Disclaimer: Spike and Drusilla belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, etc.
~~ Hanover, 1944 ~~
Mike Edem stopped, glanced around nervously, then resumed walking toward the large wooden building. He thought it might be a stable, but he couldn't be sure yet.
Second Lieutenant Michael Edem, US Army Air Corps, was the navigator on a B-17 based in England. Had been, anyway, until his bomber had been blown out of the sky two days ago over Hanover while returning from an attack on a munitions factory outside Berlin.
As the plane tumbled from the sky, on fire and completely out of control, it finally dawned on the petrified twenty-year-old that he was going to have to jump. He grabbed the bombardier, intending to tell him this, and noticed the several large bullet holes in the man's chest. He and Josh had made it through twelve missions together without a scratch. Looked like thirteen was their unlucky number.
As he gently parachuted to earth, he became more and more certain that there would be an entire company of SS soldiers down there waiting for him the moment he hit the ground.
When he actually landed, however, the company of SS turned out to be one middle-aged German farmer tending his crops. Instead of turning him over to the Nazis, the man had hidden Mike in his barn for the night.
The next afternoon, the farmer had brought two other people to see him, a man and a woman. They told Mike they were part of the Resistance, and were going to get him out of Germany safely. They'd taken his uniform and provided him with civilian clothes, along with passably-forged identification papers, driven him from the farm in the country to the outskirts of the city, and given him directions to a location where he was to meet another member of their organization. He would be given further instructions at that time.
It was a stable, he realized. It was at the edge of the city, but had fields bordering it on the north and west. To the east and south, the city of Hanover began. He thought he could even hear the sound of horses inside.
"Hello?" he called, opening the side door. It was dark inside, and he couldn't make anything out.
"Come in. Hurry!" a voice answered from somewhere in the darkness.
Mike entered, closing the door behind him. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he saw a man standing in the center of the building, in front of one of the horse stalls. Although maybe the same age as the farmer who'd first rescued him, this man was obviously a city-dweller. He didn't look much like a spy, either; in fact, Mike thought he looked an awful lot like Mr. Wilkins, the man who ran the bank back in his small Kansas hometown.
"You are the American flyer?" 'Mr. Wilkins' asked.
"Yes sir," Mike responded. "Who are you?"
"You do not need to know that. Safer for you, and safer for me. Now, we must hurry. We have several hours until sunrise, and I intend to have you halfway to the coast by then." The man took Mike's arm and began to move him toward a door opposite the one he'd entered through.
Before they could get there, the door slammed open. So did the one behind him. The main stable doors were hauled roughly back. Behind all three stood armed men in black uniforms, red arm bands adorned with swastikas on their left sleeves.
Gestapo, Mike recognized right away. Nazi secret-police. One of the raging arguments in his barracks back in England had been who'd you'd least rather be captured by, the SS or the Gestapo. He'd always been most afraid of the SS, but now that he was face-to-face with them, he decided the Gestapo were plenty scary, too.
"Halt! You are both under arrest!" a voice called. Two soldiers at the door they'd been headed toward moved aside, and an officer stepped through. The others surrounding them closed in, and Mike and 'Mr. Wilkins' found themselves pushed up against one of the stable walls.
"Papers please," the officer ordered, looking at Mike. Hands shaking, he took out the fake documents he'd been given that morning, handing them over.
The officer gave them only a cursory glance. "These are a forgery. Who are you?"
Mike knew the game was up. He wasn't going to get out of Germany safely, after all; he was going to spend the duration in a P.O.W. camp. He'd better just come clean now, before he got in any more trouble. He gave his name, rank, and serial number, just as he'd been instructed to do if he were ever taken prisoner.
"You are an American spy," the officer told him, and motioned to his sergeant. The enlisted man nodded, pulling a Luger from his holster and pointing it at Mike's forehead.
"Wait! No! I'm not a spy, I'm an American soldier! You can't just-- I mean, the Geneva Convention--" Mike sputtered. Warm water trickled down his leg.
