The enemy has invaded. Every man jumped into action at the officer's statement, air raid sirens beginning to sound in the distance. My mind raced.
     I gasped for air as the men argued about what to do with us, my heart feeling ready to burst in fear and expectation. Operation Dragoon was really happening, and had somehow made it's way north of Paris already. And I would not survive to see it.
     "We need to get to the bunker," I heard one man yell to the others in German.
     "We are in the middle of an experiment," one of the head scientists countered. I couldn't stop sweating.
    "We're just going to have to throw this test out," another argued, "and do another round of experiments later. Just leave them and we'll pick up the bodies later."
     The woman in the pool beside me looked at me in panic, but I saw this as an opportunity. The men hurried out of the warehouse as the sounds of bomber planes roared overhead.
As the doors shut behind them, I took a deep breath and plunged underwater, using the chain to pull myself down to the bottom where it was attached to a small metal loop.
I banged the chain against itself as hard as I possibly could, praying that it would weaken. I quickly ran out of breath and kicked frantically back to the surface for air. The other girl was almost unconscious.
A huge explosion rocked the building, sending a spray of dust into the water around me.
Trying again down at the bottom of the pool, I used the hook at the bottom to pry the cuff from around my ankle. I was euphoric with relief that it worked, and swam hysterically towards the plexiglass divider.
"I need help," the girl breathed in French as I pulled myself over the sharp plexiglass. Blood permeated through the water around me and I noticed long cuts on my hands and feet from the roughly sawed glass.
"You're going to be okay," I gasped, diving down to the bottom to free her. An explosion outside rocked the foundation of the building, and I had to cover my ears as the sound traveled rapidly through the water.
     I can do it, I told myself as I desperately hit the chains against each other. My lungs felt ready to burst, and my muscles began involuntarily seizing from the cold.
The rusted chains shattered with a final burst of energy, cutting into my already bleeding finger. I swam back to the top and dragged the girl towards the side, tears streaming down my face.
"It's gonna—gonna be okay," I panted, "Stay awake for me, please. Just stay awake."
I pulled both of us out of the water and onto the concrete floor, my whole body trembling. Another bomb exploded outside, and I covered her with my body as pieces of sheetrock fell from the ceiling.
"Come on," I said, beginning to remove her soaking wet clothes, "What is your name?"
"Elisabeth. You're the American."
"Yes. Let me help you get into warm clothing. All the guards are gone; we can escape the camp."
"I can't," she breathed, her eyes fluttering as she fought unconsciousness, "I'm going to die."
Suddenly, a wave of indescribable nausea seized me and I bent over to vomit into the water. I didn't understand what was going on with my body, and I wished I had asked the guards what was in the injection.
Reaching for her prison clothes, I did my best to dry her off before helping her back into the dirty linen.
I removed the black leather jacket, the helmet, and the full-body flight suit. I didn't have time to change back into my prison clothes, so I kept the white cotton shirt and green army pants, tying the leather jacket around my waist in case I ever got a chance to show it to Benjamin.
     "The jacket my wife almost died in," he'd say, "Perfect for my collection." I would laugh, and he'd pull me close to his chest with a chuckle. I wanted that more than anything.
"Come on," I said, picking Elisabeth up and helping her walk beside me, "we have to get out of here."
"Your skin is hot," she stammered, "and you're sweating."
They must have given me something to raise my body temperature. That was why the cold water had had such a strange effect on me.
The hallways of the building were empty and dark—everyone was in the underground bomb shelter.
We passed the room full of medicines and drugs that would be able to help me, but I glanced down at Elisabeth who wouldn't be able to survive much longer without help. The choice was either to get medicine to save myself or save Elisabeth. We kept walking.
Stepping out into the August air, I collapsed as another wave of nausea hit me once again. Elisabeth looked as though her eyes had glazed over as I stood back up again, wiping my mouth and trying not to throw up once more.
     The camp was in chaos. Smoke rose from where some of the barracks stood, and I could hear the screams of those trapped by flames. I wished I could help them all.
     Hundreds of others ran aimlessly about, their hands over their heads as though it would protect them from the firestorm.
     One old man ran directly into me, unable to see through the blood dripping into his eyes. I tried to catch him as he fell, but he was dead before I was able to help him to the ground. A giant piece of splintered wood, probably from one of the bunks, was protruding from the back of his head.
     "What's going on?" Elisabeth gasped, looking around at the throngs of people. I couldn't take my eyes off the dead man at my feet.
The Allied bombers didn't know they were attacking prisoners; this place was only known as barracks for Axis soldiers.
