Piano keys were her childhood, but the grasp of a pistol was her reality. Polish SOE Agent, Natia Filipska, has lurked among the rubble and the shadows of her occupied-Warsaw for years, ever since the war started and ripped her from the life that ha...
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"War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend."
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers
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Nuenen, Holland
September 18th, 1944
1100
49 days since the Uprising
Natia's mind was too alive for her as they rolled through the grassy plains and forestation of the outskirts of Eindhoven, Holland towards Nuenen. The men were alive with life, conversation spilling from their tongues, chuckles emitting and conversation of food following.
Natia wished to attempt to intermingle within them, but the fear for what she had guessed prior lingered in her mind. She knew the Nazis were there, in Nuenen, she knew they were hidden up amongst the corners of the buildings, undercover for the moment, watching an unsuspecting cartel of American paratroopers slowly draw closer in their wake.
The town seemed undisturbed and oddly quietly for a war-torn country, no one was outside, there wasn't a sound emerging from any portion of the town. It was all so quiet. The Americans didn't seem to care. But Natia's eyes caught on a sight that wasn't normal of a town in Holland.
A figure, with shoes looking like they were made from burlap wrapped around her feet, her pale skin dirtied, covered by a black article of clothing, and a tiny bundle wrapped up in her arms, head shaven.
The grip Natia had on her radio straps suddenly tightened, white knuckles making their comeback as Natia forced herself to look away, to look anywhere but the figure. Natia had seen the fresh blood, from the few open patches on her head, the small patches of hair still atop her head, and the sound asleep child in her arms. Ignoring it rather was a bliss she always returned to.
Because then she felt nothing upon seeing it.
Of course her mind was alive with thoughts, but the numbing always overpowered that.
George glanced towards Natia, who kept her head focused forward and eyes acutely narrowed, almost as if she were a statue. Her white knuckles did not go unnoticed by the American radioman, watching as the Agent seemed to try everything in her willpower to block out anything that could stimulate her in that moment and simply focus on the motions she took in front of her.
She couldn't bare to look.
Natia knew what could have happened to her, what possibly could've occurred. She'd seen it from 5 years in war and it was sickening to think the mere thought that it was nothing new, because it destroyed people. The enemy was purely sickening more than anything in this world.
