[timtornado3721]

Hide and Seek

I crouch by a bush cloaked in darkness underneath a nearby tree. Watching silently for movement through the gloom of night. Crickets perform their monotone of a single, constant note interrupted by a few croaks from a frog or two. Shivering a little against the cold that seeped through my clothing. I remain still for several moments to be sure no one is looking before I move stealthily again to another tree close to the first one.

Again, stopping to watch and listen for any clue of an enemy nearby. I’m careful to take my time because being impatient would likely result in my death. This wasn’t a game anymore like when I was a child. If I was caught I’d probably be shot by the guards patrolling this base. If I survived, I’d be tortured for information such as the names of my comrades, their location, our radio codes, and anything they wanted to know at the time. Then of course, I’d be shot as a traitor to the Third Reich. This game was real unlike the other ones we all played when we were ten. How when we were found we’d simply be “It” rather than “dead”.

Seven years later and I was still playing that game, only now the stakes were higher and I executed each of my missions with a fiery brutality and ice cold efficiency. Sure I was only seventeen; most of the people in my resistance group were as well. Anyone old enough to fight was either recruited into the Vichy army, which was a combination of French and German troops, or killed to prevent them from doing what I was doing now.

“Damn them all to hell!” I had screamed the night after my father was shot on our porch when the Milice had come to recruit him. The Milice were the French secret police just like the German Gestapo and just as bad. As punishment, my family’s home had been burned but not after it was trashed and anything valuable taken. After that day my mother, brother, and I had joined our local French Resistance. They had called us terrorists; we just wanted our lives back.

A cloud moves away to reveal a pale full moon that cast an eerie silhouette on everything. I spied from my cover a lone soldier standing with his back to me. He stood silently looking in the other direction with his gun slung over his shoulder. He pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it. A flicker of light outlines his head. He takes a puff and blows it out slowly toward the cloud splotched sky above. He was off a little distance away, easily hidden by the shroud that covered everything a minute ago. He begins to whistle a tune in French quietly to himself.

Looking around to see if he has any friends nearby. The moonlight showed a lot of the open ground but not everything sadly. It is impossible to tell if anyone was hidden in the shade of a tree so I waited a little longer before I would make my move. I pull the black woolen face mask over my face that my mother had knitted for me shortly before she was taken prisoner for giving food to French Resistance fighters. I haven’t seen or heard of her fate since that painful day. Only my brother and I are left.

~~~~~~~~~

“Just finished it today, what do you think?” My mother looks at me as she holds up the woolen mask for me to see.

“Perfect,” I say with a smile. “Do you think they’re going to see me now?”

“I sure hope not, you and your brother are all I have left now.” Her voice trails off sadly as she looks toward the picture of our father in his uniform from the Great War. She wasn’t quite the same since we moved into these servants’ quarters. After our home was burned down she was hired here as a servant. The only personal item that we could save was my father's picture, but not before it had been burnt by flame. “Here, put it on and we’ll see how it fits.”

Sliding it on over my head it caresses my head comfortably. I look out through the eye slit in the mirror and smile as I see it. “I like it. Thank you mother.” I give her a warm hug.

“I guess I still can’t change your mind with not going through with this, can I? I know you want to be a hero but please… be careful at least okay?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

Knock, knock, knock.

I shoot a questioning look at my mother. She shrugs. I take off my mask and stash it in my pocket as my mother heads for the door.

“Ma’am,” two French men dressed in plain clothes greet her. “Are you Marie Jacques?”

“Yes. What’s this about?”

They both nod to each other as one whips out a club and starts to hit it against the palm of his hand with a grin. “You are under arrest for treason and for aiding terrorists. You will come with us.”

Oh shit, the Milice.

“But I…” Whack! The one with the club smacks her across the forehead and she falls against the wall as he continues to beat her.

“Mother!” I cry out. I try to rush to her when the second stands in my way and shoves me back.

“Care to join her as well, kid?” He laughs as his partner clubs away at my frail mother before dragging her away by her hair out the door. She screams in pain as I look pathetically on the ground as they drag her away. I couldn’t just sit here and let they take her.

