, then everyone began taking turns filling the hole.

When they had about a foot left, Akande moved the block of concrete down into the hole, setting it in place. They put the rest of the dirt in, locking the stone in. Buried, it came up just a few inches, showing the world the engraved name, ‘Lena Oxton.’

“I’m supposed to say something,” Fareeha chuckled darkly, flatly, humorlessly, “but I can’t think of a thing.”

Angela cleared her throat.

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,

That saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost, but now I am found,

Was blind, but now I see.

Angela dried her eyes, and saw that everyone looked at her, almost begging her to continue.

“I’m sorry, I only know the first verse,” she smiled weakly. “I learned it from movies.”

‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,

And grace my fears relieved.

How precious did that grace appear

The hour I first believed.

Angela stared, shocked. She didn’t know that Akande could sing, and sing so well.

The Lord hath promised good to me,

His word my hope secures;

He will my shield and portion be

As long as life endures.

When we’ve been there ten thousand years,

Bright shining as the sun,

We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise

Than when we first begun.

Akande sang, his face awash with tears, but his voice remained unwavering.

“We’ll miss you, Lena,” Fareeha whispered. She paused, dried her eyes, then looked up. “I hate to be the heartless bitch, but we’re deep in enemy territory and up to our necks in shit. You’ve got ten minutes to say your good-byes, then we’re out of here. Olivia, can you mark this place on GPS? If we get the chance, we’ll come back and bring Lena home proper.”

“Already got it marked, Fareeha.”

She nodded, and walked away. Angela followed her.

“I hate it when she calls me by my name,” Fareeha grumbled. “This…it just makes everything too damn formal. And Olivia doesn’t do formal.” She took a breath. “Thank you for that. It’s…I didn’t think you knew Amazing Grace.”

“I learned it from some movies,” Angela smiled.

“That doesn’t sound like something they’d show in the Third Reich.”

“Of course not. I try to only watch contraband movies; Blackwatch has quite the library. Everyone thinks we’re burning them, but we actually copy and distribute them.”

“Why? That seems like such a petty thing to do to break the law.”

“Every little break helps. Any moment free from fascists helps weaken their grip on the mind.”

“And that means bringing American traditions into Germany?”

“What do you mean?”

“Having lived in America for a while, they sing Amazing Grace funerals.”

“Oh God I knew I should have kept my mouth shut…”

“Don’t do that,” Fareeha said, taking her hand. “You’re a beautiful singer.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s good.”

As Fareeha held her hand, Angela suddenly realized how her heart labored in her chest.

Why is it so hot? She thought. What is Fareeha doing to me? Oh God is this like the night in the hotel, when I didn’t—

Angela blinked, realizing that the Widowmaker stood a few steps behind her. Suddenly, it felt like they were being watched, spied on.

“I should get my things ready,” she said, gently pulling her hand away.

“And I need some time,” Fareeha mumbled. “Time alone.”

Angela nodded her understanding, and walked back to the bombed out building, the Widowmaker never far.

“I’m so sorry, Amélie,” she said. “I don’t even know if you can hear me. Just…I’m so sorry, about everything.” Angela sighed. “But that probably doesn’t mean much, coming from me.”

Eventually, she walked back to the stolen SS truck, the Widowmaker lagging a few steps behind. Everyone stood by, ready to move.

“Widowmaker, sit in the back.” Angela doubted that anyone would want to stay near It.

Olivia caught her eye, and gave a thankful nod.

Fareeha took the wheel, and Zarya rode shotgun, leaving Georgiy to sit with Olivia and Akande. Everyone pushed against each other, crammed together. Angela had room in the back row, sitting next to the Widowmaker.

Ignoring the dried blood in the truck, Fareeha turned the engine over.

The roads haven’t gotten better, but the SS had sturdier trucks than the Russian’s; the bumps and potholes did little to upset the suspension. For that, Angela felt thankful.

What she wasn’t thankful for was Olivia’s insistence that they continue to decode Markus’ journal. Angela wanted nothing more than to sit back and find a way to disappear, but Olivia seemed anxious to lose herself in any kind of work.

She couldn’t blame the woman.

“Angela.”

That made Angela blink. Olivia almost never called her by her name.

“This Muninn…it was made to fix PTSD, right?” Olivia said, her voice full of nervous energy; the wrong, stressful kind of energy. “It’s only when they found out they could use it as a weapon did things get bad, right?”

“To over-simplify things, yes,” Angela nodded.

Olivia closed her laptop. Her face roiled with emotions, trying to decide if she should say. She tapped on the laptop’s lid, beating out a beat-less, fast-paced rap-tap-tap.

“Amélie has PTSD, right?” She blurted out.

“Olivia,” Akande hissed, “what are you saying?”

“Look, we’ve seen what Amélie is like when we turn off this damned programming.”

“Where’s this going?” Fareeha asked.

“You want to save her, boss? We can, with Muninn.”

“You cannot be serious,” Georgiy spat. “Look what it did to her!”

“It did that to Amélie because they were hurting her. I want to use it to save her.”

“Fareeha, you can’t be thinking this is a good idea,” Akande pressed.

“Angela,” Fareeha slowly, “how certain are you that we can use it to save Amélie?”

“It can,” she said. “But Amélie…I don’t want to use it on her if it’s against her will.”

“Good,” Zarya said. “Let’s never talk of this again.”

“Then why don’t we ask Amélie?” Olivia said.

“What? We wake her up, she screams, and tries to kill herself,” Georgiy said.

“And shoots me in the process,” Zarya grumbled.

“I’ve been reading the journal as I’m decoding it. Markus thought he could turn off parts of the brain, certain emotions.”

“That’s part of the process of curing PTSD,” Angela nodded. “The trick is knowing what to lessen, what to work around. Well, part of the trick. It’s more complicated than that, but it’s a good enough summary for a layperson.”

“Then we use that. We turn off Amélie’s desire to kill herself, maybe all of her emotions, and ask her if she wants to be healed. And if she’s on board, we can make her better.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Akande asked.

“Then…I guess we get back to the Allies and see what they can do,” Olivia mumbled.

“How many people think this is a bad idea?” Fareeha asked. “Angela, sorry, I don’t think you should get a say in this. Nays, raise your hands.”

“Three of us,” Akande said, counting him, Georgiy, and Zarya.

“I’m the only aye,” Olivia said.

“Three-against-one,” Fareeha said. “Alright then, looks like the ayes have it.”

“You’re not fucking serious!” Akande exploded.

“You’re goddamn right I am,” Fareeha shot back. “If there is even a one percent chance of getting Amélie back, I’m gonna take it.”

“This isn’t the time for you to be a good soldier, we have to be pragmatic,” Akande hissed. “We can’t have a mental woman blowing up on us. She could be a liability.”

“You want to make it pragmatic? Okay, I can go there,” Fareeha snapped. “We’re going to be driving through the glorious Third Reich; how many of us can pass as white?”

Silence filled the truck.

“That’s right, only our Russians who can’t speak conversational German, and Angela, who’s probably got wanted posters up everywhere. Maybe Olivia, if it’s dark enough outside. So at the absolute worst-case scenario, we can have Amélie drive us. Angela, how far away from this safe house are we?”

“Maybe another fifty kilometers.”

“When we get there, we’ll ask Amélie.”

The van lapsed into a furious silence. Akande looked out the window, giving Olivia the cold shoulder. The Widowmaker looked on, utterly impassive.

As they got closer and closer to the borders of the Reich, cities began forming. They were still small, hardly larger than a few thousand people, but the signs of the Reich were everywhere. Swastikas were flown, there were garrisons for the Home Army, and as people saw the truck’s SS emblem, they stood at attention, snapping crisp, fearful salutes.

I’ve been away for a little more than two weeks, Angela thought, and it all seems so foreign.

“I hate this,” she said, looking out a window.

“It’s damn strange,” Olivia nodded from the driver’s seat. Fortunately, with night falling, she could easily pass as ethnic German.

“Turn there,” Angela said, directing Olivia down a main road. This town lasted only a few blocks. It looked like a picture perfect quaint little town where Nazism supposedly grew up. Angela could smell the propaganda wafting from that idea.

But a few blocks away sat a stretch of abandoned industrial buildings. They were hold overs from the war, when manufacturing had to be built away from the bombed out cities. The brick buildings weren’t very tall but were long, easily fifty meters, the windows covered in thick wooden boards. Olivia pulled up to a large wooden door.

“I need to put a code in,” Angela said, opening the door.

“Wait.” Fareeha grabbed her hand, holding up a keffiyah. “At least cover up.”

“I think I’ll look more out of place with this.”

“Better than someone spotting the infamous Red Angel of Verdun.”

“No, a keffiyah would stand out to much. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Fareeha relented, letting Angela out of the truck.

She called me the Red Angel, Angela realized. Why didn’t it bother me now…?

Could it be because Fareeha said it without venom? Because she smiled when she said it?

The memories of the hotel washed over Angela. Of her first kiss…

She jumped out of the truck. A small number pad sat bolted to the wall, with cheap wires running from it into some hole drilled into the bricks. Graffiti had been spray painted on the side of the wall. It looked random, but Angela knew it to be Blackwatch code.

Decrypting the code, she typed it into the pad, and the massive double doors clicked open. She ran to the door, opening it, and ushered Olivia inside.

A bank of switches sat next to the door. She flicked them, hitting the lights. The building looked abandoned on the outside, but had been fully furnished.

“Shit, this is something,” Fareeha said as she got out of the van.

Long, florescent lights ran most of the length of the building, illuminating everything. There were two other parked trucks waiting to be used, one with a Wehrmacht emblem, the other with a Blackwatch one. A small gym sat by the trucks.

Open space made up much of the safe house with a long, open kitchen complete with an island, and a living room with a TV and entertainment system. There were a few conference rooms made with thick sheets of bulletproof and soundproof glass. And at the very ends of the safe house were doors to bedrooms and a large bathroom, enough for seven people.

Angela ran to the kitchen. Blackwatch didn’t just put one alarm on the outside of the building, she had to deactivate an internal alarm lest the house be breached and certain sensitive information had to be erased. She entered the code, and it flashed green.

“We’re safe,” she sighed.

“This is just what we need,” Zarya said.

“That and food,” Akande nodded. “We need a good, warm meal in our bellies.”

“Fuck that, I need a shower,” Olivia said.

“There are bathrooms down there,” Angela pointed. “You can freshen up, or see what’s in the pantry; we have agents who keep this regularly stocked. I need to make a call.”

“I don’t think you should make a call when we’re this close to the Reich,” Fareeha said.

“It’s a video call. We have hardened access to Blackwatch’s intranet here.”

“I checked out the web site they had when she requested that data dump,” Olivia said, making her way to the bathroom. “They know their shit.”

“Fine,” Fareeha said. “But if you take too long, we might take your share of food.”

Angela went to one of the glass walled conference rooms while everyone else converged on the kitchen. The Widowmaker silently followed her.

“Keep watch,” she told the brainwashed automata.

“Understood,” It said, standing at the door of the conference room.

The conference room had a meter long table and simple rolling chairs. A small cart held laptops, off to the side. The cart charged them, and also had a hidden cache of thermite to destroy them; anything to keep them secure, should the house fall.

Angela pulled out one laptop and turned it on. She signed on, and opened a directory for a video call. Thankfully, her uncle showed as available. She selected him, and called.

“Angela, thank God you’re safe,” he gasped.

“I’m okay, uncle,” she said, smiling. She slipped back to German without even realizing it. It felt like a whole lifetime since she’d seen her uncle. He seemed more worn out, more tired. There were deeper lines across his brow, small bags under his eyes. “Can I say the same about you? You look like you’ve had a worse time than I have.”

“It’s been even worse the past few days,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “When Stalin leaked the news that you were alive…Angela, you were supposed to go to the Allies!”

“I wanted to, but the invasion of Cairo caught the Allies by surprise. We were forced to travel by land. Was the invasion pushed up?”

“Of course it was pushed up. When fucking Hitler heard of the plane crash, he flew into a rage over the loss of a better Muninn.” He sighed. “We should’ve expected them to wary of defector. Now, is it true you talked some loyal Russians into defecting with you?”

“More of convince them to join us. Is Stalin planning to invade?”

“Undoubtedly. Both Hitler and Stalin are trying to pull their armies out of the Middle East, but disengaging from a war zone is never easy. We expect you have a week until it becomes impossible to move around the Reich.”

“That doesn’t give us much time to get to Allied France.”

“Yes, but I think you should stay in the safe house for a day or so; I have Blackwatch teams setting up a route and safe houses. And I’m sure you could use the break.”

“Thank you, Uncle. Speaking of Blackwatch teams, where’s Brigitte?”

“She got back from Egypt a few days ago. She misses you something terrible. She calls you a ‘Swiss Whore’ whenever she can.”

“Tell her I love her, too,” Angela laughed. “We have the Widowmaker, you know.”

“I figured; It has yet to report to the SS.” He paused. “Are you planning on using It again? Your Allied soldiers…they know all about Muninn? Are they okay with it?”

“Not all of them.”

“Just don’t push too hard. We need you to make it to the Allies, we can’t have them think about ridding the world of the Red Angel of Verdun.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not. How are things with the SS, the Gestapo? Have they been able to force themselves into Blackwatch properly?”

“Yes, after nearly seventy years, they have full access to all of Blackwatch’s information.”

“They’re not…”

“Liquidating us?” Reinhardt chuckled. “They want to, but the reality of killing us, even just the upper echelons, is too much.”

“This sounds too good to be true.”

“Well, ‘good’ by way of grim reality. The Führer, in his infinite, fallible wisdom, is ordering the Gestapo and SS to monitor and investigate everyone. He’s paranoid that he could be surrounded by traitors. They have full access to everything, but they’re so overwhelmed, they can barely do anything.

“Killing all of us, the heads of Blackwatch? That means they’ll have to take over the organization themselves, and even if they want to roll everything into the SS or Gestapo, that would break them. Because of that, we’re allowed to live, albeit under heavy monitoring.”

“That’s excellent!”