I reached what was left of the badly bombed barrack A2 and left Elisabeth outside while I went in to save whoever I could. Bodies were piled on top of one another, the room filled with the smell of burning flesh.
Someone called out my name and I turned to see Adrienne, the pregnant woman I had met that morning, lying on the ground in pain but not harmed badly.
    I couldn't leave her. I pulled her up and let her lean heavily on my shoulder as we walked back towards the door.
"What happened to you?" she asked.
"I'll tell you later," I said breathlessly, wiping sweat from my eyes, "This is Elisabeth; stay with her until I come back."
I stumbled back inside and called out for the American airmen. "Colonel Armstrong? Lieutenant Williams?"
     Colonel Armstrong appeared through the black smoke with terror in his eyes, blood dripping from his hands.
     "Anne-Laure," he said gravely, "I need your help."
     I followed him into the darkness with my soaked, fur-lined boots sliding on the bloody concrete floor.
     "Are you okay?" he asked urgently, leading me to where the ceiling and walls had caved in—where their bunks used to be.
     "I'll be fine," I lied, trying to still the uncontrollable shaking of my hands, "Where are your men?"
     "Over here. Lieutenant Williams and five others are dead—the roof crushed them all in one second. But George is burned badly, and Francis is trying to help him."
     I felt the pain of dread when I saw how bad this man named George was. His entire left leg was burned down to the bone and muscle, and his hip was bleeding uncontrollably.
     The man whom I assumed was Francis looked up at me, covered in blood, and cried, "Please help me. I can't let him die."
     "He won't," I answered over the whimpers of other prisoners, "Help me carry him out. It's not safe inside."
     The four of us collapsed outside the burning barrack in exhaustion beside Adrienne and Elisabeth. The air raid sirens still screamed across the countryside, and bombers roared overhead.
     "Come on," I said, taking a deep breath and forcing myself to stand, "I know we all need rest and medical attention, but we have to get to someplace safe. Elisabeth—"
     I froze. She was unmoved, her eyes wide open staring into the black clouds of ash rising all around us.
     "No, no, no," I stammered, falling back to my knees beside her, "Wake up, my dear. You can't give up now; I'm going to get you warmed up as soon as we reach safety! Please," I could barely speak between sobs, "you have to make it. Please."
     Colonel Armstrong put a dirty hand on my shoulder, and I wept into the dust on the ground.
     "She's gone, Anne. It'll be okay."
     "That should be me," I cried, "I'm only alive because I got the injection. I should have given her more attention, instead of focusing so much on escaping."
     "I know," he said comfortingly, reaching over to close Elisabeth's eyes, "but you have people you can help right now. I need your help right now."
     "Okay." I stood up, wiping my eyes and helping Adrienne to her feet.
     "What can I do to help?" Adrienne asked me timidly in French, unsure of what to do around all these English-speaking Americans.
     "Just help me wake up if I pass out; we don't have time for that. Are you hurt?" I asked her as we began fighting the crowds towards the unguarded barbed wire that surrounded the camp.
     "No, just a little shaken. Clara, the girl who slept beside you, died in my arms. She asked if you were okay, and I told her I wasn't sure. She cried as she was dying because she wasn't able to get you any food this morning." I sucked in a deep breath, tears mixing with sweat as we helped each other walk.
      The whistling of a bomb falling snapped me from my sadness, and I dove to cover Adrienne and George as the explosion rocked the whole area. My hearing seemed temporarily damaged from the blast but everyone in our group seemed unhurt, although terrified and covered in debris.
     "Let's go," I said, barely able to even hear myself.
     "Where are we going?" Colonel Armstrong asked, helping Francis carry George.
     "I'm not sure. We may be able to help some other people."
Adrienne raised her eyebrows, brushing dust from her eyes and holding her pregnant stomach in pain.
"Shouldn't we try to escape?"
"You all can," I said, gasping for breath, "but I can't leave. Not yet. I know basic medical skills; I can't just leave these people to die. Do not feel like you have to stay with me, though."
"I'll stay," Adrienne said, "although I'm not sure how much help I'll be."
"As long as George gets some help, I'm staying too," Francis piped up.
I nodded. "He's first on the list—" Another bomb exploded nearby, and we all dove for cover as more debris rained down. The camp was in chaos, and the sound of the air raid siren screaming all around us didn't help.
Colonel Armstrong grabbed my arm as we stood back up, and looked at me sternly. "Are you sure you should stay? We need you alive."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Just because I'm an American lady doesn't mean my life matters more than—"
     "That's not what I'm saying. Listen, can we," he hesitated and looked around, "talk in private for a second."
