The tent smelled of oil and cold sweat. A single lamp swung above the rough map, throwing long shadows across lines, names, and villages crossed out in haste. Paul leaned against the wooden table, hands in his coat pockets, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. Lang knelt on a folded blanket, his finger tracing a spot marked with a cross in red chalk.
"So — that's the main road," Lang said slowly. "The Spaniards said he's somewhere in this border town. If Sperrle's still there, he could be in the old schoolhouse. That's the only suitable place to hold a captive, at least in terms of size."
"What about that building, the one next to the river?" Paul asked, slowly analyzing the map.
"That's way too small to serve as a prison," Lang answered skeptically.
"Perhaps from the outside. You should read what it says there, Major," Paul replied.
"Police station…" Lang read it out loud, his eyes widening. "Yes, that's it. Good job, Jaeger."
"There's a good chance they're holding him there. And maybe several other officers from the flight, they could be all in the police station's cell."
Lang faced Fischer and Weber. "You two scout the police station. Take the truck, move fast and quiet. One mistake and we're finished. You understand?"
They both nodded and started to walk away, but a voice cut in.
"Be careful, yes, but don't waste time. Every second matters. They'll likely move valuable prisoners to Madrid soon, that makes the station only a temporary holding place. If it weren't, we wouldn't be attempting a rescue," Paul said, his tone flat and calculating.
They nodded once again and turned, walking toward the truck, this time at a faster pace.
Fischer POV
Fischer crawled behind a low wall of rubble, the moon barely cutting through the clouds. His heart hammered as he surveyed the courtyard of the police station.
The number of guards was suspicious. The entire building was surrounded by barbed wire, with soldiers patrolling both outside and inside. A machine gun position had even been set up directly in front of the door.
Weber followed close behind, hands gripping his weapon. "Quiet," Fischer whispered, though the wind seemed to swallow his voice entirely.
Weber sneaked up to him, whispering:"Look over there,"his finger pointed towards the side of the building."There is a small hole in the barbed wire," I spotted it when climbing here.
Fischer followed his gaze, confirming the hole. "Okay that's good, that's very good,"a small smile formed on his lips. "But we need to get closer and change our position, so we can look at possible entry points into the building."
He pointed to the side wall. "Along there. There's some rubble we can move on, but we have to climb carefully."
A bead of sweat rolled down Fischer's forehead; every step brought them closer to one of the sentries.
The sentries' gazes swept near them several times, yet they miraculously managed to stay hidden, always ducking behind cover at the last second.
They let out a small sigh of relief after finally making it around the building. They were only a few meters from the back, with only barbed wire and the abandoned house they were using for cover separating them from the station. Once they deemed it safe and the patrolling soldiers were far enough, Fischer and Weber cautiously poked their heads out of the window, scanning for anything that might be a door.
Yet the only thing they saw was bricks and wilderness—no door, no entry point.
Weber had already pulled his head back, frustration evident on his face.
Fischer, too, felt like giving up, but then, he saw something moving. Something small, that hadn't been there before. A mouse? he thought. But where had it come from?
"Hey… can you hand me the binoculars again?" he asked Weber in a slow, quiet whisper, never taking his eyes off the window.
Weber shrugged but handed them over.
Fischer quickly scanned the little creature crawling about, then let his gaze wander to the spot where he had first noticed it. Between tall grass, vines, and some bushes, he made out the outline of something else. A small brick structure, separate from the main building. One thought immediately struck him, and a smile began forming: A cellar entrance!
A small chuckle escaped his lips, but he quickly stifled it.
He turned from the window to Weber, whose eyes were wide, like a puppy waiting for good news.
"A cellar entrance, I'm pretty sure," Fischer said, his eyes betraying his joy.
Weber quietly let out a sigh of relief and muttered, "This is it… the Obersleutnant and Major are going to love this."
The way back was just as dangerous as the approach. Every shadow seemed to hide a patrol, every rustle in the grass a possible sentry. But keeping low and moving cautiously, they finally made it back to their hidden truck.
Sliding into the driver's seat, Fischer exhaled, muscles finally relaxing. Weber climbed in beside him, eyes still scanning the darkness. As they started the engine and slipped away toward the rest of the group, the weight of the mission lifted slightly, though only enough for them to savor the small victory, knowing the real challenge lay ahead.
Paul POV
aul leaned against the side of the tent, arms crossed, watching Lang mark positions on the map, until Lang finally leaned back against the opposite side, casting him a small, fleeting glance.
"You've been quiet today," Lang said, his voice low. "Always so pensive. Do you ever… think about life outside all this?"
Paul glanced up, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Life outside?" he echoed. "Sometimes. I imagine a small house somewhere, a family… a wife.
My family, my wife. Paul though inwardly.
Quiet mornings, no orders, no gunfire. But that's a different world, Lang. A world I don't belong to—not anymore.
Lang nodded slowly, his eyes lingering on Paul. "You'd like that," he said softly. "I can see it."
Paul turned back to the map, tracing a finger along one of the patrol routes. "I'd like that more than anything… but it's not possible." He sat up straighter. "We're always here."
Always here. Forever trapped.
"What about you?" Paul asked, trying to suppress the thoughts of his own lost possibilities.
Lang paused, tapping the pencil against the map. "Me?" He let out a quiet sigh.
Lang shook his head slightly, running a hand through his already graying hair.
"I've tried to live that life you are talking about many times…"he said wryly. "Everytime it failed. Everytime I ended up back here"
"Parhaps it's what fate had intended for the both of us from the start."Lang said barely audible.
"Fate."Paul reaped the word, with a hatefull tone to it.
Then, distant at first, a low growl cut through the night. The tent flapped slightly as the sound of an engine approached, steady and heavy.
Paul and Lang exchanged a brief, tense glance before stepping out of the tent. The night air was sharp, carrying the rumble closer with every passing second.
The headlights cut through the darkness, revealing Fischer and Weber in the truck, dust and gravel kicking up behind them. Relief washed over Paul's face as he raised a hand in greeting.
"Well?" Paul called over the engine's growl.
Fischer and Weber slowed the truck, sliding it to a stop a few meters away. Weber jumped down first, brushing off dust, while Fischer leaned on the door, a triumphant grin on his face.
"Got it," Fischer said, eyes sparkling with excitement. "A cellar entrance. Tt seems to good to be true. Yet it is."
Lang exhaled, a small, approving smile forming. "Good work. Let's hear the details quickly, then we plan the next move."
Lang formed a fist:"We'll get the General out of there, and perhaps this unfortunate chapter of our lives will finally come to a fitting end."
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