“We might even be able to replace the SS,” Uncle Reinhardt smiled. “I’ve been lobbying for it. Blackwatch has more manpower than the SS and Gestapo, more personnel. And thanks to the ‘journal’ you made, we’ve been able to spin your defection like you suggested; the Gestapo could have prevented it, but failed to, and Blackwatch will succeed where they failed.”

“My God, that’s great,” Angela smiled.

“It is, it is,” he smiled. “I should be working on your route across Europe, sending our agents into the field to prepare drops and safe houses. We also need to forge you documents and travel IDs, just in case you get stopped.”

“Good idea. There’s three who can pass; Amélie, er, the Widowmaker, and the Russians.”

“We can find their pictures from the wanted warnings that Stalin put out. Stay there until we send you our plan. Now take some time to relax.”

“I love you, uncle.”

“And I love you, Angela.”

She turned off the call and closed the laptop. A day or two off, everyone would like that. Especially if it allowed them to have a course plotted out for them, with Blackwatch help.

As Angela left, she bumped into Georgiy, fresh from the shower. He had pants on, a towel about his shoulders.

“You have good showers,” he sighed, full of content.

“We’re glad you like them,” Angela smiled. “I think I’ll be using them myself.”

Georgiy gave an exaggerated bow, which only made Angela laugh more. She went to an empty bathroom. The Widowmaker followed her, but Angela gestured for It to stay at the door. She closed the door to the bathroom, stripped, and climbed into the shower.

She took a nice, hot, leisurely shower, making sure to really wash her hair. By the time she finished, Angela felt ready to overthrow the Reich all by herself. She dressed in some of the clothes that came stocked with the safehouse and stepped out; the sound of talking and the smell of cooked food filled the building. Akande had stepped up to be the chef.

She walked towards the kitchen, the Widowmaker following her. Everyone looked so relaxed, so calm, and in some cases, barely dry.

“Ah, she’s back,” Fareeha said, her hair still damp. “Looks like we were wrong about Blackwatch. You really do kept this place well stocked!”

The Egyptian held up a nearly empty bottle of beer; Angela saw two other empty bottles by her. A nearly empty bottle of schnapps sat on the table.

“And you wasted no time making yourselves at home,” Angela laughed.

“We need it.”

“Of course we need it.” Angela pulled a chair up next to Fareeha.

“Say what you will about the Krauts,” Fareeha said, passing her a beer, “they know how to brew.”

“One of the saving graces of living in the Reich!”

“Can’t forget the schnapps,” Olivia said, downing another shot. “Oh, I needed that.”

“We should be good Communists and share,” Georgiy said.

“We should,” Zarya laugh. “Excuse me.”

“I get the chills whenever Ivan starts laughing,” Fareeha said.

“Nothing bad,” Georgiy smiled. “We packed two bottles of vodka. We were to save them when we were with Allies, but this is good time for it.”

Zarya came back with a big bottle, nearly two liters big. She filled the shot glasses and handed them out, skipping the Widowmaker. It didn’t complain.

“To our daring escape,” Zarya said, holding her glass up.

Angela tilted her head back and let the warm liquor slide down her throat.

“God, I expected that to have a bite,” she said. “But that was really, really smooth.”

“You are welcome!” Zarya laughed, refilling the glasses.

“Prost,” Angela smiled as she tipped the shot glass back. “Ooh, I have to be careful. I can tell these will sneak up on me.”

“At least drink on a full stomach,” Akande said, passing out plates. “Sausage and peppers.”

“Akande, this is heavenly,” Olivia smiled. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you for saving us from Zarya burning water,” Georgiy said. He got hit for it.

Angela passed a full plate to the Widowmaker. It ate fast and efficiently. Angela could tell that It set everyone on edge. Once It finished, the Widowmaker sat at the table, waiting for Its next order.

“I’ll…I’ll put It to sleep,” Angela mumbled. The lame attempt to politely rid every one of the brainwashed Widowmaker sounded like it fell flat, but no one challenged her on it.

Am I making the excuse to everyone, Angela thought, or to Amélie?

The rooms were basic, with a simple twin bed and a night stand.

“Lay down, Widowmaker. Sleep.”

The Widowmaker wordlessly complied.

Back in the kitchen, the mood had lightened with the absence of the Widowmaker.

“Before I forget,” Angela said, sitting back down. “I’ve talked to my uncle, Commander Wilhelm. He’s suggesting we lay low here for a day or two. That gives us time to rest, and it gives Blackwatch time to plan a route for us to get us to the Allies.”

“Ah, that is good!” Zarya said, raising her beer. Everyone cheered, toasting to their time off. Fareeha had found another bottle of schnapps and passed out more shots, which everyone heartily took. The schnapps were delicious, and had more of a familiar bite than the vodka.

“I’m dying to know,” Olivia said, “what will you do when you get to the Allies?”

“Shit if I know,” Georgiy said as he ate. “Probably getting questioned for days.”

“No, no, after all that.” Olivia killed her beer. “What will you do if they let you defect?”

That got Georgiy to stop.

“I always wanted to learn to sew,” he chuckled. “Something about making things with my hands. Nothing big or complicated, but simple and durable.”

“You’ll be a seamstress?” Zarya laughed. “You’ll be a better hairdresser!”

“Fuck you,” Georgiy snapped. Then he paused, blushing. “Sorry, habit from hiding.”

“I know that,” Angela said. “If you act like everyone else, they won’t take you away.”

“Exactly. Sorry Zarya. Maybe I will be a hairdresser, I do not know.”

“They don’t let men become seamstresses?” Fareeha asked, downing another beer.

“Not men built like me,” he laughed, gesturing to his physique. “I hate being a soldier.”

“Then be the best fucking seamstress or hairdresser you can be,” Akande roared, pounding the table to show his approval. “Make a name for yourself!”

“To sewing and hair,” Fareeha said, raising a shot of schnapps.

“To sewing and hair!” Everyone cheered. Angela felt the alcohol hitting her.

“What about you, Zarya?” Akande asked. “What’s your first thing you’ll do?”

“It is personal,” the big woman smiled.

“Now you have to tell us,” Angela laughed. “Come on, Georgiy said he wants to try sewing or hairdressing. It can’t be that worse, can it?”

“Fine, if you want to know, I’ll tell you,” she said, downing another shot. “I am finding a doctor, and I will have my tubes tied.”

That got Olivia to blanche. Angela nearly spat her beer up, if only to laugh.

“I never want to be a mother,” Zarya said. “Never, ever. And in the Allies, you can be free to be what you want to be, yes? In Russia, you are free, but not really. They push you to be a farmer for the state, a soldier for the state, a parent for the state. Fuck. That. Shit. I will use my new freedom to make sure I will never be a mother. Fuck you, Stalin! You will never lay a hand on my body!”

Zarya raised her beer, and everyone roared their approval.

“What about you, Angela?” Olivia asked, passing out more beer. “What’ll you do?”

“Assuming they let me walk free?”

“Hey, don’t be like that,” Fareeha pouted. She look like a puppy who got a toy taken away. Under the table, she put her hand on Angela’s thigh, gave it a squeeze. A squeeze that made Angela flush. “We’re trying to have a good time here.”

“Yes, get that sad attitude out of here,” Georgiy beamed.

Angela downed her shot and chased it. She didn’t realize she set her hand on Fareeha’s.

“I’ll still be a doctor,” she gasped. “I’ll heal and cure everyone I can.”

“To the lovely Doctor Ziegler,” Fareeha said, raising her glass again.

“Doctor Ziegler!” Everyone cheered.

“I’ll make my own hospital, where everyone can get help.” The vodka must be sneaking up on her. Angela found herself talking faster, unable to stop herself. “No one will be turned away! I’ll fill it with the best doctors in the world, and we’ll heal and cure everyone who walks through our doors, from scrapped knees to broken bones to cancer to organ transplants.

“We’ll be the best hospital in the world, and our patients will only pay what they can afford to pay. In the Reich, hospitals could charge more to save your life than you’d ever earn. I won’t have that! I’ll save everyone who wants to be saved, no questions asked!

“My hospital will be for healing, for life! No one would have to be hurt ever again!”

Fareeha cheered her on, and Georgiy and Zarya joined in as well. And Fareeha’s grip on her thigh only tightened in the most pleasant of ways.

“Another drink for Doctor Ziegler!” Fareeha pressed, her words slurring.

“Oh no, please, I think I’ve had enough.”

“Nonsense,” Akande said, giving her a beer and yet another shot of schnapps.

“It is good for you,” Zarya agreed. “Bottoms up!”

“You’ll all be the death of me,” she groaned, but she tipped the shot back regardless.

“There you go!” Fareeha whooped, taking a few more shots herself.

“Oh, I hate all of you so much,” she laughed, taking a pull of beer. “What will the rest of you do? This can’t be an easy mission, they might let you go after it.”

“I’m gonna be a Michelin star chef,” Akande declared. “My gran gave me her recipes before I entered the service. I’ll take those recipes, and spread them far and wide.”

“Akande, if you can cook a meal this good with nothing but cheap ingredients, I can’t imagine what you can make if you had truly good food,” Angela smiled.

“You haven’t seen my kitchen,” he laughed. “I don’t mess around, I go hard.”

“Let me know when your restaurant opens, I’ll be the first person there.”

“You’ll all get invites.” He smiled his big, friendly, beaming smile. God, he needed to smile more, him and Fareeha. Especially Fareeha. “No waiting for any of you, you’ll have a table ready for you.”

“Fareeha, you’re turn,” Angela said.

“Allah, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if they gave me an out,” she laughed. “I’ve been a soldier my whole life; I don’t think there’s anything else I’m good at.”

“Shit, boss, you need a fucking hobby,” Olivia snorted.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Alright,” Olivia said with a wicked smile. “You need a hobby, and a real good lay.”

Fareeha glared at Olivia, while the Spanish woman demurely waved at Angela. Angela tried to drown her blush with beer. Suddenly she felt extremely conscious of Fareeha’s hand on her thigh. What would she do about it? Fareeha’s grip felt so warm and firm and nice…

“If you’re so smart,” Fareeha pressed, “then what will you do with an early out?”

“I’ll re-up,” Olivia said with no hesitation.

“You’re serious?” Akande said, his gregarious tone vanishing.

“Damn straight. There are still Nazis out there, and they need to be stopped.”

“You’ll be throwing yourself into battles so soon?” He spat, growing more agitated.

“I’ll be going back to killing Nazis.”

“There’s more to life than killing Nazis.”

“That doesn’t sound like a life for me.”

“Alright, we get it,” Fareeha said, letting go of Angela’s thigh. “Olivia’s gonna be a goddamn action hero. But what if the war ends tomorrow? And don’t split hairs by saying why it won’t. Hypothetically, what’ll you do if you were suddenly out a job tomorrow?”

“Then I’ll be tracking down any Nazis that got away. There’s outposts all over the world, someone has to find—”

“Olivia!” Fareeha spat. “You know what I fucking mean!”

The safe house echoed with silence. Olivia stared straight ahead, refusing to look at Akande and Fareeha. Akande glared at her for a second, but looked away, going back to his beer. Angela shifted in her seat, just as awkward as Georgiy and Zarya.

“Guess I’ll try some grey hat hacking,” she finally said. “That sounds like fun.”

Olivia stood up, and wobbled in place. She grabbed the table to steady herself, then grabbed one of the remaining bottles of schnapps.

“I’m turning in for the evening,” she said, tottering towards the bedrooms.

“I’m crashing too,” Zarya mumbled, getting up herself.

“Yes, the party is over,” Georgiy said.

“I’m going to sleep,” Akande said flatly. “I’ll stay out here.”

Fareeha tried to get up, but stumbled, and almost fell. Angela jumped to her feet to catch her, but Fareeha mostly caught herself. Akande jumped to his feet as well.

“Sorry,” Fareeha mumbled. “Sorry, shit, I’m just making a mess.”

“I’ll get her to bed,” Angela said.

“You sure?” He asked.

“Yes, I can get her. You…look like you need to be alone.”

“Thank you,” he sighed.

“Come on, Fareeha. This way.” Angela pulled Fareeha’s arm over her shoulder, and helped get her up. Fareeha leaned on her like a crutch, stumbling all the while.

“I’m sorry, I drank too much,” she mumbled.

“We all drank a lot, and too fast.”

“It’s just…”

Fareeha trailed off as they walked towards the small bed rooms.

“It’s just what?” Angela asked.

Fareeha made a coughing sound. Angela picked up the pace, and made it to the bathroom just in time. Fareeha fell to her knees, vomiting into the toilet. Angela held her hair back.

“No, I tried not to say it,” she slurred, hugging the porcelain.

“Trying to say what? Fareeha, what are you talking about?”

Fareeha coughed into the toilet. There were a small stack of paper cups by the sink for mouthwash; Angela got one, filled it with water, and handed it to Fareeha. She used it to get the puke from her mouth; eventually, Fareeha stomached a cup of water.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” Angela said, helping her up.

By then, Fareeha had turned into mostly dead weight. Angela huffed, struggling to open the door to one of the empty bed rooms, and helped Fareeha stumble in.

“Part of me is glad Lena is dead,” Fareeha mumbled.

That got Angela to stop.

“She’s…she’s like Olivia,” she slurred.

They got to the bed, and Fareeha collapsed onto it. Angela’s heart pounded in her chest; the big Egyptian almost made her want to take up Akande’s offer for help.

“She’s always going on about helping out, doing the worst grunt work ‘cus it needs to be done. She’ll never do anything for herself, it’s just not her. Olivia is right, the war won’t just end, there will always be more of something, and Lena would trudge back into it.”

Angela helped roll her on her side, in case she puked.

“She’s dead, but she’s finally at rest. The war ended for her, she’ll never have to go back in again,” Fareeha mumbled, her eyes watering. “I…I want that myself…I just don’t know what I’d do without a war…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Angela said, taking her hand. “We’ll get through it.”

“Why do I wish my best friend was dead? Why am I jealous of that?”

“Fareeha, please, you’re okay. You’re just very, very drunk. We’ll get through it, okay?”

Fareeha nodded, crying.