     "Is it that important?" I said.
     "Kinda."
    He followed me towards the side of one of the burning barracks, where I turned around impatiently, waiting for him to talk. I was just hoping he wasn't about to confess his love for me. I didn't have time for that.
     "You're the Duchess. First Officer Tallmadge, right?"
    I was speechless.
     "It's okay," he continued, "I won't tell anyone. I recognized you when Albert told me you had a ring on your finger and the name you gave us was French. You're obviously not French. I've met your husband—he's Head of Intelligence now, right?"
I nodded, stunned by how much he knew.
"This is why I want you to be careful with yourself, Ma'am. You're close to death as it is, and you're more of a help to the allied cause than any of us. We've got to get you out of here alive."
I sighed. "That's not—"
Suddenly, Francis called over from where George was lying on the ground. "He's bleeding real bad, Anne. I think something burst in his leg."
     We hurried back over and I knelt beside George, who was moaning in agony. The burns on his thigh and hip were gruesome, and Francis was right. Blood pooled around my knees.
    "Here," Adrienne said, "use my coat to stop the blood. You can rip it if you want."
     I grabbed her blue wool coat from her arms with a small smile of gratitude.
    "This is beautiful fabric," I grunted as I tightly wrapped his leg with the coat, "I promise I'll buy you a new one some day."
     "I was going to tell you I liked it, Adrienne," George mumbled through breaths of pain.
     She laughed a little, and the two of us exchanged a small glance. She was falling in love with him—probably the first person since her husband's death, and he might not survive the next few minutes.
"I'll try to find a match to cauterize it," I said, "at least—I think that's how it works." If only Benjamin were here.
Looking around at the people around me, I approached an older man carrying a pack.
"Excuse me, sir, do you have a match? My friend is burned badly."
He looked at me, and then looked behind me to George.
"I'm a doctor; let me help."
I sighed in relief. "Oh, thank goodness. I don't know what to do. I've never seen a bleeding burn before."
He knelt beside him and began elevating his leg, propping it up with his bag.
     "Madame?" someone said behind me in hurried French, "My wife needs help. Are you a nurse?"
    I turned to see a man in his late twenties, looking as though he had been in this camp even longer than I had. Blood dripped from his fingertips.
     "I'm not. But I can try to help."
     He led me to a woman lying face down in the dirt, her face strained with agony. A piece of shrapnel that looked like a pole protruded from her back, and my heart sank. I didn't know how to do this; and if I did something wrong, it might paralyze her.
    "Alright," I said, feeling gently around the pole to see what was near it, "I don't think I should take this out. Right now, it is stopping you from bleeding out."
"But if we keep it in, she'll die." The husband looked at me earnestly, posing his statement more like a question.
"Possibly. But she may very well die if I take it out."
I looked up at the sky, the British bombers circling like hawks over the camp. They had probably realized their mistake, and were circling to keep the air raid sirens on. They were protecting us from the Nazis.
     "What should we do?"
I sighed, looking down at the situation before me.
"It's up to the two of you," I answered, "I'm no doctor."
"Just try," the woman gasped, obviously in terrible pain, "Just try to take it out."
"Alright," I said to the husband, "help me hold her down."
I put my hands tentatively around the shrapnel, hesitant to risk paralyzing her.
"Just do it," she cried.
I pulled it out with one swift motion, cringing as the woman cried out in pain.
"That's it," I said, "It's done. It's done."
I set down the jagged metal in the dirt and pressed both of my hands into the wound. With the obstruction out, blood poured freely.
"I need a handkerchief!" I cried to everyone around, "Please, does anyone have a handkerchief?"
A Jewish woman holding a young girl by the hand approached, removing the printed cotton kerchief from around her head.
"Will this work?"
"It's perfect; thank you."
As she was about to leave, the little girl handed me a small handkerchief from her coat pocket.
"You can have mine too. Is she going to be okay?"
I forced a smile as the child looked down at the bleeding woman with concern in her eyes. "She'll be just fine—thank you."
I wadded up the smaller handkerchief and pressed it into the wound, hoping I wasn't causing more damage. If Benjamin were here, I thought, he'd know exactly what to do.
With the second kerchief, I bound the wound tightly, tying it in a knot. I looked up to find the husband crouched beside his wife, breathing encouragement into her ear.
"You're doing so well, my darling. We'll be home soon, I know it, and you'll have plenty of stories to tell the children. I know they will be waiting for us."