I grab an oil lamp and chase after them through the doorway. Clubbing the first in the back of the head before moving on to the second. He goes down and the second still dragging my mother drops her and turns to me. I get ready to swing again when the first stabs me in the leg with a knife. I fall to the ground clutching my thigh with a howl.

“You’re going to pay for that.” He hisses as he rubs the back of his head. “Trying to be a hero will get you nowhere. This world is beyond saving. Join the Furher or be killed as a traitor kid. No one can oppose his might now.”

He begins to kick me several times as I wallow in pain from the wound before leaving me alone on the pathway leading to my home. I delicately pull the knife from my leg, wincing as jolts of pain shot through me. Wiping the blood from the straight edge and angled back piece I made a silent pact to myself. I shed myself of any remorse or conscience. Words couldn’t explain, let alone contain, the concoction of rage, anger, and wrath I was now drinking. All I could understand was that a new drive to kill everything had dominated my every thought. Nothing else mattered anymore, my love for Charlotte, my career as an artist when I grew up, that house I wanted to buy bordering the Rhone River. All of my dreams fell to dust in my hands as my fingers wrapped around the contoured grip of the knife. The dogs of war had been released in my soul and they had become my new master.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Drawing the knife from the sheath attached to my belt. It was the same blade that had changed the way I viewed life. It had been painted a matte black to prevent the shiny steel from reflecting any light and reveal my location to hostile eyes. Only a two millimeter band where the sharp part of the blade was unpainted due to sharpening and couldn’t be helped but it wouldn’t matter. Spotting the glint of the edge would be like trying to spot a needle from quite a distance away. I calmed my breathing as the adrenaline began to flow within my veins in preparation for what I was about to do. I coldly regard the man with nothing more than anger and vengeance. Another cloud passes in front of the moon, obscuring everything from view. Ready or not, here I come.

I make my move. Running crouched over with the blade in my left hand as I prepare to grab the soldier with my right. I’m surprisingly quiet as I move at a quick pace through the grass. I should know, I was always the best at Hide and Seek when I was a kid. That’s why the leader of my Resistance group chose me for this mission. Everyone called me Shadow back at camp since I had a habit of simply disappearing and reappearing nearby without their noticing. They called it my Black Magic because every time I used it, they’d be dumbfounded and point at me and where I used to be standing only a few moments earlier.

“Fucking Black Magic,” they’d mumble under their breath as looks of confusion covered their faces.

I get close enough to the soldier to grab him when a twig snaps under foot causing the soldier to wheel around and face me. The embers from the cigarette dimly reveal his rough features from hard times. He gasps from surprise and opens his mouth as if to speak. Thrusting my blade deep through his throat he makes a gurgling cough as blood spills from his mouth. “Tag, you’re it.” I chuckle to myself. I look into his dying face, he was French like me but wore the fatigues of a Vichy soldier.

“Deserter.” I curse at him just before he passes and stash his body nearby.

Moving on to my target, a small tavern that our network said was being used as a temporary base of operations by some Vichy officers. They were traitors to France and conspirators with the Nazis. If anyone was a traitor it was these scum. They had turned away from their homeland and joined the enemy when the pressure became too much to bear and now were working against their friends and neighbors. They did not deserve mercy. Traitors never received the kindness of being spared and taken as a prisoner of war after torture and interrogation and the chance to one day live free again.

Just like in the silent movies I had seen when I was younger before the war, when the robber would tip toe to the vault, I resembled just that as I moved. In a sense they were right on how the technique moving silently worked. It just needed a little modification. I’d be bent forward at the waist, knees bent degree angles and up on the balls of my feet rather than the toes themselves. With each step my legs absorbed the impact of each step with little effort required to remain silent. (this paragraph useful at all?)

I get close enough to see a faint yellow light coming from the partially open windows. Voices, laughter, and maybe a record being played on a phonograph filtered out. I had approached from an angle so I could see a fair deal from the light coming from inside of the tavern. I checked for more sentries posted around the wood and stone building. One was near the door to the cellar, another by the back door on the porch, and two more in conversation standing on the road toward the front.

