Once inside my apartment, I threw my things down onto the dirty sofa and took off my hat.
Of course I have to abandon my apartment after I paid the rent this month, I thought with a small smile.
     I turned on the government-issue radio on my desk and began cooking soup with all the vegetable rations I had left.
     If I left Munich the next night, I would be able to take the train to the hidden airstrip in Herrsching, fifty miles west of Starnberg.
    There would be no rush; I was quite certain that Herr Rosenberg hadn't pieced anything together besides the fact that he didn't want me in his propaganda office.
     After eating dinner and packaging up the rest of the soup to hold me over for the next few days without ration cards, I lumbered into my little bedroom and began setting out my nightgown.
     I froze. The false identification papers hidden under mattress were peeking out a little, and my bed was made much neater than I had left it that morning. Someone was here. Need to get my gun, I thought.
     I slowly started to turn towards the door, just as a strong arm wrapped around my throat and put me in a chokehold.
Taking a gasp for breath and planting my feet firmly, I reached back and elbowed my attacker in the face. He released me for a moment, allowing me a split-second to collect my thoughts before the next attack came.
There were three Gestapo officers in my room, one of them brandishing a gun and another with a knife. The man I'd hit was slowly standing to his feet, fury in his eyes.
They all seemed to have expected me to faint or start crying at the sight of them, but I wasn't going without a fight.
"Louisa Tallmadge," one of them began to say, "you are under arrest-"
I kicked the gun from his hands and shoved him against my wardrobe with the bottom of my foot, digging my dark red heel into his stomach. He stumbled away in pain.
With my back to the soldier beside him, I pulled him to the ground and rolled away, knocking the last man off his feet with my legs.
As one of them reached for the gun, I kicked it away and lunged at him, punching him repeatedly in the face and taking a few hits as well.
     Just as I knocked him out, another pulled my hair, forcing me to the ground, and stomped on my hand when I tried to make him release his grip. My mind raced with a million thoughts.
He wrapped his hands around my throat and dug his nails into my skin violently. These men, while quite hardy and tolerant to pain, weren't agile at all and had no sense of purpose without their weapons.
I grunted and dragged my heel down his shins, forcing him to let go of me.
     Suddenly,  a terrible pain gripped my stomach and I looked down to find the knife in my side, covered in my blood as one of them pulled it out. I cried out in agony and fell to my knees, stunned.
     Using the hysterical rush of adrenaline, I lunged for the man holding the knife and gouged his eyes with my thumbs.
The last Gestapo officer standing threw me against the wall with all the force he had, punching me over and over again.
     I pulled him by the shoulders and put my knee into his groin, causing him to lose his balance and giving me an advantage. He was unconscious in a matter of seconds.
      I collapsed, blood dripping from my nose and the wound in my side. Gasping for breath, I crawled to the side of my bed and grabbed my thin white quilt, pressing it to my side to stop the blood.
     Knowing I had to get out before they came to or more officers arrived, I began gathering a few belongings into a bag. I couldn't breathe, and I had no way to contact Benjamin or anyone else from the OSS.
     I tried to stand up but cried out in agony as pain shot through my body. "Help," I croaked to no one in particular, "I need help."
     It quickly became obvious that it would be impossible to escape with my side in the condition it was in. I dragged myself into the kitchen and fumbled through the drawers, removing my gun, a needle and thread, and a pack of matches.
     Slouched on my sofa, I threaded the needle with shaking hands and burned the end of it to kill the bacteria. I had no choice but to stitch it up myself.
     My dress had a big enough hole cut into it, so I didn't have to remove the whole thing, and I was glad that it was a dark color so I would be able to simply put a coat over it and get to the train station.
     I moaned in pain at the first few stitches, and tried to focus on breathing well, but over time I grew so numb that it just felt like a dull ache. The quilt I had pulled from my bed worked as a makeshift bandage and, when finished with the operation, I gritted my teeth and stood up.
     Black dots clouded my vision as I stumbled to the coat rack and wrapped my long, black coat around my bloody burgundy dress. The most important thing was that nobody saw the wound.