"The Geneva Convention applies to soldiers in uniform captured on the battlefield," the Gestapo officer informed him. "You are not in uniform; you are carrying badly-forged identification papers; you are meeting with a known Underground agent, and have just admitted that you are in fact an American. Obviously, you are a spy."
As he stepped sideways to face the second man, there was the sound of a gunshot, and a thud similar to the sound a body would make collapsing onto a stable's dirt floor.
"Papers please." He waited while the older man withdrew them from his pocket. Inspecting them with more interest than he'd given the American's, he asked "Would you like to help us collect the other members of your group, Herr Schmidt? Things would go much easier on you were you to do so."
"I will tell you nothing," Schmidt responded defiantly.
The officer stepped close to him, until their chests were nearly touching, then leaned even further forward, until there was barely an inch separating their faces. "I doubt that, Herr Schmidt. I doubt that very strongly."
With that, he turned and walked out the main doors of the stable. Two men grabbed Schmidt, marching him off to the truck that would take him to Gestapo Headquarters.
* * * * *
The corporal flew through the air and hit the wall face-first. Even the helmet he'd been wearing was not enough to prevent him from being knocked unconscious. He fell on top of another black-clad form, and a third unconscious - or dead? - body lay on the other side of the narrow street.
Nine men still remained on their feet, and now they circled the woman with even more caution. They'd already put at least four rounds into her, possibly five, and she didn't even seem to feel them.
"Ooh... Pretty black moths flying all around my head," she said in a lilting voice. "Flittering and fluttering, flittering and fluttering..." She raised her hands out to her sides, just above shoulder-level, and made faint flapping motions.
The sergeant in charge of this pursuit was getting more and more upset. Partly at the ease with which this obviously-mad woman had fought them off so far, and partly at the fact that he was the one in charge. If she managed to get away, it would've been so much better if there'd been an officer here to take the blame for the whole mess. He pointed to two more of his men. “Sie zwei! Erhalten sie!”
The men rushed forward. The mysterious woman moved again with that spooky speed, avoiding the one on her left and re-directing him so that he collided with the one coming in on her right. As they went down in a tangled heap, she reached down and snapped the neck of one with what seemed like no effort whatsoever.
Enough of this, the sergeant decided, and ordered his remaining seven men in at once. She succeeded in knocking one more out cold, breaking the nose of another, and tossing two others up against the nearby building's wall, before someone was finally able to club her on the head and knock her out.
"Let's get her out of here and into a cell before she wakes up," he said, more thinking out loud than actually giving an order. One of his few still-standing men put restraints on her wrists, and he and another soldier picked her up for the short walk back to Gestapo Headquarters. Let someone else figure out exactly who or what she is, the sergeant thought with some relief.
* * * * *
The eastern sky was getting very blue by the time Spike dropped his last late-night snack in a tangle of limbs and headed for the nearest sewer entrance. Time to head home.
"Home" at the moment was a pair of underground rooms of unknown purpose off one of the main sewer lines. They were damp and dank and filled with ratty, smelly furniture, but it was the best they could do at the moment.
This was not a good time to be in Germany for someone with an English accent. He and Dru had been in Berlin when Hitler launched the air attack on England in early 1940, and Spike had been a little slow to see the handwriting on the wall. It wasn't until nearly three months after the Battle of Britain had finally ended that he decided it would probably be a good idea to try to get out of Nazi-occupied territory. They'd started heading west, but thanks to a combination of the all-too-effective Gestapo, who were always on the lookout for someone they considered even the least bit suspicious, and only being able to travel at night, in four years they'd only made it as far west as Hanover.
"Drusilla, I'm home," he called as he entered their miserable little sinkhole.
Rudolf heard him and came running over. "Spike! I have terrible news!" The sinkhole actually belonged to Rudolf. He had agreed to take Spike and Dru in shortly after they'd arrived in town. Spike wondered if the other vampire was ware of just how lucky he was that he still existed - normally they would've just killed him and moved in, but the vampire's knowledge of the city and the language had proven invaluable. He also had several contacts within the local Nazi party, which were even more valuable. Several times in the last few months, they'd avoided patrols who'd come down into the sewers only because Rudolf had been tipped off about them ahead of time.