I need to get somewhere inside of the building to plant the explosives so I could kill these officers. The main floor of the tavern was strewn with drunken soldiers, so that was off limits. Up stairs might have less people but simply climbing up there would be treacherous and cumbersome. So that was also not available for the plan. I couldn’t just shoot my way in either. Guns were scarce and ammo even scarcer, so I wasn’t given one for my mission. Plus, that would be too loud and defeat the purpose of my mission which was stealth bombings. There was the cellar but it was guarded and trying to kill the guard would be tricky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“The explosives need to be inside of the building for the best results,” my leader had said to me before the mission.

“You don’t want to take any of them hostage?” I reply as I pack the charges into a satchel.

“We already got the officer we want and he’s spilling his guts for us. The bastard was easy, a day and our interrogators broke him.” He chuckles. “We don’t need to waste resources to get another one.”

“So I just blow up the rest, sounds fun.” I grin coldly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The explosives had been flown in by British and American bombers during the night for us in one of the many supply runs to bringing us equipment and supplies. The stuff was parachuted inside metal canisters the size of a coffin that we would retrieve. Each one was vital to our needs since obtaining anything from the Nazis was a dangerous task. They had a habit of being selfish when we came to ask for food and guns. I chuckle at that thought.

It would have to be the cellar. I formulated a plan that I hoped would work since I only had one chance and it had to be perfect. The intent was to make a noise away from me in the thick grove of trees that sat next to the tavern and lure him out where I’d ambush him in a game of cat and mouse. Unfortunately for me, this mouse had teeth bigger than mine and friends to back him up if he wasn’t eliminated quickly and quietly. I grabbed five rocks and threw them in rapid succession to simulate foot steps moving away from where I was hidden in the under growth.

Sure enough he heard the sound and leveled his machine gun. Slowly, he moved forward toward the trees. I unsheathed my blade again and waited until he had passed into the foliage. He stopped short only a few feet away, and looked as if to leave when either a squirrel or rabbit scampered through the brush and caused the leaves to rustle some more. This new source of sound prompted the soldier to venture even further to investigate.

Perfect, I rise slowly barely ten feet away when I’m on him like a wraith in one quick movement. I close the distance and rip away his life with a slice of my blade as he had done to many others of my fellow Frenchmen. This guy was German unlike the last one.

“Tag, you’re it as well.” I smile to myself as I lower him to the ground. His body was already hidden here so there was no sense in moving it anywhere else.

I move back to the edge of the clearing and checked to see that my path to the cellar was clear. Sure enough it had worked and the cat had bagged a mouse at the same time. Even though I would have loved to congratulate myself for such great success, I was far from done and it wouldn’t do me any good to get careless now.

Stalking to the cellar I grasp a handle on the door and pull. It was stuck. Damn. Pulling my knife from its sheath again I begin to pry away at wood surrounding the latch. It slowly comes away in splinters. After a couple minutes I can move the handle enough to lift the door. I duck inside and close the door behind me. I quickly set to work preparing the satchel I had on my back carrying the bombs, and began tying the fuses together like I had been taught. It wasn’t easy in the dark and I was often forced to start over. Sweat dotted my forehead as I knew some one would notice that a guard was missing from his post any minute now. The mask covering my head began to get soaked and itchy. I glance nervously as I hear foot steps above my head moving toward the wall where the cellar entrance was located. I remembered that there was a window near that area and if the person noticed the guard’s absence I might be in trouble.

I was a minute away from finishing when as predicted the person does notice the missing sentry. I hear what I understand to be a query. Then another set of foot steps moves to join the first. Damn. More conversation and they start shouting out the window for the man. I had to get out of there. I lit a match and pushed the fuse into the flame until it sparked and sizzled.

I dash up the stairs and burst out the door as a soldier from the porch rounded the corner. He spots me and shouts something in German. Probably to stop where I was, but I didn’t listen to his command, let alone understand it. Leaping forward as fast as I could through the brush and disappearing from sight when a burst of gun fire erupted behind me. I felt something hot slam into my right arm. I clench my teeth to almost the point where they’d crack from the pressure. I dug my finger nails into my side to stop myself from crying out from the pain. Now wasn’t they time for that, I needed to be as silent as possible or I’d be tagged this time.