     Picking up the small bag with all the money I had, my notebooks with codes in them, a small package of food, my revolver, and a photograph of Benjamin, I stumbled towards the door. I've got to get out of here.
Wiping the blood from my nose and adjusting my tousled hair, I put on a
pair of old sunglasses and more red lipstick. I'd have to blend in pretty well.
I made my way outside and began limping to the train station across town with tears streaming down my face as I held my side. I felt ready to pass out.
"Fühlst du dich gut," an older woman wearing a swastika pin on her collar asked me, "Are you feeling well?"
I forced a smile and nodded. "Ja, danke schön. I am just tired. Heil Hitler."
"Sieg Heil, Fräulein."
I bit my lip as she walked away and I clutched my side as more pain sliced through my body.
The Munich Deutsche Reichsbahn railway station loomed ahead of me, trains coming in and out from the long fields behind the sprawling building.
I limped to the desk and asked the woman breathlessly, "Please, I need a ticket to Herrsching today. Can you please-"
She held up a hand and looked at me as though she'd heard the question a thousand times that day.
"The only trains going to Herrsching this week are military. You missed your last chance yesterday afternoon, Miss."
My mind reeled. How was I going to get anywhere?
I remembered Virginia Hall, another female member of the OSS who was currently in Stuttgart coordinating some resistance forces before transfer back to France.
If I went there, she could keep me alive for three days before the plane came for me, and it would give me the time to buy a ticket to Herrsching later on.
"What about Stuggart?"
She shook her head, the little feather in her hat dancing with every movement. The only ones in that area are going to Natzweiler, Fräulein. They are only carrying prisoners. Die Juden."
Exasperated, I looked her in the eye and tried to hide the pain I was feeling.
"Please. Can't I just ride on that? I'll be fine."
Her eyes widened and she exclaimed, "You can't be serious, Fräulein! They are going to the camp."
"The camp outside of Stuttgart, yes? I need to get there," I persisted, desperate to get to Virginia Hall.
She scoffed and waved me away, beginning to help the next person in line. Before I walked away, I memorized the number of the Stuttgart train on her sheet and what time it would arrive at the station.
I could feel the blood seeping through my bandages, and I knew that if I didn't get help soon, I would die or be killed.
Limping out of the station, I leaned against a part of the wall that had been destroyed by American bombs and tried to think. I could sneak onto the train with the prisoners and try to jump out once we reached Stuttgart, or I could just sleep in an alley while I bled to death.
Neither option sounded good, but I was more inclined to at least try to reach Agent Hall. We'd been friends for years, and the Gestapo had quite a time with attempting to catch the two of us.
The Duchess and the Artemis, I thought, referring to our nicknames given by the Gestapo, finally reunited.
Desperate to reach her, I snuck behind the giant train station and into the field holding hundreds of empty and waiting freight trains.
It was quite easy to find the train bound for Natzweiler, because it was last in line and the most run down.
The long freight train sat unattended, waiting for its prisoners to be loaded on after being marched through the city from the Dachau camp.
The people of Munich had seen hundreds of parades featuring thousands of starving Jews, Poles, and Communists. This would be just another routine transfer, and I was counting on the guards' boredom and apathy to overlook me.
Without this train and the chance to meet with Virginia Hall, I would not survive the three days it would take the American plane to get here, let alone actually make it to the airstrip in time. This crazy, foolish idea was my only salvation from capture.
I slipped into one of the last train cars and curled up in the back, removing my gun from the bag and keeping it beside me just in case.
All alone once again, I pulled back my coat to find the bandages soaked with blood.
If only I'd been a doctor, I thought to myself, and not a pilot. I corrected myself, however, realizing that it was my time in the Royal Air Force and that fateful crash that led me to Benjamin, and led him to become the head of American intelligence.
Almost an hour later, the sound of hundreds of rumbling footfalls began to echo through the war-torn German plains.
I scrambled to my feet and pressed myself against the racid-smelling wooden walls in the corner, hoping that the Nazi guards wouldn't fully inspect the cars before loading them up with prisoners.
The door slid open and I held my finger on the trigger of my revolver, cringing with every second that went by. I was going to die.