Spike's cold blood ran even colder as he absorbed the creature's words, and realized that Dru was nowhere in sight. No, she couldn‘t be…
"What happened?" he demanded.
"The Gestapo has your Drusilla. They took her several hours ago. A patrol saw her and decided to question her, but she ran." Rudolf looked like he expected Spike to kill him right then and there. And judging by the look on Spike's face, he had good reason to be afraid.
"They... what? Captured her?" He found he had more trouble believing this than he would've that she'd simply been killed. She shouldn't have had any trouble getting away from two or three of those strutting poofs in their pretty black uniforms.
"Ja. It took over a dozen men, and she killed or wounded many of them, but they were finally able to apprehend her and take her to Gestapo Headquarters."
"I see," Spike said in a dangerously calm voice. "And just how long have you known about this, mate?"
"I learned of it just after two o'clock," Rudolf told him, voice quavering.
Blinding pain exploded in the vampire's jaw, and he stumbled backward, hitting one of the cement walls. When he'd shaken off the effects of the punch, he looked up to see Spike stalking towards him with the remains of a wooden chair-leg in his left hand.
"You've known for over three bloody hours and you just sat here and waited for me to come home? 'Til the sun was up and I couldn't do anything about it? You miserable little pissant!" He raised the weapon and prepared to stake the smaller German vamp.
"Wait! Please! I know something else! How you might be able to get her back!" He cringed, crying and trying to press himself further backwards against the unyielding wall.
Spike stopped the killing blow in mid-swing. Maybe the little git just trying to bluff his way out of this. On the other hand, he did have good sources, so maybe he really did know something. "How?" he demanded, his voice low and threatening.
"There was someone else taken prisoner tonight. A member of the Underground, trying to help an American escape..."
---
Three minutes later, after Spike had gotten all the information he needed, he brushed the remains of the other vampire off his clothes. He had to hope Dru would make it through the day.
But as soon as the sun went down, there was someone he needed to pay a visit to.
* * * * *
The four-story building had been built near the turn-of-the-century. Originally it had been a bank, and had at times over the years served as both a post office and a police station. It was clean and well-maintained, yet was still one of the most forbidding buildings in the entire city, due to it's current purpose.
Since 1938, it had been the home to the Geheime Staatspolizei - better known as the Gestapo.
In a small room on the third floor, Oberst Gerhardt Kessler leaned against a wall, smoking a cigarette and considering the man sitting in the chair before him.
"I will ask you again, Herr Schmidt: who are the other members of your Underground group?"
"I don't... know what you're... talking about," Schmidt gasped.
Kessler sighed. "You know very well what I'm talking about. But, since you obviously wish to continue this charade..." He nodded to the other two men in the room. One of them grasped Schmidt's wrist in a vise-like grip, keeping the prisoner's hand pressed flat against the table. The other man brought his fist down onto the end of Schmidt's fingers, from which the fingernails had been pulled several hours ago. Schmidt shrieked in pain.
"Schmidt, you are a traitor to the Fatherland and the lowest piece of vermin I have ever seen," Kessler said, tossing the remains of his cigarette into the man's face. "I do admire your resistance, though. I know we'll get everything you know eventually, but I'm beginning to think it will take longer than I'd like if we continue to go along like this."
The colonel leaned over and spoke directly into Schmidt's sweating face. "Within a few hours we'll have your daughter. Once we do, I'll give you the chance to recover," he told him, nodding down toward the man's wounded hand. "And while you do, you can sit and watch while we pull her nails out. How many of hers do you think it will take before you talk?" he asked.
"Bastard!" Schmidt hissed, and spat in Kessler's face.
The Gestapo man rocked backwards in surprise, a look of anger and surprise on his face. Quickly recovering his calm demeanor, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face clean, blew his nose, then smeared the entire mess on Schmidt's cheeks. After returning the cloth to his pocket, he punched the prisoner in the face, breaking his nose. Blood poured down his chin like water from a faucet.
"Never do that again, traitor," Kessler told him with a voice as cold as ice. "We've barely scratched the surface of the things we can do to hurt you." Leaving the man to consider that for awhile, he turned and left. Dietz was waiting for him outside the door, and fell into step behind him as he walked down the hall.