I rolled over onto my back when another burst of shots flies through the bushes. Another round slams into my bad leg where I’d been stabbed a year before. I tuck my injured arm against my chest. The upper part of my arm didn’t respond to well to commands so I had to grab my shirt with my right arm to keep it from falling away and dragging like a wilted plant. I crawled away as fast as my right arm and leg would allow on my stomach with my leg and one good arm until I was behind an oak.

I must get away as fast and as far as possible before the explosives did their job. I looked to see that the bullet had gone through my bicep muscle which would explain the inability to move it. My leg had suffered similar injuries. The wounds were oozing blood from both entrance and exit holes, but weren’t too bad for me to ignore for a short time.
Estimating I had about ten more seconds left on the fuse when more soldiers showed up and began shouting and raking the trees and bushes near me with rounds from their machine guns. Again and again bullets whizzed and buzzed past my cover.

Damn! I scream inside my head as lead shrieks past me within fraction of an inch of striking me. I was pinned down, injured, and within moments a captured POW if they simply walked up to this tree and stuck a gun barrel between my eyes. It was “Hello Mr. Torturer. Ready subject me to hell on me today?” in just a few minutes. But they didn’t come, no one began shoving the business end of StG-44 in my face. I am completely safe, but why? I cautiously peer around the tree and look back. They just stand there and fire at their own imaginations while pointing at other shadows while yelling at their comrades.

They must have been scared to enter the woods and risk the chance of an ambush because their shots simply seemed too random to know where I was hiding. It was probably that fear that saved me since I am leaving a blood trail behind me as I went which could have been easily found.

The explosives detonated and threw flames and debris high into the air. The very world around me lit up in a yellow and red light basking my surroundings in an unnatural painting. Like a mix between day and night where everything glowed as if by themselves like in the day time but surrounded by the darkness of night. The concussion from the blast hit me hard and made my ears ring. Screams of the wounded and dying pierced the night as anyone not killed in the blast was cut to pieces by shrapnel like a giant hand grenade. Wood chips and stones pelted the ground around me. Anything that wasn’t shielded by the tree I was leaning against was condemned to suffer from the jagged fragments flying through the air. Several seconds after the blast, stuff was still raining down. I ignored the pain from the wood and stone hail. The agony in my arm and leg would be nothing compared to if I was captured. I got up and ran as best as I could from the protection of the tree since now was my chance to escape.

Stop, please. It’s too painful to go on! I can’t keep going. My leg would scream at me with every step.

No! I scream back. I can’t stop, not now! It was being tempting to hit it as hard as I could just to shut up, anything to knock it out, to be numb and never feel the pain.

“That was for my mother and father, Nazi Swine!” I yell as I limp away as fast as I can. “You got exactly what you deserve, hope you all burn in hell for what you did,” then to myself in a silent curse.

Before leaving I cut a strip of cloth with my knife from my sleeve to wrap my wounds, tying it tight before disappearing into the night like the Shadow I was. Because that is what we Maquis do. We hit our enemy where it hurts then retreat back into oblivion until the next night; until the Americans and the British invade Europe, that’s exactly what we would do. Our own little game of Hide and Seek with the enemy.

Ready or not here we come!

[RENA HANDS]

What about…My legs are moist they have been rubbing against the dew covered ground.?

What about…I’d be tortured for information; names of comrades, their location, radio codes/frequencies, and for anything else they wanted to know at the (this?) time.?

What about…This is experience was no game unlike the ones we used to play when were ten. (Are you going to mention who the ‘we’ are?)

Maybe…and I executed each of my missions with (fierce brutality and ice cold efficiency.)?

Possibly…most of the Resistance members were seventeen or close to the similar age.?

Maybe…Anyone old enough to fight were recruited by the Vichy Army; a combination of French and German troops, or they were killed/executed to prevent their involvement with the Vichy.?