Angela move a cheap trash can by the edge of the bed, below Fareeha’s head so it would catch anything that might come up during the night. By then, Fareeha had already passed out.

She sat against the bed, making sure that Fareeha didn’t roll back over or vomit. But she forgot how much she drank, and caught herself nodding off. By the fifth time she caught herself falling asleep, it had to be well past midnight, and Fareeha hadn’t moved, hadn’t even rolled over.

Angela got up, and found another empty room next to Fareeha’s. She looked down the large, open safe house towards the kitchen and living room, where Akande slept, but couldn’t see anything. She quietly walked in, and fell asleep before she hit the bed.

Chapter Text

Morning came too quickly. Angela wanted to sleep more, but ended up sleeping funny, and her body woke her up with a nasty back cramp.

“Ugh.”

Angela pulled herself up until she sat at the edge of the bed, and sat there for several minutes, trying to work up the will and the energy to stand up.

“Dear God, just get it over with…”

Slowly, she stood up, and tottered out of the room and into the safe house. The sun came in through several skylights, illuminating everything without using any lights; Blackwatch couldn’t risk losing a safe house because of a simple mistake such as leaving a light on.

Akande lay stretched out on the sofa. He had found a few books, and flipped through one.

“Can you actually read German?” Angela asked, walking, almost staggering, up to him.

“Ah, you’re alive,” Akande said, putting the book down.

“You expected otherwise?”

“You’re a tiny little white woman who was drinking with big Russians.”

“I have vague memories of you giving me more shots as well.”

Akande chuckled, going back to flipping through the book.

“I’m not fluent,” he replied. “I get a word here, a phrase there, I’m just killing time.”

“You aren’t just going back to sleep?”

“If I stay down too long, I get a little antsy. I’d rather just relax.”

Nodding, Angela went to the refrigerator. The safe house keeper had stocked the fridge with plenty of water, both plain and sparkling, and various juices.

From the bedrooms, a door crashed opened; Fareeha staggered out, eyes bloodshot.

“Now that’s not a surprise,” Akande laughed.

“And a good morning to you,” Angela said.

“Nothing good about this morning,” Fareeha grumbled as she wove her way to the table.

“Are you still drunk?”

“I only know that I need coffee, some pain pills, and a cigarette,” she groaned. “I need to feel human again.”

“Coffee won’t help, it’ll just dehydrate you more. You need fluids, water.”

“Fuck that, I need coffee.” As she got closer to the kitchen, Fareeha looked worse and worse. Her normally dark complexion looked pale, her cheeks gaunt, her voice cracked. “And a cigarette. And a handful of pain pills…”

“I got the coffee,” Akande said, getting up. “You get her a pack of smokes and pills.”

Angela sighed, but walked to the truck to pull out Fareeha’s bag. By the time she got back, an electric kettle had begun to whistle, and Akande found a tin of instant coffee.

“Let me help,” Angela said. “How do you take your coffee? Black, like a strong soldier?”

“White and sweet; lots of crème, lots of sugar.”

Akande chuckled.

“Don’t you dare say anything,” Fareeha snapped.

“I’m not saying anything~~” he insisted, a sing-song tune to is voice.

Brow furrowing at the exchange, Angela fixed Fareeha a cup of coffee, along with a bottle of aspirin. Fareeha downed the pills with coffee, took a long drag of a cigarette, and sat back. She looked as content as a hungover person could look.

“Give me a second,” Angela sighed. She walked back to the truck, rummaging through the aid kits. She pulled out an IV, and a collapsible stand.

“Whoa, don’t go wasting that on me,” Fareeha said. “We need to save supplies.”

“The Allies pack a lot of IVs in the kits, they’re the only thing I have plenty of. Now, you need fluids; coffee and nicotine will only make you feel better in the short run, the aspirin will only mask the pain. This is to help you.”

Hearing the firmness of Angela’s tone, Fareeha reluctantly held out her arm. She quickly injected the IV and taped it in place.

Another bedroom door opened. Zarya walked out, none worse for the wear.

“Ah, people are up,” she said, stretching. “That is good. I’m not the quiet type.”

“Better get to making some kind of breakfast,” Akande said.

“You don’t have to cook,” Angela said.

“Please, you’re looking at a future Michelin star-winning chef,” he smiled.

“I’m sorry, a what star? I think you said something like that last night, but everyone here got me very drunk.” She glared at both Akande and Fareeha, who only laughed.

“Sorry, that slipped by me,” Akande spoke as he rummaged through the kitchen. “The Michelin company started a travel guide back in the turn of the century; it tells you where the best restaurants are. When the M.A.D. Pact put the war on pause, the British and Free French realized things could go on longer than ever.”

“So they decided to wage psychological warfare,” Fareeha chuckled.

“Psywar by way of being a petty bitch,” Akande nodded. “Michelin ranks restaurants, gives them stars on how good they are. But stars are rare, so any restaurant that has more than one is a damn good place. They make a list of star-winning chefs, mark it as the best food in Europe, and accidentally ‘leak’ it across the border to encourage people to defect.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she said, “I do remember hearing of it. Yes, the Allies leak pamphlets and such along the French border. It doesn’t get many to defect, but there have been a few that say they want regular, better meals.”

“Promising good food is a good way to encourage people to run,” Zarya agreed. “Is there any juice here?”

“We have our pick,” Akande said, opening the fridge. Zarya grabbed a small bottle, downed it in one go, and grabbed another. Akande started scrambling some eggs, leaving the women to sit at the kitchen’s island.

“Sleep well?” Angela asked. “Or do you need something to help with the hangover? We have plenty of medicine here.”

“I’m fine,” Zarya said. “That wasn’t heavy drinking. You’d never last in Russia.”

“Another reason I’m glad we’re gone,” Fareeha snorted. “That, and getting a shallow grave with a bullet in my brain.”

Akande handed out plates of eggs and breakfast muffins.

“Where were the muffins?” Fareeha asked.

“In the freezer,” he said. “They’re cheap, but they’ll do the trick.”

“Thank you,” Angela said. “The eggs are great.”

“You’re most certainly welcome,” he smiled.

A door creaked open, and a very disheveled Olivia shuffled out.

“I thought Fareeha looked rough,” Angela said, wincing in sympathetic pain.

“Quiet, please,” Olivia mumbled, her voice hoarse. “Just need water, need to sleep.”

Akande went back to cooking eggs; Angela could tell he made a point to ignore Olivia. Not that she noticed; Olivia’s eyes were bloodshot, with heavy bags under them, and she seemed almost sickly pale.

Zarya pulled out a few juice bottles, taking a couple for herself, and handing the rest to Olivia. She took them and shuffled back off to her room. As she did, Georgiy walked out of his, yawning and stretching. He saw Olivia and her hungover gaze, and let her pass. She mumbled something Angela thought had to be thanks, and closed the door to her room.

Angela realized that with Akande silent, the atmosphere of the kitchen seemed to chill. Even Georgiy picked up on the silence; Angela saw his eyes scanning the room, before looking back to Zarya, as if asking what to do. Zarya gestured to a seat, and he took it.

What would Lena do to keep everyone in good spirits?

“It looks like she’s regretting the evening,” Angela said, trying to force a chuckle.

“Maybe that will teach her something,” Akande grumbled.

“Akande, please, this isn’t the place for a spat like this,” Fareeha sighed.

“You’re looking much more alert,” Angela said, trying to keep her voice positive.

“Yeah, I guess this IV is just what I needed.”

“See? Maybe you should listen to your doctor more.”

“Maybe I should,” Fareeha laughed.

Angela’s laughter faltered as she remembered what also slept.

“I have to try and cure Amélie.”

The tense silence fell back on the squad.

“Is she still in her room?” Fareeha asked. “Er, I mean, the Widowmaker is still in the room?”

“I haven’t woken It yet.”

Fareeha downed the rest of her cup in one go.

“No point in waiting,” she said tightly. “Let’s get her out.”

“I’ll need the sofa,” Angela said. She gently pulled the spent IV out of Fareeha’s arm.

“That’s fine,” Akande said. “I’m done with it. Just have to clean up.”

She got up, walked to the stolen SS truck, and pulled out Markus’ Muninn. Angela set it on the coffee table in the living room, then went to the Widowmaker’s room.

“Widowmaker, wake up.”

The Widowmaker woke easily, eerily.

“Ready to comply,” It said.

“It is time for your Treatment,” Angela said, reading the code word. “This way.”

It stood up and followed her to the living room. Everyone gave the Widowmaker a wide berth as Angela led It to the sofa, and pulled up a chair next to It.

“Lay down,” she ordered, putting the Muninn helmet on the brainwashed woman’s head. She booted up the laptop, and opened the Muninn program’s atrocious interface.

“How…how is this going to work?” Fareeha asked.

“I have to suppress her emotions,” Angela said, entering parameters, “almost to the point of deleting them. I’m heavily suppressing the trauma too, but her memories should remain. And I’m limiting her motor functions so she doesn’t…try anything rash.”

“Like accidentally shooting someone,” Zarya grumbled, rubbing her leg.

Angela stopped, looking at the screen. Her cursor hovered over the ‘run’ button.

“We need to try and save Amélie,” Fareeha said. “Please, we have to know.”

She nodded, and pressed the button. On the sofa, the Widowmaker’s eyes closed as the Muninn began working. A progress bar hovered on the screen.

“This might take an hour,” Angela said, setting the laptop down.

“Guess we better make sure we can leave at a moment’s notice,” Fareeha said. “Angela, we can use these trucks? Great. Let’s get them packed.”

Everyone seemed intent on getting the new truck ready. Together, they moved all of their bags and backpacks to a Wehrmacht tuck. It didn’t take very long, and everyone shuffled off to try and find something to keep busy with.

Angela waited near the sofa, Fareeha helped Akande clean the kitchen, Zarya and Georgiey went to the small gym to work out.

Time crawled, but eventually the laptop beeped. Everyone stopped and stared.

“It’s done,” Angela said.

Fareeha nodded, holding her face as blank as possible. Still, she walked up to Angela.

“Let’s see if she wants to talk.”

Angela flipped open Markus’ journal, and read the deactivation keywords.

“Fragile. Erase. Ghost. Nine. Famous. Malign. Clock.”

Amélie groaned. Her eyes opened, but they were blank, dead, robbed of all emotion.

“Where am I?” She asked, the words numb and stifled.

“With people who want to help you,” Fareeha said.

“Are you here to kill me?”

“No.”

“Then you’re not helping.” Amélie paused. “What…what is happening? Why can’t I cry? Why can’t I scream?”

“I…I took that from you,” Angela said.

“Typical fucking Nazi,” she sighed.

Amélie slowly blinked.

“I, I wanted to curse you. Why can’t I hate you? I want to, but, but…”

“I want to see if I can help,” she mumbled.

“Then kill me. Please,” Amélie insisted.

Hearing the words spoken in such a neutral tone, a pleading tone, made Angela flinch.

“Amélie,” Fareeha said, getting up. “We want to help you.”

Amélie tried to roll her head, only partially succeeding. She looked up as Fareeha walked over, kneeling next to her.

“Do you remember me?”

“You’re that Egyptian woman. Fareeha, right?”

“That’s right. We met years ago, at an Allied meeting. My mother was there, Colonel Amari.”

“Ah, that’s how I remember you. Your mother made quite an impression.”

Fareeha couldn’t help but smile at that.

“Please,” Amélie said, “kill me. Save me from this, I…I don’t want to live like this.”

“I don’t want to do that,” Fareeha said. “Angela here wants to help, too.”

“She is the one who did this to me.”

“I did,” Angela said. “I know words mean nothing, but I am so sorry I did this to you.”

“Your apologies mean nothing.”

“That’s why I know it means nothing.”

“Am I agreeing with a Nazi?” Amélie said, the edge of her lip threatening to curl upwards. “It has to be this poison, this machine. Why can’t I feel things? I want to feel again.”

“Amélie, we can help you,” Fareeha said. “We can save you. We can make you better.”

“Tell that to my husband. I see myself strangling him every day.”

“Amélie, please,” Fareeha gasped. “We want to try and do some right by you. Angela says she can help you, so you don’t have to be controlled by this damn brainwashing thing.”

“The Widowmaker,” Amélie hissed. “I remember when they forced that abomination into my mind. I screamed like a little girl. Why am I talking like this? Why is everything so dull?”

“I had to cut down your connection to your emotions,” Angela said. “We wanted to talk to you, to see if we can help.”

“That thing did this to me, and yet you use it again?”

“Amélie, please, there’s not much we can do because of this,” Angela gasped. “We can either use it to make you into the Widowmaker, or we can use it like this, and save you from this damned fate. That’s all we want to know; to see if we can save you.”

“I never heard a Nazi ask for permission before.”

“She isn’t a Nazi,” Fareeha said. “Trust me, she saved my life.”

“She made me kill my life. My husband, my friends…”

“Amélie,” Angela asked, “do you see your life through the eyes of the Widowmaker?”

“Every second it’s awake.”

“I don’t want that persona in you. I want you to be you, not some wind-up thing. But I can’t do that without Muninn.”

“You think that using the thing that destroyed me can save me?”

“I know it can.”

“Then why are you asking me? You can do whatever to me, and I can’t stop you.”

“I want to know if you want to get better. I want your permission,” Angela said. “I don’t want to force anything on you, not again. I want to help you, but I want your permission.”

“I never saw a Nazi who asked for permission to do something.”

“I know I’ve done evil things,” Angela said, annoyance building in her voice. “You don’t need to remind me, I made sure I can’t forget my sins.”

She pulled down her sleeve, and showed her tattoo-covered forearms.

“Each feather is someone I’ve hurt or killed. I make sure I can’t forget, because then I’ll be no better than the country I want to destroy.”

“Are we more alike than I think?” Amélie snorted.

She paused, but not for long

“I, I can’t feel anything,” Amélie continued. “I can’t hate anything, but I want to, I think. Use this thing on me again, I can’t make myself want to stop you. It will only hurt me again.”

“Can we make you better?”

“If you can,” she said, a devil-may-care chuckle to it.