Colonel Kessler was a small, gnomish-looking man who appeared to be in his early-forties. As the commanding officer of all the Gestapo forces in Hanover, he was perfectly suited to his job - he was the most terrifying man among an entire force of terrifying men.
Major Henrik Dietz was his second-in-command. "Nothing yet?" he asked.
"No," Kessler scowled. "I do not want to go too far with him yet and risk killing him. This man knows too much. We need to find the girl," he said, turning to give the taller man a look that clearly indicated he felt she should've been caught already.
"I have men waiting at their house, should she return there. Her name and description have been given to all of our patrols. We'll find her," Dietz concluded decisively.
This man, Dietrich Schmidt, had no known friends or family, other than an adopted teenage daughter, Annaliese Klein. Kessler wanted her desperately - first to use her as leverage against Schmidt, and second to learn whether she might know anything useful about his Underground activities.
"And the vampire?" he asked, switching topics.
"No change," Dietz informed him.
They reached the elevator, and descended to the basement where the holding cells were located. They walked down a line of empty cells, finally stopping before the last one. In a couple of hours Schmidt would be brought back down to one of the neighboring cages, but for now, the vampire was alone on the block.
"The head lion has come to call on me," the creature said, apparently talking to thin air. "Nasty wicked lions tied me all up," she scolded them, rattling her chains. One set joined her wrists; another joined her ankles; these two pairs were connected by a third, thicker chain that ran from the ones at her wrists to the ones at her ankles, before finally ending at a steel ring that had been embedded in the center of the cell's floor. The vampire was unable to move more than one or two steps in any direction.
Over the last several months, there had been several brutal murders in Hanover - bodies found with puncture wounds in their necks and all the blood drained. During that same span of time, there had been a large increase in the number of missing persons. The local police were on the hunt for the serial killer. The missing persons they didn't worry much about. Germany was a country at war, after all, and people disappeared during such times.
Kessler and his top officers, however, had suspected the possibility of a vampire preying on the population. Kessler had never seen a vampire himself, but even so, he believed in their existence. He had ordered patrols into the sewers several times looking for it (or them), but they had come up empty every time.
But now... now he had it! Another man in his position might have been interested in capturing it in an attempt to make the streets safer for the city's residents. Kessler didn't care a wit about the city's residents. All he could think of was what would happen when the Fuhrer was informed of the creature. He knew Hitler had a great interest in the occult. When he learned one of his men had captured a real live vampire for him to study... Kessler could almost taste his general's stars.
"It's quite mad," Dietz commented beside him, sounding just a bit frightened of it. It had started humming to itself, rocking from side to side.
"Yes," Kessler agreed. "But I don't care how mad it is, as long as it's ours. Put two of your best men here, right outside the cell," he directed. "And make sure they have crosses. We're not going to let it get away."
“Ja wohl, Herr Oberst.”
* * * * *
Anna pulled the shawl tighter around her head, hoping to hide as much of her blonde hair as possible, and continued to examine the building. She'd waited until the sun had gone down before risking the trip, but even so, she knew Ulrich would be furious with her if he knew where she was.
She had to get Schmidt out of there! Unfortunately, she had absolutely no idea how to do it.
As far as the German government and the official paperwork was concerned, Schmidt was her adopted father. Their actual relationship was a bit different.
He had come and taken her from the orphanage five years ago, when she was ten. At the time, she'd been overjoyed, because children as old as her were so rarely wanted. No, most people wanted little babies that they could raise as their own, fooling them into thinking Father and Mother were really Father and Mother. But Herr Schmidt had wanted her! She couldn't believe it.
It was only after the adoption had become official that she learned the real reason he had wanted her. Her joy turned into bitter disappointment. He didn't want her as a daughter, after all. He had other plans for her.
Still, she eventually accepted her role. It was much better than the orphanage, at least. She had nice clothes, good food, a real school where she made several friends... and she thought Schmidt really did care for her, in his own way.
