𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞; eugene roe ✔

PART THREE

I am back from my week away and let's just say it was the best time of my life. Yes, that week was about three weeks ago but I've had so many exams to endure as well as seasons to catch up with. The Last Kingdom AND Peaky Blinders... as well as After Life, which yes came out months ago but I still think it's really good. I'm only two episodes in with TLK and I miss the previous season so much. ANYWAY Band of Brothers HERE WE GO!

Word count; 2,823

Valentina

Most nights things were like this - when we weren't occupied with certain matters that was. I'd lie on my bed, forehead to the ceiling, watching as the century old paint continued on its crumbling journey. My room was one of the only with a ceiling fan and it hadn't been touched in years, left to collected dust and even more scabs of white paint from its holder. We couldn't afford that luxury anymore.

I sat up, still in my clothes from when the sun still shined, my bed cover cold and isolated. The thought of the untouched fan sent me forward, remembering it was always those like Hanna who knew of the sacrifices we made to protect the young ones. My eyes drifted to the looking glass above my desk and, without a second thought, I headed towards it, picking up the marker which kept my lipstick holder full. I added two names to the mirror, the list finally reaching the bottom of it once I'd finished. Ella and Hanna - another consequence of this god-forsaken war.

The letter box of our front door slammed shut. I hurried to my window, palms leaning against the cill. A man in a flatcap, stripes on his shoulders, stood away from the front of the building, examining the door for a few seconds before pushing the cap further down his eyebrows, readjusting his uniform and strutting off.

Before I could open my own bedroom door, I heard another, followed by a silented gallop down the stairs. Curious, I followed out onto the landing and leant over the railing of the stairwell. Another face appeared further down below, a torn piece of paper in hand. He soon noticed of me and came running back up.

"Teo?" I inquired, his expression livened and invigorated.

Despite the excitement, he still held out the letter and said in a hushed tone: "Look!"

I snatched it from his grip, scanning quickly over the words. With only the moon to light up the epistle, I couldn't help but squint.

"What does this mean?" I said, the letter another concotion of meaningful words only Teo would be able to understand.

"He's gone! Herr Dietrich is gone!"

I hesitated, not registering what he was saying.

"Look!" He took the paper back, swiftly reading through it again. "He sends his farewells!"

The next thing I knew, my arms embraced the boy, heart engulfed by a feeling I could never explain. Something between gratification and delectation. Overall, this whole operation worked because of a faithful agent back in England, Howard Siggers, and earlier that day when I dropped the reports off at the post office he had sent word of the American advance towards the west. A few companies of paratroopers who'd been stuck in this side of the world for months, years even. What Sascha had overheard was true; the Allies were close but now even the most important were fleeing.

I sensed his chest tighten at my touch, my hands grabbing at him like I'd never let go. Somewhere, a regret gathered, provoking my mind for ever threatening his safety. Then I remembered the obstacles I had to face and the feeling dissipated.

Herr Weinder left the following morning too. Instead of some letter or act of regard, he scarpered with not a thing to be remembered by, barring the cleanliness of his own home and the nicely-kept flower beds by his front door. Not many wandered the street that day, most pressurised by the sudden vanish of officers and intimated by the sound of engines rumbling in the distance, despite the lack of vehicles in the village. Two older ladies crossed the square out front and you could almost hear the suck in of breaths - the terrified anticipation of vulnerable fascists who finally had no protection.