“Thank you,” Angela said. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to put you to sleep so we can begin.”

Angela read the activation keywords, reactivating the Widowmaker, then putting It to sleep.

“Amélie will probably try to kill herself when we let her up,” Fareeha said.

“I think that’s a safe assumption to make,” Angela nodded.

“Then what are you going to do to stop her?”

“I’ve been thinking; in addition to helping quell the trauma, I’m going to try boost her resentment. Hopefully, it will make her feel that if she kills herself, the Nazis would win.”

“You can do that?”

“I’m not sure,” she sighed. “Remember, this is version one of a new technology. Markus was still fumbling about when he brainwashed Amélie. To him, she was but a stepping stone. I’m just hoping Markus was more right than he was delusional.”

“Shit, this is the first time I actually want a Nazi scientist to be right.”

“You feel that way about Markus? What about me?”

“You’re not a Nazi; just someone forced to goose step,” Fareeha smiled.

Angela couldn’t help but laugh at that. And she certainly couldn’t stop her stomach from flipping in the most pleasant of ways as she watched Fareeha’s radiant smile.

Amélie lay on the couch for the rest of the day, Muninn restructuring her mind. Angela hardly left her side, even when Olivia finally stumbled out of her room, looking a little more alive than dead. She gave Akande one glare, but when she saw Amélie, she went quiet.

The sun began setting and Akande started cooking when the laptop finally beeped its completed tone. Everyone crowded around, but Akande put himself between everyone.

“Let’s back up,” he said, “we have to give her some room when she comes around.”

“She’ll come around when I give her the order,” Angela said.

“You mean she’s still brainwashed?” Olivia spat.

“She still has the Widowmaker persona that Markus…no, that Markus and I put in her. I’m keeping it in her head so we can have a means of…well, of stopping her, should she try…”

“I thought you were going to make is so she didn’t try to hurt herself,” Fareeha said.

“This is still an inexact science. There’s just too many unknowns.”

Angela closed the laptop, but hesitated with taking off the helmet. The plastic strips were adjusted to Amélie’s head, snug but not too tight, but she couldn’t help but think about the first time she had used Muninn on her.

Markus pressed a button on his laptop, and Amélie gasped.

“W-what are…stop, I—I can’t,” she babbled. “My legs, where are my legs, please, what are you doing?” Tears leaked from her eyes as her body began to horribly twitch.

“Is this…normal?” Angela asked, trying to keep the horror from her voice.

“This isn’t like when I treated those soldiers, my Angel,” Markus grinned. “I’m digitizing her mind, and scrubbing her brain clean. Once it’s uploaded, I can fit her to my template.”

“P-p-p-p-p-p-please,” Amélie babbled, drool forming at her mouth. She struggled, but the straps held her tight. “Dark, que faites-vous? Je ne veux pas y aller, où m'emmènes-tu arrêter je ne veux pas de ça—“

“Hey,” Fareeha said.

Angela snapped back to reality.

“You’re killing us with the suspense,” she said, trying to laugh.

“Sorry, it’s…never mind.”

Angela took off the helmet and read the deactivation code words. Amélie groaned, rolling over. Angela, Fareeha, and Olivia leapt to her side, keeping her from falling off the sofa.

“W-what…?”

“Easy, we’ve got you. Take it easy.”

“You…? Get your hands off me, Red Angel,” Amélie spat, sitting up.

“Amélie, it’s okay, we’re all friends here,” Fareeha said. “Angela defected.”

Amélie looked around, scanning the room. Then she looked at her hands.

“I…I’m myself,” she mumbled. “I’m moving. Mon Dieu…”

Amélie wrapped her arms around herself.

“Alright, this is enough,” Akande said. “Back, everyone. Give her some room.”

“Thank you,” Amélie mumbled as everyone backed off.

“How are you feeling?” Angela asked. “Better?”

“I, I never thought…the voices, the images, they’re…they’re quiet.”

“What voices?”

“My voice,” she said. “I…when I was controlled by that thing, that Widowmaker, all I could do was scream. I was screaming at myself, in my head. And the things I saw…mon Dieu, Gérard…”

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” Fareeha said.

“But the voices, they’re not there anymore. Not in front of me.”

“Where are they?” Angela asked.

“It’s like they’re around the corner, just on the tip of my tongue.”

“You’ll have to ignore those thoughts,” she said. “Muninn is helping you cope with the trauma, but it will take more than one session to fully heal.”

“Please, give me more. I’m so close to feeling at peace, I…I even feel fine.”

“We can’t. We have to let the sessions take. I’m sorry, but you’ll need more.”

“Please. I want to feel better.”

“We had several soldiers ask us for more,” Angela said. “When Markus first built his tech. He gave it to them at first, but quickly stopped because it can be like chasing a high. Feeling better? That can be addicting; it spurred on the soldiers we tested, and they…well, partook in risky activities to chase that high.”

“You’d make a terrible drug dealer,” Olivia laughed flatly.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” she said crossly. Yet at the same time, the little joke did ease some of her stress.

“I can’t…I have to stay this way?” Amélie asked.

“Not forever, but we have to make sure you’re feeling better before pressing on.”

Amélie nodded.

“Is, is there any food? I’m starving.”

“Hope you’re fine with beef roulade and squash,” Akande said. “The Nazis aren’t very big on ‘ethnic’ foods.”

That got a short peel of laughter from Amélie. She shakily stood up, and walked the several steps to the kitchen island.

“Is there any wine?” She asked.

“I don’t think giving you alcohol would be a good thing,” Fareeha said. “I’m sorry.”

Everyone sat down, trying and failing to seem relaxed.

“I know you’re watching me,” Amélie said.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Fareeha said. “It’s…this is new territory for us. We’ve never seen Muninn used before.”

Angela looked up. Olivia gave her a knowing look. But the Spanish woman kept quiet, and simply nodded.

“Please don’t stare at me,” Amélie mumbled. “I…I don’t think I could take much…”

Everyone respectfully looked away, but it only made the atmosphere more awkward.

Akande cut the beef into bite-sized pieces. No one had a knife.

“Could I have something to cut this up with?” Amélie asked.

“We can’t do that,” Fareeha said.

“I don’t want to feel like a child.”

“Amélie, you already tried to kill yourself,” Fareeha mumbled.

“And shot me in the process,” Zarya said, a lopsided grin on her face. Even Angela could tell she meant it as a joke.

“I’m sorry for that,” Amélie said. “I was not aiming at you.”

“Eh, what is a bullet among people who hate fascists?”

“Besides,” Akande smiled, “you might need a spoon to eat it.”

“This is good,” Georgiy said. “Very tender. It is falling off the fork.”

That only made Akande beam all the more. Everyone twitched when, across the safe house, a laptop chirped.

“That wasn’t mine,” Olivia said.

“No, that’s mine,” Angela said. “Or a Blackwatch one. It should be the details of our passage through Europe.”

Angela took another bite, then got up to get the laptop from the conference room.

“Well?” Fareeha pressed as Angela came back.

“Hold on, I’m opening it.” The email came through the Blackwatch intranet, disguised as a simple travel itinerary. She opened it, and quickly skimmed it. “It’s not perfectly safe, but it’s better than going it alone.”

“Is Blackwatch our friend now?” Amélie asked. “They’re as bad as the SS.”

“We try to look that way,” Angela said. “We try to bring the Reich down from within.”

“You’re doing a shit job.”

“It’s hard when the SS has the Führer’s ear.”

“You could do more.”

“If we do more, we’d have to do it from a concentration camp,” Angela said tersely. “We have a delicate line to walk. We do the best we can.”

“Amélie, please,” Fareeha said. “This is a Blackwatch safe house. We’ve been safe so far, we can trust them.”

“I don’t,” she mumbled, playing with her food.

“I can’t blame you,” Angela said. “We’re to travel west, until we reach the Danube river. We’ll follow that until we come to the Alps, and then we’ll cross over into Switzerland. It might still be occupied, but we still resist where we can. There are friends who can help us.”

“That’s still one hell of a run,” Olivia said. “And crossing the Alps? Are they gonna give us any kind of cover or snowmobiles?”

“There’s a tunnel we can take. And Blackwatch will run counter-intelligence operations, making it seem like we’re dozens of kilometers away from where we actually are. They’re also leaving supply dumps, so we can resupply on the move.”

“So we’ll be on the move constantly,” Fareeha said.

“Good. The quicker we get through the Nazis, the better,” Zarya nodded.

“Here, here,” Georgiy said.

“We can’t be getting complacent,” Angela said. “Germany is still a big country. We have lots of traveling to do.”

“Which means we’ll be getting an early start,” Fareeha said. Her tone changed; Angela could tell that she slipped back into her role as sergeant. “Akande, you and Georgiy strip this kitchen bare. Anything that we can take for food and can eat in the truck, we take. Olivia, you and Zarya check the truck, make sure we’ve got everything for an extended road trip.

“Angela, make sure all this Muninn stuff is ready to move. We can’t leave anything behind. Amélie, please, get some sleep. You need it.

“And Angela, how are the Nazi police like? Are they the kind to stop anyone who doesn’t look Aryan?”

“Most certainly.”

“Fucking figured,” Fareeha hissed. “Olivia, I’m sorry, but it looks like you’ll be doing a lot of night driving.”

“Fun, fun, fun,” she grumbled.

“Please, let me drive,” Angela said. “I want to help more.”

“You’re infamous here, we can’t risk you showing up,” Fareeha said.

“I can give her a haircut,” Georgiy said. “That would help.”

“He is good at it,” Zarya nodded, pointing to her shocking pink hair. “He’s been cutting and dying mine for years. Besides, Georgiy and I can also drive. That would help, yes?”

“That settles it,” Fareeha said. “Angela will take the first shift driving, then switch with one of the Russians, then Olivia, and another Russian. Akande, we’ll have to stay out of sight as much as possible.”

“Well, good thing I can kind of pass, I guess,” Olivia said.

“Like I could forget our Cuban Tank Lady. We might need a good distraction from you,” Fareeha smirked. She shimmied her hips, pulling her shirt up as if she was going to flash an onlooker. Angela’s eyes lingered on her abs before she looked away.

“That was one fucking time!” Olivia spat.

She yelled, going on a full Spanish tear, spitting as everyone laughed. Amélie blinked, confused, but she still laughed at the beet-red Olivia.

“Come on, let’s get to work,” Fareeha grinned. “Angela, Amélie, you best get to bed.”

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Amélie mumbled.

Fareeha stopped.

“I’m sorry. I can still see her, when…”

“It wasn’t you,” Fareeha said.

“But—“

“It wasn’t you,” she said again, firmly. “It was a Nazi wonder waffle.”

Amélie smiled at the joke name, but nodded her thanks. She got up, and Angela walked with her, making sure she went to her room.

“You don’t need to look after me,” Amélie said.

“I’m sorry, but I want to make sure you’re safe and sound.”

“Why? You’re the Red Angel of Verdun.”

“I hate that name,” Angela groaned. “I really do. I know what I’ve done, and I know that I’ll have to answer for it, but I want to try and make it all up. Please, just let me help you. Let me do some right in this world.”

Amélie locked eyes with her. Angela returned her glare.

“A sincere Nazi,” Amélie chuckled. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“The world is full of surprises.”

“It still is.” Amélie paused, as if fighting against her better judgment. “Thank you.”

“And thank you for letting me help you.”

Amélie looked like she would say something, but she closed the door instead. Taking a deep breathe, Angela turned around, going back to her room. Fareeha walked up to her.

“Is she…I mean, is there anything in there that can…?”

“Her rifle is in the truck, and the rooms have sheets, but nothing really to tie it to,” Angela said. “I don’t think she’ll try anything rash.”

“Oh good,” Fareeha exhaled, taking a step forward. “Thank you.”

“T-thank you.”

“You need to know that you’re not just a Nazi doctor,” Fareeha smiled. “You’re more than the sins you’ve committed. You know that, right?”

Angela looked away.

“I’ve done terrible things…”

“And you’re making up for it,” Fareeha said, cutting her off. “Can you do me a favor?”

“What can the Red Angel of Verdun do for you?” Angela laughed.

“She can do one thing; at least for now. Can you do me that favor?”

Angela nodded.

“Stop blaming yourself. Yes, you’ve done terrible things; we all know that. But you’re working so hard to make up for it. That means something, so much more than you think. Know that you’re doing so much good in this world with this. Can you do that?”

“I…I can try,” Angela stammered.

“That’s all I need,” Fareeha smiled, the kind that showed true mirth. The kind that lit up a room. The kind that made Angela feel special. “Now get to sleep, we’ve got a lot of traveling.”

Angela nodded, running off to the truck. She grabbed a map from the glove box to mark up and show the route, and almost sprinted to her room, trying to get there before her blush became clear for everyone to see.

Chapter Text

A knock on Angela’s door woke her.

“Hey, time to get up,” Fareeha said through the door. “We gotta move.”

“I know, I’m up,” Angela groaned, rolling around in her borrowed bed.

Slowly, she pulled herself out of bed, grabbed some fresh clothes, and stumbled off to the shared bathroom to take a quick shower. Angela kept the water cool, all the more to wake her up. And it did wake her up. Slightly shivering, she dried herself off, and put on fresh clothes that the Bar-Levs gave her; jeans, an undershirt, and a casual dress shirt.

This isn’t right.

She looked at the mirror. Suddenly, it hit her. Angela walked back to her borrowed room. Each had a closet full of clothes, should visitors needed to change.

“I never thought I’d ever be wearing the swastika again,” she mumbled as she pulled out a woman’s Wehrmacht dress uniform. Her stomach rolled as she put on the uniform; storm gray slacks and blouse, and a bright red tie.

God, I’ve been away for too long, she thought as she dressed. I almost can’t stomach this.

It didn’t take long for her to dress. Angela took a deep breath, and walked into the open living room. The safe house seemed bigger in the morning, but it must be the natural light filtering in through the numerous skylights.

As Angela walked out of her room, she heard voices arguing; Fareeha talked to Amélie, while the rest of the squad stood by.

“We’re going to be traveling through the Reich,” Fareeha said. “We need to wear the uniform to blend in.”