And now the Gestapo had him. She had been awoken in the middle of the night by Schmidt's friend Ulrich (as far as she knew, Ulrich Mueller was the only friend Schmidt had), telling her she had to get out of the house right away, had to come with him. Otherwise, they would be here to arrest her soon, as well.
She turned away from the building and began to walk down the street, wondering why she'd even bothered to come out here. She had no better idea how to get Schmidt out now than she had when--
A hand clamped over her mouth, while another grabbed her around the stomach, lifting her off her feet and into the dark alley she had just passed. She was carried halfway down the dark passage, dropped, and pushed against the wall. The hand over her mouth still hadn't let go.
“Sprechen sie Englisch?“ the dark shape asked her. He had an accent, but she was too scared to place it just then. She nodded. "Well, thank God for small bloody miracles. If I take my hand away, are you going to scream?" She shook her head. The hand let go.
"What do you want?" she asked her abductor, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.
"I'm going to make you a proposition, luv. The krauts have a couple of people you and I want back. You're going to help me break Dru out, and I'm going to help you get your watcher back."
* * * * *
Dietrich Schmidt sat in his cell, holding his wounded hand, worrying about Anna and wondering how he'd ever gotten himself into this situation in the first place.
He had been a watcher for nearly twenty years, fifteen of those spent here in Hanover. He had trained one other potential, over a dozen years ago, but she had never been called and had eventually moved on somewhere. Five years ago the Council had assigned him to Anna. He was utterly nonplussed to learn she was living in an orphanage, and that the only way he was going to be able to arrange regular access to her, to train her, was to adopt her. But duty called, so adopt her he did.
He had very little interest in the burgeoning war at that time. Let Hitler and his fascists have their war - he was concerned with a much more important battle, the one against the forces of darkness.
Schmidt paid little attention to the news as Hitler invaded Poland, France, and the rest of Europe. He spent the day working in the small bookshop he owned, he went out often with his lady-friend Gertrude Baum, and he trained Anna. Anna came first; her training was the most important thing in his life. He was determined that if she ever did become the Slayer, she would be well-prepared.
Then, two years ago, Gertrude was gone. Simply vanished. She was a Jew, and one day the Nazis had just come along and taken her, simple as that.
He was a Christian and she had been a Jew, but they had loved one another. Neither had any close family to object to the relationship, and the difference hadn't mattered a bit to them. They had loved one another, totally and completely.
Dietrich's need for revenge built up slowly. Every morning it was a little stronger than it had been when he went to bed the night before. Finally, he made contact with the local Resistance. Within six months, he had become one of their most valued and trusted members. He helped them sabotage local Nazi installations, as well as move escaped Allied prisoners or downed Allied pilots back to England. It was fulfilling work.
Had been, anyway, until he'd been caught last night.
He hadn't talked yet, and felt confident he never would, no matter what they did to him. He was still a watcher, and part of something bigger than Hitler and his collection of fools could ever hope to comprehend. They'd never break him.
But he didn't know what he'd do if they caught Anna. He knew he was supposed to have remained detached, yet he had grown to love the girl almost like a daughter over these last five years. He was careful to keep these feelings hidden, even from her, but they were there. If they brought her in and made him watch while they tortured her, could he keep silent?
He honestly didn't know.
* * * * *
"Come on, let's take a walk," the mysterious man said to her, taking her arm. They walked out the other end of the alley, and down a crowded street in the business district.
"Where are we going?" She was growing more and more alarmed. What if this was some kind of trick? What if this man intended to lead her right into a trap? Could there already be a reward out for capturing her?
They were walking past a hofbrau; loud music came from inside, along with the sound of quite a few drunk patrons. "Somewhere a little less crowded, and a little further away from--"
“Halt! Sie zwei! Kommen sie uber hier!” They turned and saw two men in Gestapo uniforms across the street, gesturing to them.
"From the likes of them," the stranger finished. He began to move slowly toward the nearest alley and out of sight of the other pedestrians, pulling Anna with him as he went. The Gestapo soldiers repeated their order, and when it wasn't followed, angrily marched across the avenue, ignoring the traffic.
“Ich habe halt gesagt! Sind sie taub?”
