The Drop by Nathanael Reitzel
The Drop
The ringing in his ears had become too loud. He awoke from his deep slumber only to be alarmed at what he saw… nothing. Cold blackness surrounded and showed no retreat. His heavy breathing was the only comfort he had, but the ringing behind it gave a sense of pain and distress. The longer he was awake the more he could comprehend. Soon the ringing in the back of his skull dissipated. Now distant thunder could be heard. His eyes eventually adjusted to the dark and he could see orange flashes off in the distance. He franticly kicked his legs to make sure they were still there, only to hear the rustling of timber. Something quickly slipped from his side. He didn’t find it important at the time; all Jack wanted to know is where the hell he was.
He began to drift off. The darkness and the deep rumbling caused him to become drowsy. Unfortunately he wasn’t so lucky as to sleep now. He heard an uneasy sound from below. Growling. With this he started to panic. Still not knowing his situation he flailed desperately thinking whatever it was it was too near him to not run. The more he moved the more rustling he heard around him. The cracking of timber alerted him. He quickly fell about ten feet. He was caught by his shoulders, and something else worked its way from his side. Hearing it this time he struggled to grab it, what ever it was, before it parted him. However, his weak hands were unable to grasp the heavy object. After only a few moments he heard the yelping of a dog below him.
He figured out enough by this point to know he was in a tree. As to how he got there, he was a little foggy. Most important, as to how he would get down presented the most challenge. He frisked at his sides to feel if he still had anything to better his situation.
The blade at his hip bit at his hand as he fumbled for it. He jerked away only to feel the warm sensation of blood running down to his fingers. He could feel the itch of a drop forming at the end of his hand. As soon as it fell, he heard the rustling below him. At least two wolves began to snip at each other in an effort to get a taste of the blood. Crazed the dogs began to howl.
The desperate man reached to his side, to find a flare, a lamp, something so he could see.
A cylindrical object pressing at his hip was the best chance he had. He reached for it, pulling it from his hip only to have the blood on his hands send it foreword. He let out a scream so loud that the wolves below went silent. All to be heard was the small object bounce form branch to branch, and then hit the ground. At this instant a burst of smoke and light radiated out, starling the man and his mutual fiends below. He closed his eyes tight with a rush of adrenaline, only to open them to a blinding red flare below. The reflection of six eyes shined up at him. There also lay the body of a dog, motionless, with a shiny grease gun next to its head. With this light he could now see his hands. The deep cut appeared black in the red light. Quickly he stuffed the black hand under his arm to try to stop the bleeding, only to feel the sharp pain he had neglected before surge up his arm.
With his new found vision he searched his body trying to find another useful item. He noticed his camouflage jacket, it reminded him of his service, but the burns and scorches on his uniform left another mystery. Warm blood running down his side alerted him back to reality. He quickly devised a scheme to get down and face the hounds below him. With his knife he cut the cables above to free himself of the entanglement that held him prisoner. Falling he gripped a branch, only to have it break. He hit the ground with a thud and felt both legs snap, like the delicate branches he so desperately longed for.
At that moment he dogs made their attack, lunging at his face and bloody wounds. One got a hold of his injured hand and began to pull ferociously. He let out a roar and quickly grabbed his knife, sending it deep into the wolf’s neck. With no time to waste he rolled over to his gun and fumbled with the discharged clip. With impeccable timing and a flash the red flare went out, leaving him in the dark with the wolf. He began to fire wildly. The strobe light from the muzzle revealed a vicious animal leaping through the air, only to hit the ground with a whimper.
The ringing was back. He was breathing too heavy, he had to calm himself.
He laid his head on the hard cold ground below him. Now dark again he began to feel tired. At a time like this he could not sleep. But unfortunately he was unable to get far on two broken legs. The tired man could not help it, he almost had to rest.
He heard static. His radio. With a scream he hoisted up on both elbows and dragged himself towards the sound. His hand felt around, and to much needed surprise he felt the cold metal of the radio. He lifted what seemed to be the hundred pound brick to his mouth, sending distress calls to anyone who could hear. Soon a voice responded.
“We heard the gunshots earlier and we are on the way, look for our lights…. Over”
And with that the radio went silent.
Silence…. So comforting….
Breaking timber alerted him, waking him. He saw the lights of the soldiers all around him but no faces. Reality hit and he began to hear voices of men. Germans….
An officer kneeled down into the light revealing his tattered face. With a leather wrapped hand he gripped the man’s cheeks, turning his head side to side.
“Amerikanisch…”
And with that he stood.
“Aren’t you going to help me?!?” Jack franticly screamed.
A boot planted itself on his chest, and a cold hard muzzle perched itself on his forehead.
“Damn you all!”
Now he lay alone in the silence, no way of escape, with an injured wolf gnawing at his throat.
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