“I’m not wearing any Nazi uniform,” Amélie spat.

“I know it sucks, and I’m sorry,” Fareeha said, “but we have to do it.”

“No.”

“Amélie, I’m sorry,” Angela said, “but without any uniforms, we’re civilians driving a military truck.”

Everyone turned to look at Angela. Amélie and Olivia’s eyes widened as they saw her, but Fareeha grimly nodded.

“She’s right,” Fareeha said. “Amélie, please, I’m sorry for this. But we’re in the middle of the goddamn Third Reich. We need to keep our heads down. Once we’re back with the Allies, you’ll never have to look at it again. But we have to live through this shit first.”

“Amélie,” Akande said quietly, “we can’t be caught.”

Amélie  hissed, voice full of emotions. She stormed off to the back room, her look of rage silencing any questions to her well-being.

“We’ll have to make it up to her,” Angela said numbly.

“We’ll do that when we’re back in Free France,” Fareeha said.

“Shit,” Zarya grumbled. “I need to wear one, too.”

“I know you don’t want to, but—“

“It’s not that. I mean, yes, it is that, but mostly it’s hard to find things that are my size.”

Zarya gestured to her figure; she easily stood two meters tall. If that wasn’t a wrinkle enough, she wasn’t thin, but covered with thick muscles. She would be considered a big and tall, a non-standard size for even a Nazi man.

“God, I’m so sorry. I don’t think there’s a uniform made for someone like you.”

“For the Red Angel of Verdun, you are remarkably nice,” Zarya smiled. “I thought you’d be all quiet fury, cold as ice. But you’re just stumbling over yourself.”

“Thank you…?”

“Da, I meant it as a compliment. You’re nothing like what the propaganda makes you out to be. Don’t worry about me, I’ll find something and make it work. Soviet Russia doesn’t exactly cater to my size either; I’m used to ill-fitting clothes.”

Zarya gave Angela a gentle pat on the shoulder as she walked off to their rooms.

“See?” Fareeha grinned. “What did I tell you? You’re being too hard on yourself.”

Angela turned away, blushing.

“Excuse me.”

The voice made her jump. For a few fleeting seconds, Angela forgot where she was.

“I don’t mean trouble,” Georgiy said, “but I said I would cut your hair.”

“You can’t look like your wanted poster,” Fareeha nodded.

M-my hair…? Then Angela realized that she had gently grabbed her golden locks.

“Look, I love your hair too,” Fareeha said, “but we can’t be tipping the Nazi’s hands.”

“I know,” Angela mumbled. “Just…I’ve never really had to think about my hair much. I never thought I would be this attached to it.”

“Your hair is good,” Georgiy nodded. “I know women who’d kill for hair like this.”

“Can you make it quick?” She mumbled.

“Please, I know how to cut hair,” he chuckled. “You think I only cut Zarya’s hair? Men and women from my battalion all come to me. I can cut it fast.”

“Then…just a little shorter. But not as short as Zarya’s, please.”

Georgiy pulled up a stool from the kitchen. Angela squeezed her eyes and tried not to squirm as she heard the glide of metal-on-metal, Georgiy’s gentle pull as he grabbed it, lifted it, moved it about as he worked.

“There. Done.”

Angela opened her eyes. He handed her a small hand-held mirror taken from the bathroom. Her hair used to go down past her shoulders, at the very limit of woman’s regulation hair style in the Reich armed forces.

Georgiy had given her a bob cut ending just above her ears, and while he worked fast, he had layered it as well. With the weight of her hair cut down, Angela remembered how much bounce her hair had. 

“Thank you. I…I don’t think I’ve gotten a haircut like this before.”

“It looks really good,” Fareeha smiled. “Georgiy, I think you got a bright future as a hair stylist.”

Georgiy beamed at that.

Amélie stormed out of her room, throwing the door open. She wore a Wehrmacht uniform, just like Angela’s. Rage and nausea battled for control of her thin face; Amélie ignored everyone’s gaze, making her way to the truck.

Zarya left her room a few seconds later. The big Russian had found a men’s uniform, and just looking at it made Angela feel uncomfortable. The uniform didn’t give her any room for her breasts; it seemed that she had to bind her chest a bit. But Zarya seemed fine with it.

“Amélie, thank you,” Fareeha said. “Thank you so much. Georgiy, you’ll need to find something for yourself. Move fast, I want to leave soon. Zarya, give everything a last check.”

Georgiy did changed fast. It didn’t surprise Angela, soldiers had to move fast.

She climbed into the driver’s seat. Being a military vehicle, there wasn’t key to turn, only a peddle to push and a button to press. The engine turned over easily.

“Is everyone ready?” Angela called.

“Think we are,” Fareeha said, looking everything over.

Amélie sat in the passenger’s seat, next to Angela. Georgiy got in next; Akande and Fareeha climbed into the back, sitting among their bags. Only Zarya stayed out of the truck, ready to open the door to the safe house.

“Thank you for helping,” Angela said to Amélie.

Amélie looked out of the window, but kept her silence.

“Now I know how you felt back in Turkey,” Fareeha groaned. “I feel like luggage.”

“We’ll stop when we can,” Angela promised.

“Which is not much.”

“I’m trying to make you feel better.”

“And I’m trying to get out of Nazi Germany as fast as I can.”

“You know where you’re going?” Georgiy asked.

“I do.” She pulled out the map she had spent the evening marking up. “Courtesy of Blackwatch. This will take us to supply drops and safe houses.”

“Like a house can be safe in the Reich,” Georgiy snorted.

“This one is.”

He reluctantly nodded, and kept his complaints to himself.

“Let’s get going,” she said, and motioned to Zarya.

Zarya pushed the door open, and Angela pulled the truck out onto the sun-lit road.

“This reminds me of something a Yank would say on my first deployment,” Akande said.

“What’s that?” Zarya asked, climbing into the truck.

“’Hi-ho goddamn Silver, away.’”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fareeha said.

“He always said with a groan. I think it means getting on to do something you don’t want to do.”

“Then hi ho goddamn Silver, away,” Angela groaned.

The Blackwatch route kept Angela away from as many cities as possible. They stuck to small villages, avoiding the massive autobahns whenever they could. It made for slow going, but Angela knew they would be avoiding police checkpoints.

“I never, ever thought I’d be getting the scenic route of the Third Reich,” Olivia mumbled as they passed more farmland. With evening falling, Olivia had taken over driving.

“Life is full of surprises, yes?” Angela laughed, leaning back in the passenger seat.

“Good to see you’re in good humor.”

“More like stress laughing. I don’t think my heart can take much more of this.”

Angela heard a rummaging from the far back, then Zarya tapped her shoulder; Fareeha had passed up a pack of German cigarettes.

“A gift from the safe house,” Fareeha said.

“Does anyone mind if I smoke?” She asked.

“Go ahead,” Georgiy said. “I’m used to smoke. Not a problem.”

Angela still rolled down the window as she lit it. The nicotine felt heavenly, even if the cigarette tasted a little stale.

“We’re coming up on the supply drop,” Olivia said, holding up the map.

“Thank God,” Akande groaned. “I’m cramping something awful back here.”

The map lead them to a run-down gravel road at the back end of a farming village. They were greeted by an abandoned house.

“This is the safe house?” Amélie asked. “We had better ones in France.”

“Blackwatch can’t have safe houses like the last one everywhere,” Angela said, blowing out a lungful of smoke.

“With help like this…”

“If you don’t like it, we can keep driving.”

Amélie glared at her, but looked away, relenting. Olivia drove as close to the house as possible, then turned off the truck. The house seemed to be rotting; it must have been abandoned when the War broke out. There were patches of wood shot up from a decades-old battle.

Angela got out and walked to the door. The air felt crisp and cool as night started falling, a welcome change to the stuffy truck. She pushed the wooden door open, which surprisingly swung open on silent hinges. The house had a living room, dining room, and kitchen.

Yet the dining room had a table that looked new, and the living room’s sofa seemed good enough to fetch a high price at a resale shop. Tucked away in the corner were a handful of sleeping bags, two big cans of gas, and a multi-liter jug of water.

“It’s nice to be able to stretch out,” Olivia said, following her in.

Walking into the kitchen, Angela found a stack of canned goods. Then she spied a small, waterproof bag that sat on the counter. She opened it and several envelopes slid out, along with a cell phone with a sticky note.

Burner. Emergency only. Challenges: star, Finland. Marrow, heart. Frame, heist.

“Hope I never have to use this,” Angela muttered. She slid the phone into her pocket, took a minute to memorize the challenge phrases, then crumpled and ate the paper.

By then, Fareeha had closed the door.

“Alright, we’re doing good,” she said. “How far did we go? Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

Good thing. We barely traveled a quarter of the distance, Angela thought.

“We stay here for the night, leave at first light,” Fareeha said. “Everyone good with that?”

“I’ll get the food warmed up,” Akande said, walking to the kitchen.

“I need to sleep,” Georgiy said. “I’ll take sleeping bag, find nice spot on floor.”

“Amélie, would you like to have another round of treatment?” Angela asked.

“You’d let me?” She asked, clearly surprised.

“I told you, I want to help, but I’d never force it on you.”

Amélie wrapped her arms around herself. She tried to remain proud, but only succeeded in looking scared.

“…Yes, I’d like that.”

“You should get the sofa for this. Please, lay down.”

Angela reached for her bag that held Muninn. Fareeha gently grabbed her hand.

“Are you sure about this?” Fareeha whispered.

“Very sure. Besides, I want Amélie to get better, just as she does.”

“Did…did you change that with her?” Fareeha whispered. “The first time you used it…?”

“Does it really matter?”

Fareeha looked away, but let her go.

God, this is never how I wanted to run my hospital, Angela thought bitterly. But we can’t say no to this, I can’t afford to have such morals, not when we’re in so much danger. Heh. ‘Afford to have such morals.’ Uncle, you’d be proud of me to hear that.

Amélie stretched out on the sofa. Angela pulled Muninn out of the box, and using the implanted code words changed Amélie over to the programmed Widowmaker, all to make her sleep. She placed the helmet on her head, loaded the program, and pressed the start button.

“Hey, what are these?” Olivia asked, holding up the envelopes from the waterproof bag.

“Falsified IDs,” Angela said, walking over.

“You seriously made fake IDs?” Olivia said, her brow furrowing.

“Blackwatch is a government organization, we can easily make IDs.” Angela opened the envelopes, spilling the contents onto the table. “IDs for me, you, Amélie, Georgiy, and Zarya. Enough to let us get through most check points.”

“How did they know we are here?” Zarya asked, taking her ID card.

“I asked for them. Stalin put the word out on you when you defected. He’s probably got your picture up everywhere, so you’d be caught as fast as possible. That’s how they got them.”

“This is scary,” Georgiy mumbled, looking his over. “I have full Reich military record.”

“Blackwatch doesn’t do things by half,” Angela smiled.

“And we didn’t get any because we can’t pass as Aryan, right?” Fareeha asked. “Damn, I would’ve wanted a Nazi passport…”

“You shitting me, boss?” Olivia sputtered.

“Think about it! Me, a gay, Middle Eastern, Muslim woman with a valid Nazi passport!”

Angela couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“If we get the chance, I’ll try to have one made for you,” she smiled.

“You’re the best!”

“Warm soup, coming up,” Akande called.

“Come on, let’s eat and get to sleep. Just save some for Amélie.”

The morning came, and with it, groaning and grunting about cramped muscles.

“Everyone up?” Fareeha asked, rolling her shoulder, the one that got shot weeks ago outside of Egypt. “Let’s get a move on. Come on, cold soup is calling our names.”

“Guess I’ll drive first,” Olivia sighed as she choked down her soup.

Soon they were back on the back roads.

God, this would be idyllic if we weren’t traveling through the Reich, she thought.

Time dragged on and it became noon, and from the back of the truck, Akande passed out more cans.

“So far, so good,” Angela said as she took a can of chicken noodle soup.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Fareeha snapped.

“What?”

“You’re tempting fate. Don’t do it.”

Fareeha is truly superstitious. She paused. Well, maybe a little. We did get caught in Russia because I acted too inconspicuous; it drew attention.

“Shit,” Olivia hissed.

Angela turned around. There were flashing red lights behind them.

“I hate being right,” Fareeha hissed. She rummaged around, pulling out her rifle.

“Don’t shoot!” Angela said. “They could sound an alarm.”

“Than what do we do, act like good Nazis and pull over?” Olivia demanded.

“Yes, of course.”

“And let them question us?” She hissed.

“Better they question us than chase us and tell the world our truck’s ID number.”

Olivia growled, but pulled over to the side of the road. Angela turned around. Zarya and Georgiy grew deathly serious. Amélie had pressed herself against the side of the truck, her face paling, her breathing coming in slow, panicky gasps. Angela couldn’t see Fareeha or Akande.

“I’ll do the talking,” Angela said, pulling her ID out. “I’m the ranking officer, after all.”

“Please,” Georgiy mumbled. “My German is worse than my English.”

“At least you speak German,” Zarya said.

“Akande,” Angela said, “do you and Fareeha have your rifles?”

“We do, but we won’t use them,” he called, hidden in the back.

“Good. But if things go bad…”

“Don’t worry about us, we got it.”

“Then please, be quiet,” Angela said, her heart pounding in her chest. She gave one last look behind her, and saw Georgiy and Zarya pulling out pistols. They checked them, then stuffed them behind their backs.

Outside the car, a policeman walked up to the truck. What would she say?

He tapped on the window, and Olivia rolled it down.

“Good morning,” he said. “Heil Hitler.”

“Heil Hitler,” Angela said. “Officer, thank you for your commitment to regulation, but you have to let us go.”

“Let you go?” The fat policeman said, his brow furrowing. “Why?”

“Officer, I’m with the Wehrmacht. We can’t be stopped, least of all in the backwaters,” Angela said, scoffing as best she could. With her nerves on fire, she hoped she sounded aloof.

“Yes ma’am, I know we’re small compared to you,” the man said, “but didn’t the last order make it clear?”

Angela’s blood froze.