"Sorry mate, but the only kraut I speak is ‘Sprechen Englisch?‘ and ‘sauerbraten’," Anna's companion explained with an insolent grin.
"Englander!" the Gestapo man exclaimed, pulling his Luger from it's holster.
"Yes, and right clever of you to notice, friend," the Englishman told him with a smirk. "Can't understand why a bright lad like you is only a private." He and Anna had reached the mouth of the alley by now. The soldiers didn't seem to have noticed their gradual progress over to it.
The soldier with the gun made the mistake of getting too close to the Englander, who reached out lightning-fast, grabbed the private's wrist, and snapped it like a dried twig. The pistol clattered to the ground. His cry of pain was cut off, along with his life, when the mysterious stranger broke his neck with frightening ease.
The second soldier had begun to cry out in surprise and alarm. The shout died on his lips when he took another look at the Englishman's face. The man's back was to Anna, so she couldn't tell what had scared the other so badly, but she wasted no time in taking advantage of the opening. While he stood frozen in terror, she grabbed the knife from his belt and drove it into his heart with all her might. He made a choked gurgling noise, then fell over dead.
"Nice move, luv. Help me drag these two into the alley before anyone sees 'em." He turned around to look at her, and she saw what had frozen the second soldier. Large lumpy ridges over yellow eyes, long sharp fangs... She'd never seen a vampire before, but she knew she was seeing one now.
Watching the girl freeze up in terror, Spike sighed with exasperation. I have to do everything myself. He grabbed one Gestapo man in each hand, holding them by the backs of their collars, and dragged them into the alley. He took hold of the girl and pulled her in after him.
"You... you are a vampire," she finally managed to say.
"Oh my God! I am?" He grasped his face in mock horror, feeling his forehead and his sharp teeth. "Well, how about that, I am. I'm also the only one who can help you get your old man out of the klink. So, do we work together on this or not?"
"You know what he is; what I am. Why do you think I won't just kill you right here?" She cursed herself for not being able to keep the slight tremble out of her voice.
"Right, pet. I know exactly what you are," he smirked. "You're a bloody bridesmaid, just hoping the real Slayer, whoever she is, will kick it, and they'll pass the number on to you. Since that hasn't happened yet, I'm not exactly planning to go fleeing in terror from you." He winked at her. She hated him for it.
"Why should I trust you?"
"You shouldn't!" He looked shocked at the suggestion. "I'm a bleedin' vampire, for God's sake. But I'm also all you've got."
Every fiber of her being told her this was a bad idea. But like he said, he was all she had. "You have a plan?"
He grinned. "I believe we were taking a walk before we were so rudely interrupted..."
* * * * *
Ulrich leapt from his chair and raced to the door. The knock was too light and polite to be the Gestapo - it had to be Anna. It was.
"Anna! What were you doing going out? Every Gestapo man in the city is looking for you!" He hugged her fiercely, pulling her inside as he did.
"I went for a walk. I was trying to think of a way to free Schmidt," she explained.
"Umm... hello?" a voice called from the doorway, then cleared it's throat. "Remember me here?"
Ulrich turned around and saw that Anna hadn't come back alone. A man stood on the doorstep, perhaps in his late-twenties or early-thirties, with wavy light-brown hair. He looked like a foreigner, and Ulrich realized he'd had an accent when he'd spoken.
"Who is this?" he asked, looking at Anna.
"Ulrich, this is Spike," she explained. "He is going to help us get Schmidt back. Please, invite him in." A bit flustered, Ulrich did so.
Spike entered, admiring the man's flat. It was a little small - obviously he was the only one who lived here - but it looked comfortable. If only they didn't have to hide from the damn krauts, he and Dru could've had a place like this instead of living in that stinking sewer.
Meanwhile, Ulrich was busy explaining something. Spike turned his attention back to the pair. "...has him, Anna. They are not going to release him just because we go in and ask them politely. I don't know what your friend here has--"
"Why don't we just cut through it, eh mate? I already know you're the Big Cheese in the Underground around these parts. The nibblet and I are going to walk in there tonight and break a couple of folks out - all I need from you is one or two men and a bit of wardrobe help," Spike told him.