Maybe make the reason for joining a completely separate line?

Maybe…The Milice or the ‘French Secret Police’ were just like the German Gestapo, but much worse. As a punishement for my father’s defiance, the Milice vandalized our home; breaking anything in sight, looting priceless heirlooms finally they just burned our home. (Or something similar.)

Maybe…It’s only me and my brother now.?

Maybe where you are giving his name, quotations? At the camp everyone called me ‘Shadow.’ I have a habit of disappearing and reappearing without their notice. They whispered ‘Black Magic’ as they pointed to my previous position with a dumbfounded look upon their faces.?

Possibly…I was close enough to grab the soldier by his head covering his mouth with my hand then sliding the blade against his neck.? (Or something similar.)

Some other words for ‘traitor,’ conspirator, collaborator, turncoat, defector. Using traitor as frequently as you do gets boring (at least for me.)

I think your story is good, but it has the potential to be better. The imagery; actions, including more dialogue would give more to this tale you have posted here. Again, what you have originally is good. Oh, before I forget and I did actually, a rating of 3/5!

[timtornado3721]

How's this?

[superbum]

as crickets perform their monotonous monotone of a single, constant note

I'm sure that that's redundant on purpose but I think it's over the top, I'd remove the first monotonous

(I need a new word for this, suggestions?)

Your use of the word game doesn't hinder your story in my opinion.

like my father almost was after was France was conquered

that was should be removed

pull the black woolen face mask over my face that my mother had knitted for me shortly before she was taken prisoner for giving food to French Resistance fighters.

It would sound better if you turned it into two sentences removing that

There were also some tense switches that popped out at me, but besides that I really liked it, it had me on the edge of my seat. I don't know if it was dark so much as action though.

[Vorcla]

Okay - from a mechanical standpoint, as was previously mentioned, I'd watch the tense changes. Also, sentence variety. Try to mix it up a little. There were a lot of short, clipped sentences BUT - they worked in the context of the story, which was a terse action yarn.

Now, the story itself - very suspenseful and tension-filled, kept the reader on the edge of the seat. I liked the back story; you filled it in nicely. Very good effort. The mechanical stuff will come with practice, so keep writing!

[timtornado3721]

Define tense changes. My blondness is kicking in on me and I am left blank when you're saying that. I thought it was dark since it was in the dark but I see what you're saying. Newb mistake.

Thanks so much for the comments though.

[superbum]

a tense change is when the narration switches from speaking in the past/present tense to another tense. Like Saying I move one paragraph and I moved the next, thats not as bad as switching inside one paragraph which I noticed at least once.

[timtornado3721]

Alrght, got it. Thanks again.

[RENA HANDS]

A mistake here made has been a fault of my own too and that is using ‘I,’ a great deal. I understand that you, the first person is telling the story, but there’s and not completely understood by myself, there’s a way to write this without so many ‘I’s.

Also, you still have long sentences. I would shorten them for two reasons; the first it gives the eyes less of a strain. The second reason, it just gives a variety of a read to the reader.

Is your verb tense correct, it seems to me that you are going from present to past and or the reversal?

Is there just one radio code or more? I ask this because you state there are ‘frequencies,’ so I think the ‘number’ doesn’t match. There are also (comrades and camp locations.)

What about adding or rewriting to…Anyone who didn’t join the Vichy, there were slaughtered to prevent this…resistance! (Or just something more stronger.)

This is too much ‘blood,’ I was on a personal quest for blood, the blood spilt the blood of my family and friends.

Maybe…I was out for blood; to murder those who took/had taken the lives of my family and friends. (I’m never certain about verbs either so consult an editor.)

What about…The Milice they had called/labeled us ‘Terrorists.’ But we, the defiant Maquis were men and women who wanted their lives back. (Or just something more stronger.)

Can one really ‘assume’ that because one are in the same unit/group that they are friends? What I mean is the following…I look around to see if any of his cohorts/accomplices/collaborators were nearby.

Maybe something like…From my belt I draw from its hand sewn sheath, my knife. (And what kind of knife is it?)

