Read Online Waiting for the Violins by Justine Saracen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Justine Saracen
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the burning aircraft.
Not enough time to wonder. She was alone. No mission leader, no wireless radio, nothing but a compass, a side arm, and the contents in the pockets of her overalls.
She had surely been seen jumping from the plane, so there was no point wasting time burying her chute. She unhooked the straps, stepped out of them, and with the sound of men shouting in the distance, she ran full out for the nearest line of trees.
*
The spade proved useful after all, as she made her way to the center of a copse of trees where the soil was damp and loose. Sheer terror gave her strength and she frantically dug a shallow pit, just deep enough for her in her bulky jumpsuit. Lying on her back, she swept loose soil and underbrush back over herself, covering her face with the jump helmet. In her free hand, she held her revolver over her chest. If they found her, she would take at least one of them out with her.
The dirt and brush muffled all sound so she could hear nothing until they were literally on top of her. She felt the pressure of someone walk right over her legs and then back again. She held her breath, and even when the dull buzz of voices was gone, she remained under the dirt, breathing slowly into her helmet.
But however slowly she breathed, the oxygen was soon depleted and she began to feel drowsy. Fearing asphyxiation, she lifted her head and gasped in air, holding her pistol at chin level.
She tensed, fearing a boot or a bullet, but she felt only the dirt trickle from her collar down her back. The men were still within hearing range, but they were apparently headed away from her. She took a deep breath and tried to see around her.
The full moon shone through the branches with deceptive serenity. She knew the men had seen her come down, and her abandoned parachute made it clear she was alive and in the vicinity. They wouldn’t give up until they’d captured her.
Crawling toward the edge of the thicket, she surveyed the field in front of her. In the bright moonlight every protuberance was clearly visible in silvery blue and black shadow. Behind another row of trees an orange glow showed where the plane was still burning. On the south and west, dark patches of woods.
How many men were searching for her? If only two or three, she had a chance to evade them, as long as she kept to the shadows. Brushing the soil from her overalls, she made her way along the line of trees in the opposite direction from the voices. She kept her pistol in one hand and grappled with the underbrush with the other.
She forced herself onward, in spite of aching muscles and the accumulation of dirt inside her clothing. At the corner of the field was a barn, but she dared not hide in it. It would be the first place they’d search in the morning. She staggered onward, moving from copse to copse, and tree to tree, never stepping out into the moonlight.
After what seemed like the entire night, she took the risk of crouching over her wrist and flashing her torch on her watch for the briefest second. It was four in the morning. She’d been running for over two hours and didn’t have much strength left.
She chose another secluded place in a wooded patch and dug a second pit, deep enough to reach to her shoulders when she crouched in it. For her head, she gathered loose branches and leaves and wove them into each other to create a primitive roof. Satisfied with her cover, she set it aside and climbed into the pit. While every part of her hurt, her strongest sensation now was thirst.
She took a long pull on her water flask and, risking the brief use of her torch once again, she studied the other emergency rations. Besides the “compo-meal” for which she had no appetite, she found packets of salt, matches, service chocolates, powdered tea, a tiny block of soap, and toilet paper.
Ah, yes. That reminded her. That one last thing.
She struggled out of her hidey-hole and found a spot some ten paces away. Using her spade, she dug
Not enough time to wonder. She was alone. No mission leader, no wireless radio, nothing but a compass, a side arm, and the contents in the pockets of her overalls.
She had surely been seen jumping from the plane, so there was no point wasting time burying her chute. She unhooked the straps, stepped out of them, and with the sound of men shouting in the distance, she ran full out for the nearest line of trees.
*
The spade proved useful after all, as she made her way to the center of a copse of trees where the soil was damp and loose. Sheer terror gave her strength and she frantically dug a shallow pit, just deep enough for her in her bulky jumpsuit. Lying on her back, she swept loose soil and underbrush back over herself, covering her face with the jump helmet. In her free hand, she held her revolver over her chest. If they found her, she would take at least one of them out with her.
The dirt and brush muffled all sound so she could hear nothing until they were literally on top of her. She felt the pressure of someone walk right over her legs and then back again. She held her breath, and even when the dull buzz of voices was gone, she remained under the dirt, breathing slowly into her helmet.
But however slowly she breathed, the oxygen was soon depleted and she began to feel drowsy. Fearing asphyxiation, she lifted her head and gasped in air, holding her pistol at chin level.
She tensed, fearing a boot or a bullet, but she felt only the dirt trickle from her collar down her back. The men were still within hearing range, but they were apparently headed away from her. She took a deep breath and tried to see around her.
The full moon shone through the branches with deceptive serenity. She knew the men had seen her come down, and her abandoned parachute made it clear she was alive and in the vicinity. They wouldn’t give up until they’d captured her.
Crawling toward the edge of the thicket, she surveyed the field in front of her. In the bright moonlight every protuberance was clearly visible in silvery blue and black shadow. Behind another row of trees an orange glow showed where the plane was still burning. On the south and west, dark patches of woods.
How many men were searching for her? If only two or three, she had a chance to evade them, as long as she kept to the shadows. Brushing the soil from her overalls, she made her way along the line of trees in the opposite direction from the voices. She kept her pistol in one hand and grappled with the underbrush with the other.
She forced herself onward, in spite of aching muscles and the accumulation of dirt inside her clothing. At the corner of the field was a barn, but she dared not hide in it. It would be the first place they’d search in the morning. She staggered onward, moving from copse to copse, and tree to tree, never stepping out into the moonlight.
After what seemed like the entire night, she took the risk of crouching over her wrist and flashing her torch on her watch for the briefest second. It was four in the morning. She’d been running for over two hours and didn’t have much strength left.
She chose another secluded place in a wooded patch and dug a second pit, deep enough to reach to her shoulders when she crouched in it. For her head, she gathered loose branches and leaves and wove them into each other to create a primitive roof. Satisfied with her cover, she set it aside and climbed into the pit. While every part of her hurt, her strongest sensation now was thirst.
She took a long pull on her water flask and, risking the brief use of her torch once again, she studied the other emergency rations. Besides the “compo-meal” for which she had no appetite, she found packets of salt, matches, service chocolates, powdered tea, a tiny block of soap, and toilet paper.
Ah, yes. That reminded her. That one last thing.
She struggled out of her hidey-hole and found a spot some ten paces away. Using her spade, she dug
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