"I-I-I..." the man stuttered. "I don't know what you're... How do you know that?" he finally asked, giving up any pretense of denial.
"Got my sources. Or I did, at any rate. So how about it: do you want to play along, or do I have to try to convince you?"
Ulrich didn't miss the implied threat. Whoever this Englander was, he was dangerous. And since he apparently planned on marching into Gestapo Headquarters and freeing two prisoners almost single-handedly, he obviously didn't lack for self-confidence either. "What exactly do you need?"
Spike told him.
---
A little over an hour later, they were ready.
Ulrich had called in two members of his group, a couple of large men named Joachim and Hans. Joachim, the older of the two, was now dressed in the uniform of a Gestapo captain. Hans was a corporal, and Spike was attired as a sergeant. Ulrich's little unit could provide uniforms of any sort on almost no notice whatsoever. Three Gestapo uniforms had been no problem at all.
They had to do this now, Spike knew. He didn't know what plans the Nazis had for Dru, but every minute he stood here increased the chances something bad would happen to her. And he doubted they planned to keep her here in Hanover, so she'd probably on the way to Berlin soon. He didn't give a rat's ass about Schmidt, but if freeing him was the quickest way to get Drusilla back, then that's just what he'd have to do.
"We ready?" he asked. Joachim, Hans, and Anna nodded their heads. "Then let's get to it!" The prospect of impending violence just naturally cheered him up.
* * * * *
The sergeant behind the desk looked up as four people entered through the front doors. His eyes widened as he recognized one of them. It was the girl they were searching for, judging by the description that had been given out. Her left arm was held by a corporal, the right by a sergeant.
The captain preceding the trio marched up to the desk. "You are looking for this girl?"
“Ja wohl, Herr Hauptmann.”
"Very well. We will take her down to the detention area." He looked at his subordinates and made a quick motion with his head, and they began to head for the elevator, still keeping a firm grip on the prisoner.
"Herr Captain, you cannot just-- I mean, Colonel Kessler must be informed--"
"What is your name, sergeant?" the captain demanded, cutting him off.
"Becker, Herr Captain."
"Stand up, Becker!" he snapped. The man leaped to his feet. "Obviously, you do not realize who I am..."
Unnoticed by Becker, the sergeant had let go of the girl's right arm, and was slowly moving closer to the desk.
"...Captain Heilmann from Berlin - part of the Fuhrer's personal staff. I was sent here specifically by General Schultz to make a report on how Kessler is running things here in Hanover, and if dumkopfs like you are any indication--"
Spike had reached the desk, barely arm's-length from the man. Using his superhuman speed, he reached out, grabbed Becker by the collar with his right hand, and pulled him forward. At the same time, he formed a fist with his left, but kept the index and middle fingers locked out straight. He drove these into the Gestapo man's throat, puncturing his windpipe.
The vampire let him go, and he dropped to the floor, clutching his bleeding neck and making noises similar to a landed trout. His face turned red, then purple, and within moments he was dead.
Joachim and Hans knew nothing of Spike's true nature, and were stunned at the ease and violence with which he'd killed the man. Hans' mouth actually hung slightly open.
"Well? You two just going to stand about, or are we going to get on with this thing?" Spike demanded.
The two men snapped out of their daze. Hans bundled the dead man into a nearby closet, then took the man's place behind the front desk. An empty post was much more likely to be noticed than an unfamiliar face. Spike, Joachim, and Anna marched off toward the elevator, taking it down to the basement.
---
There was one man outside the entrance to the cellblock. Spike and Joachim combined to make quick work of him, took his keys, and entered the block.
---
Dietz had just checked on the vampire. Kessler demanded he do so every hour. He was taking no chances it would get free. Dietz was dreading these trips more every time. The evil, insane creature just gave him the creeps.
He saw the door at the end of the corridor open, and three people stepped through. Two Gestapo men he didn't recognize, and the girl they were all looking for...
...And why didn't he recognize the two men? He was the second-in-command here in Hanover, and while he might not know every private or corporal by sight, he certainly knew all the officers and sergeants.