“Which last order are you referring to?” She did her best to keep from stammering.

“Order Number 2497. All units have to be examined by regional officers, should they be caught smuggling traitors to the Reich.”

Angela’s mind spun. It felt like half a second, but time seemed to blur.

“Of course there are traitors to the Reich. We simply have bigger traitors to find.”

“’Bigger traitors?’” The fat policeman said. “What mission do you mean that?”

“You think we only have to worry about traitors to the East?” Angela said. “The damned Allies might be making a push. They’ve been doing so much from Rouen for decades.”

“American dogs,” he growled. “I hope you can help us on the Western front, but I have my own orders to follow. Please, show me your IDs.”

“Of course.” Angela pulled hers out, but saw that the Russians were still staring ahead idly, to say nothing of the panicking Amélie. She snapped at them, and they quickly pulled theirs out. The policeman took the IDs, but seemed to linger on the clammy Amélie.

Angela dryly swallowed, but the officer let her go. He looked their IDs over, and handed them back. Then he nodded to the Russians.

“You have two big men there. They should be on the front.”

“They’re good soldiers, but a little slow. This…this is their attempt to learn a little, maybe then they can be better soldiers for the Reich.”

“Lord above, that thing is actually a woman!”

Angela didn’t know what to say. She bit her tongue and let the man laugh.

“Hey, can she prove she’s a woman?” He laughed. “Does she have breasts?”

“I thank you for your dedication, but we need to get moving.”

“I have to see this! God,  she’s huge! Does she sound like a woman, or talk like a man?”

“When I said they’re a little slow, they’re…they’re actually deaf and dumb.”

“Ah, no wonder they’re not on the front. They shouldn’t have made it past primary school.”

“They’re strong workers, and that’s what we need,” Angela babbled.

“Hey, lady! Can you hear me?”

“She can’t.”

“But she squirmed.”

“Please, we have to find this traitor,” she insisted.

“Such a big woman, almost like a man. She’s like that Russian Stalin is raging over.”

“Officer, we have to get moving.”

“Such a big woman…” The officer trailed off. “Yes, just like that Russian…”

He fumbled with his uniform, pulling a picture from his pocket.

“That is the Russian—!“

Olivia lashed out, hitting him in the throat with the edge of her hand. He stumbled away, gasping, choking, and clutching his neck. A second later, Georgiy and Zarya pulled out their pistols and shot him down, shattering the glass windows.

Akande and Fareeha pushed the bags off them and raised their rifles. But before they could shoot, the policeman’s partner screamed, and opened fire.

Angela pressed the flats of her palms against her ears as bullets were shot from, and hit, the truck. Amélie screamed. Fareeha’s rifle kicked, then Akande let loose with his machine gun, which quickly drowned everything out.

“Go!” Akande yelled, finally stopping.

Olivia threw the truck in gear. Tires spun.

“Wait!” Georgiy shouted. He leaned out of the window, and shot the policeman on the ground. “He had radio out.”

“Is he dead?” Olivia demanded.

“He is now.”

“Did he get a warning off?” She pressed.

“I don’t know.”

Olivia cursed as she peeled away. Angela looked back out the rear of the truck; the policeman lay on the ground, with the police car shot almost to ribbons.

“Medic,” Akande called. “Fareeha got hit.”

Oh no…

Angela scrambled over the seat, pushing by Zarya and Georgiy. They moved as best as they could; Amélie had curled up into a ball, tears pouring down her face, yet she remained deathly silent. Angela quickly made it to the back of the truck. Fareeha’s arm bled heavily. She had her lips pressed together, breathing heavily through her nose; Angela knew she did her best to hide her obvious pain.

“I’m here, I’m here.” Angela dug through the bags, looking for the aid kit. She found it, and pulled it out. She pressed gauze pads to the wounds. “Please slow down, need to close these wounds.”

“We need to put distance between us and the Nazis,” Olivia yelled back.

“We need to get off the road,” Akande said. “This truck is hot.”

“I can’t operate in this!”

“And we’ll be caught if we stop!”

“Dammit,” Angela growled with annoyance. She dug out her Caduceus.

“Hit me with the good stuff,” Fareeha hissed through her clenched teeth. She did a poor job of trying to sound tough.

Angela wiped off as much blood as she could. Fareeha had been hit in her chest, right by her shoulder. The bullet seemed precariously close to her lung.

She activated her Caduceus. It spat out the aerosolized nanoparticles, which began stitching the wound together. Fareeha sighed as their dosage of morphine went to work. Angela did her best to keep her balance as Olivia threw the van around, taking turns at a wild speed.

Slowly, the bullet wound began to close. Just as the Caduceus began sealing the layer of muscle, it chirped, running on empty.

“Shit.” Angela dug through her bag, found the second to last block of particles. Fortunately, it proved just enough to close the rest.

She only had one block left. Angela began making an IV drip for Fareeha.

“Where are we going?” Olivia called. “I’m just taking turns to throw them off us.”

“We have to stick to the map,” Fareeha slurred, fighting the morphine.

“Please, stay down,” Angela begged, “the particles need time to close the wound.”

“We could have Nazis closing in on us,” Olivia hissed.

“We will if you keep driving like this,” Zarya said.

“And leave us as sitting ducks? I think not.”

“Colomar, we need to stick to the plan,” Fareeha slurred.

“The plan is shit!”

“Everyone shut up,” Angela shouted, pulling the burner phone from her pocket. She moved to the next seat, just to keep from having to knee Akande in the side.

“Oi, what the fuck is that?” Olivia demanded.

“It’s a burner phone from the supply box.”

She turned the phone on; it only had one number saved to it. The phone rang three times before being answered

“Star.”

“Ingrid! I—”

“Star!” Ingrid hissed.

Angela had to answer the challenge.

“Uh, Finland.”

“Marrow.”

“Heart,” Angela answered.

“Frame.”

“Heist.”

“Angela, oh thank God,” Ingrid sighed.

“Ingrid, it is so good to hear you.”

“We can’t chat. If you’re calling with this phone, shit has gone wrong.”

“It has. We were stopped by local police.”

“What happened to them?”

“They’re dead.”

“Fuck. Were they able to radio anything?”

“One of them was able to get on his radio, but I don’t know if they called anything in.”

“We treat this as a leak,” Ingrid said. “And with the SS and Gestapo all around, we can’t bury it, we have to play it off somehow.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your defection has kicked the Führer’s paranoia up from eleven to twelve. The Gestapo and the SS are breaking under the pressure, but they’re still dangerous. Hold on.”

In the background, Ingrid madly typed away at a her keyboard.

“I’ve got feelers in the south; it looks like they were able to get a brief call out, but it wasn’t complete. I’ll try to redirect it to the north, feed them a false-positive.”

“Thank you.”

“This isn’t a miracle, this is us drawing their attention,” Ingrid said tightly. “Shit, I’ll have to give them a safe house or two to make up for this.”

“A safe house? Ingrid, are you—“

“Everything is a dance here,” she snapped. “Give and take, all to stay under the radar, otherwise we’ll be caught giving too much away. You know this, Angela.”

“I do know this. I want to know if we can afford to lose those houses.”

“We can’t, but it beats the alternative. Where are you?”

Angela grabbed the map from Georgiy.

“Between point Dora and Friedrich. Maybe at Emil, a little before.”

“Got it. There’s a small town coming up just past Emil; find a car there, ditch the truck. The local police force doesn’t seem to have gotten the summons, I’ll try to keep them from finding it. And I’ll try to suppress any reports of a stolen car.”

“Thank you, Ingrid. This is a life saver.”

“Then don’t waste it. Do you need new IDs and passports?”

“I think it’d be for the best.”

“You’ll get them in Switzerland.”

“Thank you. Oh, and if you can, get one for Fareeha Amari?”

“The sergeant you’re with?” Angela could see Ingrid arch her eyebrow in her mind’s eye. “Does she want it for a trophy?”

“Something like that.”

“It does seem pretty funny. We’ll take care of it.”

Ingrid hung up, and Angela opened up the phone. She pulled out the SIM card, broke it, and tossed the phone out of the window.

“Olivia, please, slow down.”

“We’re in—”

“Nazi Germany, I fucking know,” she gasped. “Local police got the call, Blackwatch is misdirecting them. We need to keep a low profile, otherwise we will be caught. Slow down!”

Olivia’s hands were white knuckle tight on the wheel. Angela could see she wanted to race through the countryside, but eventually relented, slowing down to a better speed.

“Thank you,” Angela sighed. “We need to get back on the route. It’ll take us to a town, and we can find a new car there. Please, we have to get rid of this as soon as we can.”

Angela climbed up a few rows; Georgiy and Zarya made room for her. She crawled up to Amélie, who still remained curled up.

“Amélie, talk to me, are you okay?” She asked, gently putting an arm around the trembling woman.

“T-they almost had us,” she sobbed. “They almost caught me…”

“I know, but we escaped. It’ll be fine.” Angela looked up. “Turn left here.”

Chapter Text

“This is close enough,” Fareeha said. “Pull over.”

“Hold on.” Olivia pulled off the road, driving into the roadside ditch. In this area of the Reich, there were lightly wooded areas just off the road, and she drove into them. The van pitched and rolled, but she kept driving for another thirty seconds.

“Everyone out, we’re hoofing it,” Fareeha said, kicking open the bullet-ridden back door.

“Please take it easy, the nanoparticles are still setting,” Angela begged.

“I’d like to, but we can’t,” Fareeha said. “Come on, move. Map says Point Friedrich is a couple klicks away, we don’t want to draw attention.”

Everyone left the truck, grabbing their packs as they did so. Zarya carried Amélie’s pack, of which Amélie mumbled a little thank you.

“Akande, you and I are gonna stay deep in cover, everyone else can walk by the tree line,” Fareeha ordered. “Move out.”

Angela nearly walked in a ditch by the roadside. As they got moving, her beating heart started to calm, and her body started to unknot itself as the ambient sounds of the woods set upon them. Wind gently blew, birds chirped, it all felt unnaturally picturesque.

“At least the walk is doing us good,” she said weakly. “Physical activity is the best way to fight stress.”

“Yeah, I’m actually feeling not too bad,” Olivia said. “That freaks me out even more…”

“There’s a parking lot,” Zarya said, pointing through a break in the trees. Cars and trucks packed a parking lot by a local bar on the outskirts of the small little town they happened upon.

“And that’s our ride,” Akande said, nodding towards a van by the edge of the trees. The van had decals advertising a painting and handyman service. He fished through his bag. “I got this.”

Akande didn’t have to step outside of the tree line much. He pulled out a coat hanger, inserted it between the weather strip and the window, and slowly, gently moved it about.

“You had that with you?” Georgiy asked.

“Took it from the last safe house. Habit from my misspent youth.” With a click, he pulled open the door, and popped the rear doors and the hood. “Everyone, pile in. Once I get the engine going, we move.”

“Don’t empty anything out,” Fareeha said. “We want this to look like a stolen truck, not a transport for fugitives.”

“I’ll drive,” Angela said.

Zarya opened the back of the truck, and cursed in Russian.

“This is packed.” The truck had been packed full of the various tools and supplies a handyman would need; Angela saw three multi-liter jugs of paint, one side of the van had a small shelfing unit set up with various screws, knobs, pipes, and fittings stuffing each shelf, the owner had even stuffed a folded-up gas powered lawnmower in it. “We can’t fit here.”

“We have to make due until we’re out of town,” Fareeha said. “We can’t go ringing the wrong alarm bells, not when our benefactors are working so hard to keep us safe.”

With a grumble, everyone piled in, finding awkward spots to sit amongst the bits, bobs, and various machining bits. Amélie sat next to Angela in the passenger’s seat.

“Come on, Akande, move faster…”

The engine groaned, turned over, and caught. Akande slammed the hood and ran to the open backdoor. Angela put the truck in gear and pulled onto the road, making sure to drive exactly at the speed limit.

“Is anyone behind us?” She asked.

“Not that I can see,” Amélie said.

“Thank Allah,” Fareeha sighed. “Nice one, Akande. I hate to be the hard ass bitch, but we need to get out of this shitty country. We sleep and drive in shifts until we get to the next Blackwatch safe house.”

“That will be in Vienna,” Angela said.

“And Vienna is how far along in our trip?”

“About a third,” she sighed.

“Fuck,” Olivia spat. “We got two-thirds more to go?”

“It sucks, but at least we have some eyes in the sky,” Fareeha said. “Once we’re in Vienna, we take a night to rest, then we have to get back on the road. Hitler has his army coming back, and we can’t get caught in that.

“Georgiy, can you take the next shift driving?” Angela asked.

“Yes, I can.”

“I’ll take over after him,” Zarya said.

“Then get some rest,” Fareeha said. “And if you sleep with your gun, put the damn safety on.”

The factories of Vienna were visible long before anyone could see the city proper. Dozens of smokestacks belched steam and exhaust into the sky; even at night, many furnaces were still active, pumping smoke into the air as they labored into the night, ceaseless.

“Fucking Vienna,” Olivia growled from the driver’s seat. “Never thought I’d be in the panzer capital of the world. Why can’t they run out of fucking gas?”

“Because of the Estonian oil shales,” Angela yawned. Try as she might, she couldn’t get comfortable. Either because of the cramped space in the truck, or because of the stress, she didn’t know. She took little solace knowing no one else slept. “That was their saving grace in the mid-40’s, and the reason the Reich didn’t immediately collapse on itself.”

“The Reich also steals oil from us,” Georgiy added, shifting his weight yet again. And for the umpteenth time, he pushed the lawnmower back, only to have it roll against him yet again.

“That, too,” she nodded.

“Where are we going?” Olivia asked.

“There’s a warehouse district along the river.”

Angela stared off into the distance, eyes locked on a large building in the distance.

“Hey. Hey!”

Blinking, she snapped to. Olivia glared at her.

“What’s with you?”

“Just…I was looking at the Kunsthistorisches Museum,” Angela said, pointing into the distance.

“Why are you getting so weepy-eyed about some Nazi museum?” Amélie asked. Angela could hear the accusation in her voice.

