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If he could choose, he would rather die with a pistol in his hand than being shot in the back while running away with his arms bound in front of him. At least then he could have tried to shoot at the Nazi bastard that was now hunting him like a dog through the woods. But you can’t have everything in this life so he kept on running.
Sweat dribbled down his neck as bullets kept on flying near him, threatening to kiss his skin with each passing moment, and the deafening sound of the air shattering and ripping in pieces as the projectiles travelled next to him made his ears ring. His heart was pounding in his chest and his breath came out in clouds in front of him, to the point that he could taste the blood being filtered in his lungs, however, it didn't stop him from the current task at hand.
'Come on, come on, come on!', his brain screamed at him trying to distract him from the burning ache in his muscles and the panic he felt clenching at his heart.
'It won't be long till he gives up, that prick probably didn't work a day in his life till now, unlike you, come on!'
He could hear his pursuers boots hitting the ground behind him, occasionally slowing to reload his gun thus increasing the distance between them. That bastard was getting tired.
Branches of trees scraped his flesh but with the amount of adrenaline pumping through his body, he could barely feel them.
As time went by, the echoes of German swears kept getting more and more distant as he jumped over the fallen down trees but the bullets continued to rain down near his body.
Far away, he could see a stone wall, almost one meter long and reinforced with barbed wire at the top, separating the forest in two. If he could make that jump, if he could dive over that wall would be saved. At least that's what his mind told him it would happen.
The wall was his ticket to salvation, just one leap and he would be okay, all the pain, the fire that burned his body from the inside would stop. With his tied-up hands, it would be more difficult but he was willing to risk it all for his life.
So he mustered all the strength that was left inside of him and ran as fast as he could towards it.
Two hundred metres.
One hundred metres.
Fifty meters.
Fifteen meters.
Three
Two
And he leapt over the wall.
Only thing was, he never reached the other side.
A shot rang out the gun and pierced his right leg, sending him chest first on top of the barbed wire.
The jagged metal dug deep into his flesh and every breath he took only buried them deeper into his body. His leg hung limply off the ground, the bullet had lodged itself on the upper part of his inner thigh, sending him into a spiral of agony, the only thing that kept him from dropping his full weight onto the wire was his right leg which was trembling from exhaustion.
The sound of the German soldier approaching caused his heart to race and panic truly set in.
His vision clouded and without thinking he fruitlessly tossed and turned, trying to unhook his body from the razor-sharp edges of the wire causing them to slice through his skin like butter.
"All trussed up and still nowhere to go", the soldier said in a mocking tone.
"Go...to...hell", Tommy managed to wheeze out.
"Still got some fight left in you? Can't say I'm surprised, you English people have A LOT of stubbornness in you", he replied while reloading his gun, "too bad you are going to die like the worthless scum you are"
The German raised his pistol and aimed it at his head.
Tommy closed his eyes and for the first time in his life, he prayed to God to forgive him and braced himself for Death to come to take him.
Only the shot never came.
What came however was the sound of a neck breaking and a body hitting the ground echoed in his ears.
The Welshman opened his mouth to speak but no words came out.
"Don't move", said the stranger and took out a wire cutter from his bag, "I will get you out"
It was a slow and unbearable process, no matter how careful and methodical the stranger was, every little movement sent waves upon waves of pain coursing through his system.
Tommy sucked in a desperate breath of air once the wire was no longer on him and tears of relief flooded his eyes. The man slowly laid him down on the ground and he was finally able to see the face of his saviour.
He was a handsome man in his early forties, with large brown eyes and brown curly hair that was cut to military standards and his pale skin was peppered with freckles.
He looked…beautiful. An angel in a weathered dark brown leather jacket and a knitted sweater.
He tried to move his hands to gesture him that they were tied and pointed at the corpse as a way to tell him that the keys were on it.
"All in due time, my friend, I have to take care of your leg, you are lucky the bullet missed the bone and any major arteries", he answered him, his voice, that had a slight French accent, steady and calm, "I'm Jean by the way"
"Tommy", he rasped and held out his hand.
"Nice to meet you, Tommy", he replied as he shook hands with him.
They sat down on the forest floor for a while. Jean removed the bullet and cleaned his wound while humming a pleasant tune to distract him from the pain.
"How did you find me?", the Welshman asked.
Jean glanced over at him.
"I was following you since the minute he caught you, I would have acted more quickly if I knew you were going to make a run for it"
Tommy just smiled at him and closed his eyes.
The stitches didn't hurt as much but that did stop his body from spasming each time the needle passed through his skin.
"I'm almost done", Jean said as he laid the final stitch on his skin.
Searching through his bag he found some bandages and swiftly wrapped them around his leg.
"There we go", he muttered, "the rest we can deal with after we are at the safehouse", he then got up and headed towards the dead body.
Jean crouched down next to it and started digging around its pockets until he found the key and returned to Tommy.
Once the handcuffs were off, Tommy went to rub life into his aching wrists but the skin was scraped raw and stung at the touch.
"Here let me help", the Frenchman said and began to clean them and then wrap them with the remaining bandage.
"Are you English?", he heard him ask as he was putting away his equipment.
"Don't insult me like that. I'm Welsh"
A smile graced the man's lips and for a second he thought he would die for real that time.
"I wouldn't dream of it"
Once everything was packed, Jean helped Tommy to a sitting position, wrapped the injured man's hand around his shoulders and lifted him up.
A soft whimper escaped his lips as weight was put on his bad leg and if it weren't for Jean's iron grip he would have collapsed on the spot.
"How far away is that safehouse of yours again?", he asked through gritted teeth.
"About two miles away"
"I don't think I can make it that far…"
"You will, I'll carry you if I have to"
"You'll get tired"
"Then we'll take a break, now, let's go before night falls upon us"
And thus they began to make their way through the woods and as they drew closer and closer to their destination, it became clear to them that they were going to be at each other's side for a long time...