JEAN-LUC
“His name’s Samuel.” The tears continue to stream down the woman’s face. “Take him!”
Jean-Luc tries to step back, but the crowd is thick behind him too. “No!” He shakes his head. “I can’t!”
But she pushes the bundle farther into his chest, her chin set hard and determined. A large man knocks into them, moving her away from him. Jean-Luc feels the distance between them opening up. She’s letting go. If he doesn’t hold on to the baby, it’ll fall, be trampled. He raises one hand, gripping it, and with the other he reaches out for her, but the crowd has already swallowed her up. He searches out her bright green eyes in the sea of people. But he can’t see her.
People move around him as he stands there rooted to the spot. The crowd is thinning out now, the soldiers on the periphery getting nearer. He has to hide the baby. With his left hand supporting the bundle, he squeezes his right hand down in front of it, loosening the buttons on his overalls. He shoves the baby inside, then does the buttons up again. He realizes it has made no sound, but he can feel the heat spreading from it, warming his chest. Indecision floods his mind, panic flaring at the base of his spine. What the hell is he supposed to do now?
He looks around. The surge of prisoners is almost clear of the train. He’ll soon be exposed. He moves toward them, pushing himself into the throng, trying to lose himself among them.
The stationmaster’s house! He should head there. He has to shove an old man out of the way as he pushes through. Two women clinging together block his path. He sidesteps them as he moves quickly back down the platform.
Another shot rings out, and for a moment the crowd seems to stop. Then it surges forward again. Keeping his head down, Jean-Luc keeps on walking. He pushes the door of the stationmaster’s house open. It is empty. What now? Think! Time is everything. He goes up the stairs as fast as his injured leg will allow him. He doesn’t know what to do, where to go.
The bathrooms are on the second floor. He goes in and closes the door silently behind hm. He could hide here while he decides how to get the hell out. There’s a back door to the station through the rear of this house. It’s usually guarded, but with all the chaos it might not be right now. He looks out the window; it faces out back, and all he sees is darkness.
He’s just about to leave when he hears footsteps coming up the stairs. He glances at the cubicles, wondering if he should hide in one, but he’s too late. The door swings open and a soldier walks in.
“Verdammt noch mal was machst du da?” The Boche frowns at him. “What are you doing here? This toilet is for Germans only. Raus!”
The baby lets out a cry.
“What’s that?” The Boche’s frown grows deeper.
Jean-Luc is quick. Taking his right hand off the baby, he lunges forward, grabbing the pistol from the man’s open holster. It’s lighter than he thought it would be. He shakes it to get a better grip. It’s the first time he’s held a pistol, and he has to look down for a second to check where the trigger is. Once he’s got it, he puts his finger on it, careful not to press it. Not yet. He points it at the German, his left hand holding the baby against his chest.
The Boche turns white. “Dafür könntest du erschossen werden! You’ll be shot for this!”
Jean-Luc doesn’t move. “Take your clothes off.”
“What?”
He pushes the pistol against the man’s forehead. “Take off your clothes! Schnell!”
As the soldier fumbles his way out of his uniform, the baby’s crying grows louder. Jean-Luc mustn’t let it distract him. The next few minutes are vital. With the pistol trained on his prisoner, he moves over to the washing area. He pulls the baby out, placing it in a sink. The baby’s cries turn frantic now that he’s lost the human contact.
Jean-Luc has to block out the crying as he puts both hands on the pistol. It’s time to make a decision. More shots ring out from outside. They’ll be looking for him now. He has to be quick. His finger on the trigger trembles and his heart beats faster in anticipation. It’s best not to leave any witnesses. But first he needs that uniform, and he doesn’t want blood on it.
Soon the uniform lies at the soldier’s feet, while the Boche stands there quivering in his underwear. “Don’t kill me. I give you time to escape.”
Jean-Luc stares at him, taking in his puny white chest and skinny arms. He’s no older than himself, younger probably. Not much more than a boy really. More shots ring out. The baby’s crying pierces his eardrums. Jean-Luc’s nerves feel raw. He can’t make a decision with all that noise.
“Baby’s hungry,” the soldier whispers. “I could get you milk.”
“Shut up! How do I get out of here?” Jean-Luc thrusts the gun back to his forehead.
“The door, back of station. No guard now. Show my papers.”
With the gun still pointed at his prisoner, Jean-Luc slips out of his overalls. It’s going to be harder to get dressed while keeping the gun on him. Or he could shoot him right now, freeing both hands. It would be easier. But then again, someone might hear the shot.
Ignoring the baby’s cries, he puts the uniform trousers on with his left hand, followed by the jacket and cap. Then he slips his feet into the boots. He’s almost there; he’ll have to button up the jacket later. First he has to deal with the Boche. He points the gun at his head.
Suddenly the man is on his knees, begging him. “Don’t shoot! Please! I have family.”
“I don’t give a shit! You think these people don’t have families too?”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“Ferme ta gueule! Shut up! Or I’ll shoot you now.”
The soldier goes quiet. But the baby is still screaming. Something about its crying holds him back from shooting.
He takes the baby from the sink with his left hand, using the other one to aim the gun.
“No! Please!” The soldier is in tears. “I stay here! I no go!”
Jean-Luc counts to three, then pulls the trigger.