“It’s not a Nazi museum,” she said. “It’s a fine arts museum, one of the best in Europe; one of the last. I visited it as a young woman. It felt like stepping into a different world, a world where the Nazis lost the war. It showed different parts of Vienna, showed the culture it used to have. Turn right there.”

“Culture?” Olivia huffed. “In Vienna?”

“Yes, it used to be so much more. Music, arts, poetry, Vienna had everything once. Then fucking Hitler started this stupid, stupid war. Germany burned under Allied bombs, and new industrial centers were needed. With Vienna sitting on the Danube river, Hitler said it should be an industrial center.

“And so it became. Any history of the city was suppressed. Musical, architecture, religious philosophy, everything unrelated to the endless war effort was stripped out in favor of using the river to send materials throughout the Reich. Now look at it.”

Angela gestured to the city. Smokestacks numbered in the dozens, factories dominated most of the skyline, and even in the late hours, lights could be seen from blast furnaces as the night shift continued to work.

“There’s nothing pretty left.”

Angela thought Olivia would say something biting and sharp, or for Amélie to spit at her for saying anything tangentially related to praise for the Nazis. But oddly, the van remained quiet as they grimly nodded their agreement. The silence stretched on, and Angela swore she could feel the mood shift to something truly melancholy.

“There, left,” she said numbly. “Take that turn down by the river. That’s where the safe house is.”

“Doesn’t seem safe for safe house,” Fareeha said. Angela could tell she talked just to help the moment pass.

I wish we still had Lena, Angela thought. She knew how to lighten a mood.

“You’ll be surprised where the Nazis don’t look,” she said instead.

They drove along a short stretch of road that ran literally parallel to the Danube river. After looking at the building numbers, they found the right one. Unlike the previous safe house, it didn’t seem abandoned. But it didn’t seem well-used, either.

Angela got out of the van and found the keypad to let them in. Reading the graffiti that served as the key, she decrypted it, and the door clicked open.

The safe house wasn’t nearly as big as the last. Instead of private rooms, it had four bunk beds off to the side, a cross between a hostel and a studio apartment. But it also had a kitchen, two different usable trucks, and gallons of fuel. Angela quickly disarmed the security console by the kitchen.

“Get some rest,” Fareeha yawned as she climbed out of the van.

“Yes, we need to do more running from the Nazis,” Zarya mumbled. She walked to one of the bottom bunks, and collapsed into it. She fell asleep just as fast as Akande did as he claimed his own bed.

Angela went off to the side of the room where a cart full of laptops waited. She needed to know how they were doing. Turning it on, she entered the Blackwatch intranet. She only just got on before a video call came in. She accepted it, and came face-to-face with her god-sister.

“Angela? Is that you? And did you get your hair cut?”

“Brigitte? What are you doing up so late?”

Her sister smiled, brushing her long brown hair back.

“Uncle Reinhardt asked for volunteers to sit online and wait until you hit a safe point.”

“You aren’t in trouble of being caught? Ingrid says the Gestapo  are all over the place.”

“They are, but they also don’t think us women folk can do much harm.”

“Then let’s prove them wrong, shall we?”

“Oh, we are!” Brigitte laughed. “Angela, things are moving so fast. We’re so close to replacing the SS. Uncle Reinhardt is petitioning Hitler endlessly; he’s been doing it for days.”

“The SS can’t like that.”

“No shit they don’t! They’re trying to prove to the Führer that they’re still the best, but there’s too much work and they don’t have the manpower to keep up with it. Maybe now they wish they let women properly join and not be simple gofers, yes?”

“Let’s be glad they didn’t.”

“Right now, I am glad. But the Führer is actually thinking of replacing them! He’s pissed that you defected, and he blames the SS for not catching it. I mean, he blames Blackwatch too, but it’s not our job to catch defectors; we only ‘watch for external threats.’ We could actually do it! We can replace the SS and overthrow—!”

“Brigitte, please, we don’t know if you’re that safe.”

Her sister blinked. She nearly didn’t catch herself.

“You’re right,” she sighed, rubbing her eyes. “I’m sorry, things are just so stressful here. And they can’t be better with you.”

“Certainly not. We just hit the safe house in Vienna; how close are we to being caught?”

“You’re a few steps ahead of everyone. The SS are realizing that if you hadn’t gotten caught yet, you could be further into the Reich. They’re ordering more and more men to travel west to try and locate you. They’ve even started sending teams into Switzerland.”

“Switzerland? We were planning to sneak through there to France. They’ve really read our moves.”

“Mom talked with Commander Reinhardt,” Brigitte said quietly. “When Hitler found out you defected, he nearly tore us apart. We’re on thin ice, Angela, we can’t upset anyone any more than we have.”

Angela’s stomach dropped. She remembered Ingrid saying she had to give up valuable safe houses to draw attention off their tracks. This must mean they had to do more to keep everyone alive.

“To stay on his good side,” Brigitte continued, “we made a projected map of your escape route through the Reich, and that includes going through Switzerland. It’s the only way we could avoid being liquidated.”

“I…understand,” Angela said. “How accurate are those predicted maps?”

“Pretty accurate. It diverges in Switzerland, but there isn’t anything else we can do. We’re spinning it that you’re trying to connect with some undiscovered Swiss resistance group.”

“We’re planning to sneak through the Saignelégier  ghetto, so it’s not too far from the truth,” Angela smiled, just to break the tension. “Don’t worry, we’re leaving in the morning.”

“Good.” Brigitte paused. “I’ll be deploying with them, soon. Uncle Reinhardt spun it so Blackwatch wants to catch you before anyone else, to ‘regain our honor.’”

“Are the Gestapo are going with you?”

“A few officers ace. That’s all they can spare.”

“Good. Better than more.”

“Yes, better than more,” Brigitte laughed. “I’ll be going to Switzerland in the next few days. I…I want to see you again, but I hope that we don’t meet.”

“I hope we don’t meet too, but for the right reasons,” Angela smiled. “You might have to shoot at me.”

“I won’t shoot you! I’ll miss on purpose!”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

The Blackwatch route kept them along the Danube River. They followed small town roads to avoid areas that were constantly policed. While it worked, it proved to be slow-going. The van drove by cities that couldn’t have been more than a few hundred people large.

“Okay, I know this is shit,” Olivia finally said, breaking the tense silence, “but can we but the radio on? I need something here.”

“Yes, can we?” Georgiey asked from the driver’s seat.

“Noise will do us good,” Akande nodded, voice full of stress. “We’re on edge as it is.”

“We’re in Nazi homeland,” Amélie scoffed, “there’s nothing good on the radio.”

“Let’s see about that. Angela? Anything good on the dial?” Fareeha asked.

“What about Lena’s music?” She asked.

The van drifted into a tense silence.

“I buried it with her,” Fareeha said tightly. “It…just seemed right.”

“Oh.” Angela didn’t know what to say. “W-we can, but…it’s Reich radio. They could have anything on, from propaganda to manufactured music.”

“’Manufactured music?’” Zarya asked, her eyebrow arching.

“Music isn’t made in the Reich, it’s formed by committee. Everyone has to be a good fascist, a good part of the state,” Angela said. “Music encourages people to grow, to become part of a group. For example, Aryan Härte is the most popular genre for the youngest generation; it’s all about being hard, uncompromising, willing to kill and die for the Fatherland, for the Aryan race. It’s all made by committee; the most input musicians get is how each hook plays, how it engages. Other than that, it’s all about promoting people to join the Reich.”

“Fucking fascists,” Fareeha grumbled.

“I am not so bored that I want to hear people heiling the Reich,” Georgiy grumbled.

“Amen, brother,” Akande said, raising his fist. Georgiy gave it a hearty pound.

“Come on, some noise can’t be that bad,” Olivia gasped. “For fuck’s sake, I’m reading and decrypting a Nazi incel’s journal! I need a break of some kind!!”

“What’s an ‘incel?’” Angela asked.

“It’s…oh-never-fucking mind, it’ll be a pain to describe.”

“Turn on the radio,” Fareeha said. “We might be able to get some news of the world. Filtered and Nazi-centric, yes, but any info is good info, right?”

“You are joking?” Zarya snorted. “Nazis will say anything to get their way.”

“Just like the Kremlin?” Olivia said. Angela could hear the grin in her voice.

“Just like it,” Zarya nodded. Angela couldn’t tell if Zarya caught the humor.

“Right, I know we’ll regret this, but let’s try to get some news of the world,” Fareeha said. “Angela, can you turn on the radio?”

“Can I not?”

“Angela, please.”

“I don’t want to,” she whispered. “Please. Too many bad memories.”

The van again drifted into silence.

“We need some idea of what’s going on out there,” Fareeha said quietly. “I know this isn’t good, but can you humor us? At least for a few minutes? Just to get an idea of what’s going on?”

Angela bit her lip.

It feels like I’ve been gone for a lifetime. God, I never want to go back to this. Lena’s music had real soul, real passion, this…I don’t think I can turn the radio on.

“We have to know what’s going on,” Akande said. He didn’t sound pleased to say it.

Taking a deep breath, Angela summoned up all her courage. She reached forward for the radio dial. The van they stole had an older radio, one with a knob-dial. She turned it on.

“…the path of the righteous!” A voice yelled. Angela stiffened.

“Shit, Hitler the third himself,” Olivia spat.

“We shall beat back this wave of corruption! Our enemies know our strength, and they hate us for it! They see our resolve, and they are envious of it! They see our will, and they are jealous of it! Stand with me, oh Fatherland, and marshal your strength, for we’ll need it now more than ever as the terrible Ivans seek to march upon us. Yet all is not lost, our proud men are being pulled back from the subhuman deserts, and shall be with us in mere days.

“We must show them that we are stronger than ever! We must show our enemies that we stand against them, and that we will throw them out of our homeland, our living space, our world as given to us by our ancestors! We will—“

Georgiey turned it off.

“Can’t take more of that,” he hissed.

“Shit, I was expecting some bullshit, wasn’t expecting a deluge of that,” Olivia said.

“Can you see now why I didn’t want that?” Angela asked.

“My German isn’t on that level,” Fareeha said. “What was the third Hitler saying?”

“Just that the Germans are a strong people, that they’d overcome anything. He says troops should be back within a few days.”

“But Heinrich Hitler made a big deal of standing against the Russians, didn’t he?” Fareeha asked.

“So?” Amélie asked.

“That means that the Russians are planning to move forward,” she said. “They want to invade Europe; they’re not content with holding back. And if the Russians are prepping for an invasion, then the Nazis have to be preparing a defensive, if not a counter-offensive.

“That means they have eyes on the east, not west. That means we might have an easier time sneaking out of this hell pit.”

“I, I never thought of it that way,” Amélie said.

“Well, at least it gave us a little distraction,” Georgiey said. “Now just more driving.”

“Hope we get there soon,” Fareeha mumbled.

“Me, too,” Angela said, drawing her arms around herself.

The trip through the heartland of the Reich passed in a stress-induced haze. Angela felt ready to fall apart. Fortunately, they had raided the last safe house’s pantry, and took all the instant, high-caffeine coffee they could carry.

Even with all the sugar and crème that Fareeha added, it tasted terrible in the bottles of lukewarm water. It also made Angela’s heart race at an uncomfortable level. But, it kept her awake during her shift. Having spent the last two days awake, she needed it. Sadly, it kept her up even when her shift ended.

Eventually, they came to the end of their route in a tiny town called Tengen.

“There,” Angela said, pointing to a small house at the outskirts of town. An old car sat in a driveway; it looked like it hadn’t been moved in months.

Zarya pulled into the driveway. The garage had the usual Blackwatch key code access, and a small piece of graffiti for Angela to decode. She entered the code, and the garage door opened. Zarya pulled in, and as soon as the door closed, everyone fell out of the truck.

“That was the worst day ever,” Olivia groaned. “Of all time.”

“At least we were able to get through most of the Reich in one day,” Zarya groaned.

“Yeah, but fourteen hours in a truck with no pit stops? Don’t get me wrong, I love you guys, but…¡Qué fuerte estuvo esa mierda!”

Angela opened the door to the house. There weren’t any Blackwatch agents to greet them, like all the other safe houses. The garage led to a kitchen, where a number pad hung on the wall. She ran over, entering the code to deactivate the alarm, then noticed a manila envelope; no doubt it had the instructions to the next leg of their journey. The kitchen connected to a dining and living room. Just down the hall were two bathrooms.

“Bathrooms are down—“

A scuffle broke out as everyone made a run to the bathroom. Zarya pushed Olivia out of the way, and Akande nearly muscled past Georgiy, but the Russian tripped him the last second.

“Fuck’s sake, just take turns,” Fareeha groaned.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want to use the bathroom,” Angela said.

“I’m ready to burst! But getting in a fight would only make me pop.”

Angela couldn’t help but laugh at that, which made Fareeha smile. They both waited for their turn, and Angela took the time waiting in line to read the contents of the envelope; soon she had the bathroom to herself.

Fortunately, the bathrooms had been supplied with plenty of air fresheners, which had been put to liberal use. Angela took her time, and stepped out feeling that much closer to normal.

“Hey Angela, why don’t we see any of your Blackwatch buddies here?” Olivia asked, splayed out over the living room sofa. Fortunately, the house’s blinds were closed, giving them all the privacy they could ever need. Akande sat next to her, and she had her head on his lap.

“Probably because of the fucking SS and Gestapo,” she said, taking an open chair. “They’re the ones who search the Reich for ‘signs of subversion and resistance to the Führer’s will.’ Ever since the world found out I was alive, they’re taking the opportunity to audit Blackwatch. They’ve been dying to do that for decades.”

“Why’s that?”

“They think they’re the only ones who can protect the Reich. To them, Blackwatch just gets in the way.”

“But you do get in the way, don’t you?” Olivia grinned.

“That’s beside the point. With the SS watching us, we can’t spare to send a housekeeper.”

“Angela,” Fareeha called, “they have a sunroom here. Need a smoke or four?”

“Dear God I’d love that!”

The sunroom looked like an addition to the house. It had windows running all along it, but with thick sun shade blinds drawn down on all of them. They let some of the remaining sun in, while preventing any onlookers from spying on them. What made the room seem even more safe and inviting were the reclining lounge chairs.