"Halt! Who are you?"
---
"Oh, balls," Spike muttered. "Stay behind me," he told the other two as quietly as he could, and marched toward the Gestapo major.
"I said identify yourself!" the man commanded, reaching for his pistol. When Spike still said nothing, he put three rounds from the Luger into the vampire's chest. He had just enough time to look shocked at the results - or lack thereof - of his attack, before Spike reached him and broke his neck.
There were two more soldiers standing at the far end of the corridor, and they immediately grasped the significance of Dietz's failure. "Vampire!" one shouted, and both held up the large crosses they'd been holding.
Spike looked away from them, wincing, the way a human would look away from a bright light. Cautiously, he glanced back, and realized they weren't near enough for the religious symbols to bother him yet. He couldn't get much closer than he was now, however, which was the whole point.
"Spike?" a voice called from the cell the men stood before.
"Dru!"
---
"Anna?"
She'd been following close behind the vampire, concentrating only on keeping him between her and the men with the guns. Now, she looked to her left and saw him. "Schmidt!" She grabbed the keys from Joachim and began to frantically try them in the lock, until she found the right one.
He looked terrible. His nose was swollen, the fingers of his right hand puffed up like sausages, face and hand covered in blood... but he was Schmidt. "Thank God!" she cried, rushing in and hugging him.
"What are you... foolish risk... shouldn't have..."
"Come on," she said, grabbing his good hand and pulling him out of the cell.
---
"Alright, you two can either step aside and let me get to the lady, or don't, and find out what I'm like when I get really angry," Spike told them.
The didn't reply, at least, not with words. Instead, they raised their crosses even higher, and grinned, as if telling the vampire they knew he couldn't come any closer.
Shrugging, Spike pulled the Luger from his holster and shot each man twice.
"Here." He looked behind him and saw Anna offering him the ring full of keys.
"Thanks, Little Bit."
Spike quickly found the key that opened Drusilla's cell door, as well as the ones that opened her chains. "I thought I'd lost you, Pet," he told her as he wrapped her in a fierce hug.
"My brave Spike," she crooned. "I knew my knight would rescue me. The moon whispered it to me..."
---
"Anna, how could you? They are vampires!" Schmidt had a look of shock on his face.
"Ja. But it was the only way to save you, and I was not going to leave you here." She hugged him again.
"Relax, mate, we're not going to hurt you," the male vampire said, emerging from the cell with his arm around the female. "See, your friend is going to arrange passage for the four of us back to England, and from there we can all go our merry way."
"Let's go! Schnell!“ Joachim urged, worried the sound of the gunshots may have been heard.
The three humans and two vampires hustled back to the elevator, collected Hans on the way out, and were gone into the night before anyone could raise the alarm.
EPILOGUE
Ulrich was as good as his word, and got the two vampires and two humans to England by the end of that week. He, Joachim, and Hans stayed in Hanover until the end of the war, continuing to harass the Nazis in whatever way possible.
Colonel Kessler never got his general's stars. When Hitler learned he'd allowed the vampire to escape, Kessler found himself busted to private and on a train heading east before the end of the day. He died fighting at the Russian Front less than two weeks later.
Spike and Dru remained in England until late-1946, before leaving for Spain. They spent the next couple of decades in Europe before hopping the pond and heading for America.
Dietrich Schmidt and Annaliese Klein stayed in England until the war in Europe ended in May of 1945. Less than a month after the end of the fighting, they returned to Hanover. By the winter of that year, Anna had become the Slayer.
The war in the Pacific ended in August, and as far as most people knew, the world was finally at peace again. Memorials would be built in nearly every country that had been involved. In small towns all across America, memorials went up commemorating the young men who'd given the "Ultimate Sacrifice For Their Country." One of the names listed on one such monument in Polliston, Kansas was Michael Edem, US Army.
Another war, just as important but almost completely unknown, continued as fierce as ever. Anna Klein was killed by a vampire in September of 1946, just after her seventeenth birthday. No one put her name on a monument. The next Slayer was called.
And the battle raged on.
** Grr! Arrgh! **
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