Loose Lips Sink Ships

After fighting her way across the Baltic Sea in the midst of World War 1, a young Lithuanian girl betrays the friends that helped her in the hopes of saving herself.

A great friend of mine once said, we must continually turn our heads to assure our friends walk behind us, lest the blind man be forgotten. Taking his advice, I eagerly turned my head round to discover I was tragically alone, and to me it seemed, was the blind man forgotten.

Part 1,

The water bit and scratched at me, with all the intensity of a sharp toothed and clawed monster.  Invading every bit of air that encompassed me, forcing the uneven breaths from my shaking lungs, forming misty clouds over rocky waves. My arms bent inward as a reflex and stay clinging to chest, feeling as if icicles were being stabbed into my ribcage. But they couldn’t stay there for long, the water was already rushing over my foggy head, crashing into my sides, if I didn’t flail soon I’d drown. I could hear the hum of the motor, very close. When I broke above the waves again, my arms becoming wings for me in the liquid environment, I heard voices breaking the whoosh of the sea and whistling of the wind. Water dipped into my eyes, cooling even the inside of me. Go to the shore, it called, go to the shore. Was it Mickey or Sher; I couldn’t tell. The boys were in the water next to me, I could feel the rhythm that their pulsing bodies gave off. But which way was the shore, I couldn’t think straight; the chill had frozen my brain. My shattered screams were barely lifting off the blue surface. I kicked wildly, trying to find a regularity in it. I could see it; the white boat with red lettering, I could see the bodies at my left and right forming a protective barrier. I could see them move away from our ship, and I followed obediently. My muscles and bones going numb and protesting every swift effort, insisting they bend and curve slowly, and sluggishly. How sickly unpoetic this scene was! Us, three teenagers, still half dressed, furiously swimming, with fake IDs and  full envelopes tapped to our stomachs. My mother would roll over in her grave if she could see the ruins I had crawled into. The adrenaline pumping in my blue veins, was the only things keeping me from biting it from pure anxiety. My teeth clacked all too noisily, and I wanted to cry; I bit my cheek, so hard drops of blood slipped down my chin. I was going to be strong, if I break down and cry I may as well roll over to the Border patrol. We swam, long after our bodies wanted, demanded rest; but we pushed ourselves farther; all the way up onto the sugar sand shores where clumps of seaweed washed up and stuck.

Taking a dunk into the vengeful waters of the Baltic Sea, on a day deep into the December drift, is a terribly unfavorable situation. Especially when bullets zipped past us, creating paths of bubbles in the water. Frantically, I tried to rub some heat into my calves, and arms. My jaw seizures, and I couldn't surrender the feeling that my rib cage had collapsed in on itself. It wasn't until the three of us were coughing and sputtering on shore that we realized we had five sniper rifles aimed at Our heads.

     

   I ran rehearsed lines through my head, but looking down the barrel of a gun loaded with a bullet just for you, collecting my thoughts was impossible. I stuttered in Latvian for minutes, bouncing my eyes to either of the two guards in front of me, pleading with them. They were both, unfortunately Russian, and it wasn't until a sharp smack to my face, and angry Russian shouts, that I switched over to my sloppy vocabulary of their language.

"Please, please!" I begged in Russian," nothing, I know nothing," I hung my head and sobbed, the two men looked with stern frowns plastered firmly on their faces, one had a salt and pepper goatee, the other, much younger one, has stunningly bright blue eyes. Suddenly the man with the goatee grabbed chin with his gloved hand, his fingers pressing on my jaw. He yanked me forward, yelling too fast for my comprehension. His eyes were deep and dark, tears fell off my cold cheeks. They tried their best to scare me, and delivered a few hard handed hits to the side of my head, drops of blood dribbled from nose, down my neck. It kept getting worse, slaps turned into punches, then into kicks, and the butt of their guns. I shook, and cried. Finally, I looked up.

"Please," I sniffed," let me go," I could only stare at them with one eye, the other had swollen shut, my whole face with varying degrees of bruises and cuts and violent swelling

They laughed roughly, muttering in their native tongue. The goateed man unsheathed a silver knife from its hip holster. It was jarringly clean and shiny, with ridges along the base. He pressed the flag side against my cheek, on the verge of breaking skin. He said something, softly, like a mother cooing to a child.

“Tell me what you know, or I will really start to hurt you,”

A deathly few seconds passed

"I have information," I started, slowly and clearly so they would understand , "the people who sent me, who they are,"

I'd like to tell you, they did not accept my offer. That they turned me down and I revealed nothing, that I lived out my punishments with my captured friends, in solidarity and what not. I want so desperately to be able to truthfully write that. But it is simply not what happened. I sold them out, for myself, for my freedom. I told these foul soldiers so many things about Mickey and sher, the man and woman responsible for saving me years ago, who treated me like their own and gave me a chance. And I gave away, Mattheus and Junen. My friends, my brothers. All gone because I wanted to live.

I was thrown into the wet snow with no more than the now somewhat dry clothes I arrived in. I was throwing up in the bare bushes outside the detainment center when a surly guard kicked me in the stomach and the top of his thick leather boots.

"Go," he ordered gruffly

I crawled away, my knees sinking into the cold layer of earth. I never told anyone what I said inside that center, tied to a broken chair and being interrogated. As far as anyone knew I never cracked, I never betrayed them. I was just lucky. Just really lucky, they decided I wasn't worth their time. I am a despicable human being, I live on the borrowed time of the people I got killed.

Tall pine tree shrouded the sky, which was blanketed over with sifting clouds. Completely starved, exhausted, and freezing. I made it no farther than the first cobblestone steps of a poor village I came upon. The entrance to the weary town,  was written, of course, in russian. Broad shouldered men and thick working women shifted their eyes towards me, they seemed fearful of getting too close. I slept next a horses stable, the smell frozen in the frosty air. I ate a rotten apple core from the ground, and melted snow in my mouth. My fake ID and envelope full of foreign bills was confiscated at the center, obviously, so if I was to come upon more guards. I was still no more than an illegal dirty immigrant. I would be shot then. Ratting out my friends didn't save me, it only allowed me a bit more time. I couldn't stay here, and I couldn't go back. When I awoke, I was sure my bones had froze in the night as it took me a solid three minutes to be able to stand and walk again. The tattered cardigan I arrived in was stiff with dried  blood, and i wore men's pants which had holes on either sides of the knees and patches everywhere else. I stumbled fast as possible through the back alleys of town, avoiding all attention. Stray dogs stopped to bare their teeth at me and growl. I kicked pebbles with the tips of my falling apart leather strap shoes, which had originally belonged to four girls before me, all of whom had very small feet.

Author's Note

Another story I fished out of my files from a long time ago. Would love any tips and criticisms on writing style and plot. Also there was very little concern for historical or even geographical realism here.