When One Side Wins a War

Introduction

May 12, 1947

Over the old wire fence, across the dirty alley, and then slip quietly in through the back door. It was the same route every morning. It's not ideal, though it works, and that's all one can ask for in times such as these. And she can't find it in herself to hope for better.

The cracked lightbulb dangled overhead on its thinning cord; she wondered if it would ever die. The occasional flickering light would momentarily blind her with darkness. But she ignored it, continuing her passage through the metal hall.

This next part required focus.

The heavy door always brought her some trouble, but the struggle was more than worth the reward. Shifting the majority of her weight to her right foot, her shoulder slammed against the metal. The loud banging shattered the hanging silence; she had to be quick in her work. Finally, after too long, the door gave way, and she was able to stumble through. 

The room was tight, as if the walls were closing in around their treasure; it almost felt like a tomb. The dark humid air was thick, the various tables covered with odd equipment and torn blueprints. It was a mess. And, of course, he was there, too.

The young man was hunched in the back corner of the room, back bent at a painful angle as he leaned closely over his workbench. The occasional profanities and hushed mutters fell from his mouth; he hadn't heard her enter.

That was good.

She fell swiftly to her hands and knees, bones creaking in protest at the sudden movements. Cautiously, she began her crawl forward, eyes locked ahead as a predator might do. It was a very slow approach, but it was quiet, and it hadn't failed her yet. She's had practice in this manner; every day was spent in the shadows, waiting quietly and gathering information. It had become her life. She learned early on to ignore the hatred, for what would it do to acknowledge it?

Finally, at long last, she had reached her prey. The girl slowly stretched out until the very tip of her fingers brushed against the soft fabric of the man's pants. She relished in the feel of it for half a second. But this was no time for dreaming; now or never. Without another pause, she leapt into action, wrapping her arms tightly around the man's legs. He had no where to go.

"Christ!" he screeched, spinning around before grabbing the table in a desperate attempt not to fall over. She had won. He couldn't escape now. "Get off! What the-"

Despite the man's erratic thrashings, she held on with strength impressive for that of a malnourished child. She was eleven years old, but it only made sense; her determination was all she had left. And she was determined to win. Finally, the man paused and took a second to look down at his attacker; it was only then did he give up the struggle.

"Jesus, kid, you have me a heart attack."

The girl looked up at him, crooked smile glowing in the dark room. Messy blonde hair hung in greasy strings around her face, dark blue eyes watching the man eagerly. "Hello, Glenn. How are you?"

The man sighed, yet he continued to smile at the child all the same. "I'm alright, kid. Just a little tired, I suppose." He slowly pulled his legs away from the girl's tight grasp, putting down his tools before going to face her fully. "Now, I have a question for you. How did you get in here?"

She laughed at that, a delicate sound that echoed through the room gracefully. She smiled once more. Quickly, she pushed herself up so she was properly standing, skipping over to the table and pulling herself atop its surface. "Well, the same way I always do. No one ever bothers to check the back door."

"It's dangerous, you know," Glenn stated, just as he did every time she paid him a visit. It was a lecture she was familiar with, but one she really didn't enjoy hearing. "One day, you're going to get caught. And the punishment will not be light."