“God, this is so comfortable,” Angela sighed as she stretched out in the nearest chair.

“Just what we needed,” Fareeha agreed. She kicked back her chair, going to a full recline. Angela heard her back popped as Fareeha stretched out. She took a cigarette out, lit it, and passed the pack to Angela.

“So, how do you like our glorious Reich?” Angela smiled, lighting her cigarette up.

“It’s got a beautiful river,” Fareeha laughed. “The travel company seemed obsessed with it; it’s all I could see! And the truck sucked, it was too cramped, and we couldn’t stop for a bathroom break, it was awful.

“But they kept me out of a concentration camp, so ten-out-of-ten.”

“I’ll be sure to pass your critiques on to those who care,” Angela laughed. She welcomed the nicotine, but she really just needed to stretch out and relax. She set her own chair to recline.

“I don’t mean to pry, and I think I already know the answer to this, but I’ve been dying to know,” Fareeha said. “What’s the least worst part of living in the Reich? I mean, you’re so well put together for growing up in this shit heap, something had to keep you going.”

“My family,” she said without any hesitation.

“Fucking called it,” Fareeha smiled.

“My Uncle was the best thing that could have happened, after…after my parents. Growing up, he found a way to keep me sane and motivated to become a doctor. There’s been plenty of times where I felt like quitting, but he was able to get me to continue.”

“He sounds like a great man.”

“He…is,” Angela said.

“Why the hesitation?”

“There have been things my uncle has done that were evil,” she mumbled. “The lessons he taught me, God I hate them, I hated the things I had to do. They were to keep me alive, but…”

Angela didn’t know what else to say. She could see Fareeha shifting awkwardly in her chair, but she couldn’t figure out what to say.

All because my uncle taught me the brutal calculus to balance saving lives with staying safe from Nazi purges. All because he taught me how to survive in the Reich.

“What about Brigitte?” Fareeha asked. “You said she was your sister?”

“God-sister,” Angela said gently. “No blood binds us, but we’re still sisters.”

“I’ve seen the reports, she’s the daughter of Torbjörn Lindholm, right? Isn’t she young?”

“She is. I helped raise her, so I’m like a very big sister.”

“There’s no one your age in Blackwatch?”

Angela took a very long drag of her cigarette.

“No,” she exhaled, “there isn’t.”

“I’m sorry. That must’ve been incredibly tough.”

“Please don’t play with your shoulder.”

Fareeha blinked. The nanoparticles were clearly aggravating her; she rubbed her chest and shoulder, digging her nails in to scratch an itch.

“Sorry. Thanks for catching that.”

“Have to make sure my favorite patient is taking care of herself,” Angela smiled gently. “Yes, it’s been tough. In some ways, it was even worse than growing up in the Reich! I can fake a good Nazi, I can spout propaganda and Aryan lies as easy as breathing. But…being by myself…”

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s something I’ve had to deal with, but being able to actually talk about it, it’s nice. You know, the first step of admitting a problem and all that.”

“Sounds more like venting to me.”

“Why can’t it be both?” Angela smiled.

“Then let’s get you to vent more! What was the thing you just couldn’t fucking stand?”

“Oh God, it’s all the misogyny, without a fucking doubt,” she spat. “My mother warned me when the Nazis took over that if I were to be a doctor, I had to be a better doctor than any other man. God, she was so fucking right!”

Fareeha laughed; not at her predicament, but at the sudden rage that overtook her. Angela could tell that it wasn’t being laughed at, rather Fareeha laughed in solidarity. Seeing and hearing Fareeha laugh, it seemed to urge Angela on, to rant more, yell her frustration to the skies, and it felt great.

“It could be as simple as taking someone’s temperature, and they’d give me A Look, or ask if I was doing it right, or even starting lecturing me on how to use an electronic thermometer, or they’d say ‘Well, Actually,’ and lecture for ten fucking minutes. And of course I had to be a Good Nazi Woman and listen to them, otherwise I’d get sent to a camp! It’s the fucking worst!!”

 “Better?” Fareeha smiled.

Angela realized she had to catch her breath.

“God, so much so.”

“That’s the way to do it,” the Egyptian smiled. “Get that bitching out of your system; bottling it up doesn’t do anyone any favors.”

“Is that how the Allies do it?”

“Of course. We found that out the hard way. With…you know…”

Fareeha pantomimed shooting herself in the head. Angela swallowed hard.

“Ah,” she mumbled weakly.

“Yeah,” Fareeha said. “The Allies are getting better at managing the stress of combat and military life, but there are still those…oh, what do the psychologists call them? Micro-aggressions! And we still get some of those assholes, too.”

“Really? I thought the Allies would have worked everything out by now.”

“If only it was only that,” Fareeha laughed, tapping the ash of her cigarette into a cheap ashtray. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I can fight, both as a woman and a woman of color. That kind of shit would’ve never flown in the fifties. But the reason they integrated is total bullshit.”

“What made the Allies let people of color and women in?”

“Necessity,” Fareeha said, taking a drag. “I only gave you the short version, didn’t I? Well, when the War stretched into the fifties, a lot of white soldiers were getting tired of being stuck in a stalemate. They wanted out, and the Allies saw that they were facing a wave of leaving vets. They needed to keep their recruitment numbers up.

“As that was happening, a lot of things were adding pressure. In America, black citizens were crying out for better treatment. In India, there were protests and marches and hunger strikes and dozens of acts of civil disobedience to be free of Britain.

“Well, a few crazy bastards got a ‘brilliant’ idea to solve all their problems. The Americans passed their Civil Rights Act, granting African Americans equal rights, and Britain signed the London Declaration, granting India full and equal entry to the Commonwealth. Then they pointed their fingers at the Nazis, and everyone pretty much knew that if the Hitlers won, they could kiss all that progress good-bye.”

“So African Americans and Indian—sorry, South Asians signed up to fight?”

“All to keep their newfound freedoms from the Nazis,” Fareeha nodded.

“It’s…good that they’re free now?”

“Sounds strange to say it, right?” She laughed. “But, that’s the Allies for you: doing the right thing for the wrong reasons. The same thing happened in the mid-eighties. By then, the war was hitting the forty-plus-year mark, and some soldiers just had enough, just like the fifties.

“But the military still needed warm bodies, and women have been trying to volunteer for direct combat since forever. Turns out, wanting to kill Nazis is a great way to score political points. They saw the desire for women to fight, and they needed fighters, so here we are.”

Fareeha took another cigarette. Angela joined her.

“Has America changed in other ways?” Angela asked quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s…the Nazis took so many ideas on segregation and racial separation from the Americans. It’s how they isolated the Jews and other ‘undesirables.’ Has America changed because of that? Because they don’t want to be associated with the Nazis?”

Fareeha took a very long drag of her cigarette.

“I never had a problem with any of that when I was studying in America,” she said quietly. “Most Americans want to do anything to bury that. Americans are good people. But their politicians…?”

“They can’t want to continue with those practices, can they?” Angela gasped.

“Some do, but most are just opportunistic bastards. They’re a minority, but they’ve conned their way into holding power. Changed rules, rammed judges through, rig the game so they win. I don’t know all about it, it’s not my country, but America is so big and powerful, we can’t help but pay attention.”

Fareeha chuckled.

“We have a saying…well, not a saying, more of a joke. ‘When America has an election, every country should be allowed to vote as well because everything America does has such huge consequences for the rest of the world.’”

“The Americans can’t like that.”

“Most of them get the joke. But the ones that are in power hate it. Them, and the people they conned into voting for them.”

Angela shifted in her chair.

“But…America can’t be like the Reich, is it?”

“There are enough Americans that like the Nazis that it makes you worry,” she said flatly. “But, it’s the people in power; they’ll do anything to stay in power, say anything. Those are the bastards you have to watch out for; they’ll make peace with Nazi sympathizers.”

“Then America isn’t that much different than the Reich,” Angela scowled.

Fareeha shifted uncomfortably.

“It’s got its problems, but it’s not all bad. They helped the world get back up, and they got the money to prove they helped out. America has a lot of power, and not just political.”

“That’s incredible.” Angela leaned back, taking it all in.

“Eh, kind of,” Fareeha sighed. “To answer your first question, yes, the Americans let their women fight. If it wasn’t for them, no one else would have women soldiers.”

“But only so they could have more soldiers to order around.”

“That is the downside,” Fareeha nodded.

It felt as though cold water had been poured down Angela’s spine. Her skin prickled, turned to gooseflesh.

Can America be trusted with Muninn? She thought. That had been our plan all along, give it to the Allies to find a counter. But since America holds so much power in the Allies…

“Still, it must be nice,” Angela said instead, “being wanted in a service branch.”

“What do you mean? You’re part of the military.”

“Yes, but only in support roles, and ever then it’s like pulling teeth. They’d rather have boys do the fighting than let a women take part.”

Fareeha got quiet at that.

“They were so young,” she mumbled.

“Who were?”

“The boys we killed in the Balkans.”

Angela looked down.

“They weren’t even old enough to shave,” Fareeha said, “but there they were, wearing the uniform, carrying guns that were bigger than they were. God, what has this war come to?”

“Using boys, using children, it comes from pride. Pride in the fragile male ego.” Angela said. She laughed bitterly. “It’s strange, but the SS is actually leading the charge of integration.”

“What? Why?”

“Well, they’ve always let women in, but as nursing roles. As the War dragged on, they let them gather more and more power. They paid well, and that gave women the ability to have a better life. The women that were in the SS wanted more, they did all the work given to them, and eventually the SS and Gestapo’s leadership realized that they needed more manpower to police the entire Reich, sniffing out treason. So they let them in.”

“Ah, so once again the mother of invention rears her head.”

“’The mother of invention?’”

“Sorry, that has to be an American thing. ‘Necessity is the mother of invention.’”

“Ah, yes. It’s become necessary for the SS and Gestapo to get more workers.”

“How does Blackwatch fit into this? You seem to have a lot of women working for you.”

“Because we can’t afford to turn anyone away,” she said. “We need people who want to fight fascism, who want to overthrow the Reich. The men in our ranks are jaded, they’ve seen the lies that the Reich is based on, or seen the terrible things loyal Aryans have to commit and are sickened by it. But for every man who is Blackwatch material, there are three who are only fit for the bottom ranks, unaware of what our true mission is.”

“Blackwatch has bottom ranks?”

“We have to. Outwardly, Blackwatch is a sister agency of the SS, protecting the Reich from outside influence. Inwardly, we try to bring down the Reich. To join, you have to believe that the Hitlers are ruining Germany. There are plenty of Blackwatch members who think we’re only trying to supplant Hitler with a better Führer; they’re are the ones who are in the bottom ranks. To rise in the ranks, we have to know that want to destroy fascism in its entirety.”

“Ah, and there are more women willing to do that than men.”

“Because fascism appeals to the men. At least, this brand of fascism. ‘Aryans are the rulers of the world! They’re the smartest, strongest, most virile of all! A Nazi is an Übermensch with a big gun in one hand, and a shapely woman in the other!’”

“I can see the appeal of that,” Fareeha laughed. She handed Angela another cigarette.

“Exactly. It’s hard to wean a man from that idea, especially if it’s drilled into his head every day of his life. Especially when ‘shapely woman’ is plied to him in his adolescence.”

“Sounds like it’s a miracle that Blackwatch has any men at all.”

“You’d be surprised. But they’re still the minority.”

“Then thank Allah there are men who want to get away from it.”

“Yes, thank God for that.”

They sat, smoking, watching the sun dip lower in the horizon.

“So what’s next on this grand tour of ours?” Fareeha asked.

“Tengen has special significance for Blackwatch; this is where we were able to send many of the concentration camp survivors. Blackwatch knew there were many families in Switzerland, including mine. They worked together, and dug tunnels through the small mountain range so they could send rail cars into Switzerland.”

“How did your family end up working with people who were faking being Nazis?”

“As I’ve heard, it was mostly by chance. A Blackwatch spy group was trying to smuggle survivors over the border when they ran into both my family, and Oskar Schindler. Imagine, all three groups trying to convince each other that they were loyal Nazis, all while smuggling survivors to the same place!”

“God, that’s a comedy sketch! You can’t make that shit up!”

“So that’s how we’ll get to Switzerland. From there, there’s other tunnels going through to France in the west. But they’re built into the Swiss ghettos.”

“We’re taking the Swiss Underground Railroad,” Fareeha laughed. “I guess we should be honored.”

“God, speaking of traveling, we should all eat and get to sleep,” Angela said. “We have to cross into Switzerland in the middle of the night.”

Chapter Text

The safe house had two bedrooms; Akande and Olivia shared a room with Georgiy, while Angela had to share with Amélie, Fareeha, and Zarya. With only a look, everyone silently agreed to give Amélie one of the few beds.

Angela and Fareeha fought over who would get one of the two remaining beds, and who would get the floor. Zarya put an end to it by taking the floor herself.

As Zarya got comfortable on the sleeping bag from her pack, Angela started blushing, but couldn’t figure out why. It felt like she and Fareeha were having an argument, but they were just fighting over being polite. She put aside as much of the discomfort as possible, and began Amélie’s next Muninn treatment as they began going to bed.

The room’s alarm clocks woke them at eleven pm.

“You up?” Fareeha asked.

“I was barely asleep,” Angela groaned.

“I hope we all got enough sleep,” Zarya said, sitting up from her spot on the floor.

“Amélie is the most well-rested,” she said, checking the Muninn laptop. It had finished a few hours ago, and simply kept her asleep. Angela went to waking the recovering Frenchwoman up, first by terminating the session, then by gently shaking her.

“Is it time?” Amélie asked as Angela woke her.

“It is,” Angela said. “How do you feel?”

“Like…like a great weight is off my shoulders,” she said. “I feel better.”

“What did you dream of?”

“I dreamed of Gerard.”

Angela frowned. If she still dreamed about her husband…

“What happened in the dream?”

“You should know what the dream was about.”

“But you feel better?”

“I don’t hate myself as much.”