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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"Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word."
― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones
｡↷ ✧*̥₊˚‧☆ﾐ
October 5th, 1944
Outside of Zetten, Holland
0500
The sun would be rising soon.
The cold of the night was beginning to wear off finally, the bitter chill of rain dripping down the soldiers' backs a distant memory. But Natia could still let out a puff of air and see it rise into the indigo sky.
She sat beside George again, the usual passing of the cigarette becoming something like a tradition when there were no words for the 5 am cigarette except to pass something warm between the hands of another you cared for. The intimacy of a cigarette being passed in the silence of unanswered questions between two exhausted people.
No one had even dared to rest their eyes, instead staying awake and admiring the silence that came with war, the peace they had succumbed to, not short of finality but instead a moment where they weren't throwing their bodies for slaughter in gun fire.
A few managed some rest - she saw Malarkey across from her, resting his head on Skip's shoulder who was also resting peacefully it seemed. Others were awake - one of whom was Captain Winters, crouched beside Sergeant Talbert, as they worked by moonlight to look at the map in the slight trickle of whatever rain still had to be squeezed out of the clouds.
The rest of 1st platoon would be arriving shortly - Natia had been the one to make the call to Lieutenant Welsh who had seemed to act quickly on the other side of things from her point of view. She had heard Johnny's voice briefly through the little radio wave - along the lines of 'Was that Agent Fidel?'. She had chuckled.
Natia had been distracted by her mind, by Mortem, by his constant cycle he seemed to throw into her brain. She shut her eyes, attempting to block it out. It never worked, but anything to at least slow down the pain she felt by the mere thought of him.
Upon the arrival of the balance of 1st platoon, the sun was slowly rising, the hues of blue changing to pinks, red, oranges and yellows, the distant rain clouds slowly fading away as the light returned to the world.
Natia lay crouched beside George, their radios sticking up in the air a bit, with their tiny bodies crouched side by side.
" It's like we're in one of those Great War movies." George whispered from beside her as the breeze gently tickled their faces.
" With the trenches," Natia whispered," the rats." George chuckled from beside her as he gently jostled her shoulder. Natia met his eyes.
" Captain Winters would still lead us out through no man's land, guns ablaze." George said, and Naita smiled softly as the two radiomen looked towards Captain Winters who held conversation with Sergeant Talbert still.