"And—and if they're not?"
"Then I will tear apart every town in Europe to find them."
"And I'll come with you."
The husband smiled. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
He looked up at me and pursed his lips. "What's wrong?"
At that, I couldn't stop the tears from falling. "Nothing's wrong," I cried, "I just—I miss my husband. The two of you would have been great friends."
"Is he in the camp?"
I shook my head. "I don't know where he is."
"What is his name?"
I was about to say Alexandre, but I realized how futile it was to hide my identity. If I didn't get help soon, I'd be dead by tomorrow morning anyway.
"Benjamin. His name is Benjamin." That was the first time I had said his name aloud in over six months. "I doubt I'll ever see him again."
He put a hand on my emaciated shoulder. "There's always hope."
Just then, a roaring engine flew over our heads, causing everyone to duck. One of the RAF planes just barely missed the roof of one of the burning barracks, less than one hundred feet above the ground. He was landing.
I heard the terrible grinding sound of landing gear against the railroad tracks surrounding the camp, and everyone around us began running towards the plane.
I helped the man shield his wife from the chaos, and he looked up at me in surprise.
"Don't you want to go see what's happening?"
I shook my head. "I'm not leaving you two. I've seen enough planes to know what they look like."
In truth, I did want to know why the British had landed, and I wanted to beg them to save us. But I also felt strangely distant from the idea of freedom, and I didn't want to burden people with my injuries and health problems. I wanted to help, not be helped.
More planes continued to land roughly on the train tracks, and others continued circling in the sky. This, I realized, was not a rescue mission. There weren't enough men to get us all out of here.
"What are your names?" I asked them, trying to keep myself from vomiting again.
"Robert and Edith. Are you alright, Ma'am? You look ill."
     I nodded. "I'm just fine. Don't worry about me—you have much worse things to worry about."
     Edith took my hand and looked up, turning on her side and holding her wound with a small smile. "Like me?"
Laughing, I held my hands up weakly in mock resignation. "You said it; not me."
Just then, a teenage boy came sprinting across the dusty field yelling in rapid French, "Does anyone know where the American lady is? I need the American lady!"
     I furrowed my eyebrows and turned around, trying to stand up to get his attention. "I'm American," I called, causing him to stop running and jog over to me.
     "We need your help. You speak English, right?"
     I nodded hesitantly. "I do, but I can't come—I have to stay with—"
     Robert held up a hand. "We're fine. Go ahead."
     "Are you sure?"
     "You've done enough for us," Edith said weakly, a small smile on her strained face, "Thank you."
I followed the boy towards the outskirts of the camp where the crowd continued to grow, stumbling as fast as I could. My head was swimming, and I could feel the intense fever taking its toll on my body.
"Do you need me to translate?" I asked him breathlessly.
"Oui," he answered, "They're talking very strangely—the people that know a little English can't understand their accent." I smiled.
Pushing my way through the crowd, I reached the group of men trying desperately to speak broken French to the people around them.
"You speak English?" the Wing Commander said hesitantly, looking at my gaunt figure and soaking-wet military flight clothing.
I nodded.
"We," he said slowly, making hand gestures as though to clarify his words, "are from England. We come...we come to help. Do you...have people...hurt? Injured?"
I held up a hand with raised eyebrows. "I'm going to stop you right there, Wing Commander. I'm an American. You can speak," I hesitated, "normally."
His men snickered, and he looked down at me sheepishly. "I'm sorry," he said, "I thought you were French. I didn't know there were Americans in this camp. Are you alone?"
"There are a few soldiers from the States here, but they came yesterday. I've been here for months. Are you all British?"
The Wing Commander shook his head and looked back at the small group of about twenty men behind him, with more coming to join as planes landed.
"We're a joint-force; Britain and the US. You must be with the Red Cross, yes?"
     I shook my head, wiping sweat from my forehead.
"No, my reason is a little more complicated—"
"Hey," one of the men piped up with excitement, "I remember you from the newsreels! It's the Duchess of the Allies—Louisa Tallmadge! Aren't you?"
I took a step back as the realization fell over the group, turning back to me with awestruck eyes.
"Well, yeah," I said, unsure exactly how to respond, "I wasn't planning on being recognized with, you know, my current appearance."
A few laughed, but the Wing Commander stood unmoved, as though pondering something profound.      He leaned over to someone near the back of his small crowd and said something I could barely hear over the air raid sirens all around us.
"Get Major General Tallmadge."

YEE BO!!! sorry DeathbyDeathAKAMe I couldn't wait to post it I'm too excited;)