What about something like…‘Works every time,’ I’d whisper to myself with a grin watching their faces contort with confusion.

Maybe…I wipe if off the sleeve of his uniform as I drop him silently to the ground.

How many targets do you have? Wouldn’t they all just be ‘casualties’ in the war? So maybe…I move on to the next poor bastard that stands in my way. OR…I move on to my main target/objective. (And who or what was the ranking of the officer that was to be eliminated?)

OR Maybe…I move on to my objective the small tavern where its occupants had been the Vichy officers. Traitorous Frenchmen who conspired with the Nazis.

I think more of your story could be rewritten. You could add more stronger execution of actions and emotions. I think in this situation you could show more confliction of an ‘assassin.’ Your main character, the ‘assassin’ feels no emotions, hesitations what so ever of his actions? You are not just showing the blatant war of human beings, but I think too of the human conscious.

[katofmystery]

Well Tim, I think that this is a very good piece, but it could use a little work. I like how you wrote it from an assassin's pov. . . Though I didn't understand most of the technical words I was able to work past them because your story kept me on the edge of my seat. Ug! Sorry I just feel off my seat! 4/5!

[timtornado3721]

Originally Posted by RENA HANDS

A mistake here made has been a fault of my own too and that is using ‘I,’ a great deal. I understand that you, the first person is telling the story, but there’s and not completely understood by myself, there’s a way to write this without so many ‘I’s.

Is your verb tense correct, it seems to me that you are going from present to past and or the reversal?

Can one really ‘assume’ that because one are in the same unit/group that they are friends? What I mean is the following…I look around to see if any of his cohorts/accomplices/collaborators were nearby.

I think more of your story could be rewritten. You could add more stronger execution of actions and emotions. I think in this situation you could show more confliction of an ‘assassin.’ Your main character, the ‘assassin’ feels no emotions, hesitations what so ever of his actions? You are not just showing the blatant war of human beings, but I think too of the human conscious.

If there is a way to reduce the number of "I"'s used then please, do tell.

I used the past tense, present tense switching to back fill the history and explain what my motives were. I've always believed that "without a reason why, what you're doing is pointless." So I don't know if you want me to break those paragraphs up or just leave them out altogether because I had thought that if I broke off a paragraph to do the backfill the reader would go "wait, what was I just reading?" So I combined the past and present into one paragraph and let the verb tense indicate past, present, future.

I thought the rifles were dead give away for their intentions but I guess I could try to clarify that.

I'm trying to get the style where I can show the strength and weakness of the human heart. I'm trying to show a different side to some of the more standard sterotype, like a villian becomes the hero or an ally becomes an enemy through a plot twist, etc. Got any advice on what elements I should try to use to get better?

I'll write more when I have the time.

[keatingb]

Ok, so tense has already been hammered in to you, and I won't touch on it, but I'd like to reitirate that the story goes too well for the hero. One recommendation I have is to make the gunshot have more of an effect on the hero. Describe his pain as he runs, etc. It's ok to show some weakness in your characters and have bad things happen to them. Otherwise it's a great story with really thick description.

The only other thought I had for you is to restate another of my previous advice. I suggest either making the hero more human, or more monsterous. I think the character is a little... unbelievable. That shouldn't take too much to fix, though. Again, this is a great start, man. Can't wait to see more of it.

[RENA HANDS]

It is a horrible, horrible situation when I can point out flaws, but not explain them more clearly. For the too many (I)s you will definitely need to consult an editor.

You will need to consult an editor about the ‘switching, time jumping’ within your write. I am 100% certain that others know more about that than I.

What reference or particular statement did I make about the ‘rifles?’

I have no clues what so ever to advance the illustration the strength/heroicness of your character. I suggest seeing again to ask a professional editor on such matters. I do apologies for not being more helpful, but at least we know there are others more qualified than I too assist you.

[timtornado3721]

No problem, we're all human and sometimes we forget to include some things.

You had said something along the lines of how do you know that the French and German soldiers were from the same unit I think.