"Schnell!" someone screamed, shoving gaunt men and women into the train with me. One man caught my eye and I put my finger to my lips, pleading silently for him not to say anything. He nodded.
     The group at the front with him followed his lead, surrounding me and shielding me from the other Jews and soldiers.
     "Who are you?" a woman asked me, pressing up against me as the train car became overfilled with people.
    "I'll tell you when the door is closed," I whispered, "I'm not going to hurt you; I promise."
     The door was slammed shut and people began to wrestle each other for spots near the tiny, barred up window, desperate to preserve themselves and their families.
These people looked like skeletons, with no hope of a future in their eyes. Children clung to their parents fearfully, and young men tried to protect their sisters as courageously as they could. I couldn't bear it.
    One teenage boy said beside me, "Who are you? Why are you in here? If you're looking for food, lady, we don't have any. Don't you know what kind of train this is?"
     I began to answer, holding my side in agony, but couldn't force the words out. Unable to hold myself up and feeling the loss of blood beginning to take it's toll on me, I collapsed against the small group gathered around me and blacked out.

     "Ma'am? Hey, wake up! It's going to be alright. Mr. Zimmerman, there's something wrong with her stomach...it looks like she's bleeding."
     I felt someone begin to pull back my coat and I forced my eyes open, finding myself lying in a tight ball on the edge of the train car, surrounded by the same few people that had been there when I'd passed out.
     "Please," I groaned, coming to my senses and pushing away the hand threatening to expose my wound. I trusted these people, but I didn't want them to take advantage of a wounded girl with food in her bag.
     "Who sent you?"
     I glanced up at the woman who asked the question, searching for some kind of hostile or accusing expression on her face. I found none.
     "Amerika," I managed, "The United States sent me."
     They were stunned.
     "Bitte tu mir nicht weh," I begged, "Please don't hurt me. I'm an agent for the Office of Strategic Services and I'm on your side. I'm on my way to Stuttgart, and I am going to jump out of this train when we pass an open field near the city. The Gestapo is chasing me."
     One young man knelt to my level, his skinny knees cracking on the way down, and squinted at me in the dim light.
     In perfect English, he said, "You are an American spy?"
     Caught off guard by his use of my first language, I stammered, "I am. Y-you speak English?"
     He nodded and explained, "I was born in America, and my parents found the banking business better in Germany in the twenties. It seems to have been the wrong decision. Are you hurt?"
     "Yes, but I am fine. I will be fine. It is just a cut."
     He raised his eyebrows and looked between the pain on my face and the blood beginning to seep through the coat.
    The rest of the group looked between us in confusion as we spoke to each other in English, and I noticed, apologizing, "Ich entschuldige mich. I'm sorry. We will speak in German, I promise."
     "Do you know where they are taking us?" one woman asked me earnestly, clutching her young son to her chest.
     "Natzweiler. The camp southwest of Strasburg."
     A mumble from the whole crowd gathered around me rose and people exchanged glances.  
     "Are you all coming from Dachau?" I asked, wishing I could assuage their fears but knowing most of them would be dead by nightfall.
     "Some of us, ja. Others have just been taken prisoner."
     That explained the lack of prison clothes on some of them, and the abundance of old men and young children. They hadn't been sorted for execution yet.
     "Were you stabbed?" someone asked me, looking down at where I was holding my side with bloody hands.
Biting my lip, I nodded reluctantly. It wasn't my plan to reveal my entire life story with these people, and I certainly didn't want them to think I was fishing for pity.
     "It's fine, really," I muttered, "I just need to meet my contact in Stuttgart and-" I kicked myself for revealing so much, and for my insensitive nature to these people. They would never be able to get out of here like I could.
     Soon, the exhaustion and lack of fresh air in the train car made their interest in the stowaway American spy fade, and I sat silently against the wall with people crowded on both sides. The pain was more miserable than the stench.
     As we neared Stuttgart, I motioned for the man who could speak English, James Altneu, to come beside me.
     "Does anyone else here speak English?"
     "No, I don't think so. Why?"
     I looked around the train car but nobody seemed to be paying any attention to us.
     "I have a bit of food," I whispered in English, "but not enough to feed this whole train. I don't want to start a riot, or hurt anyone. Is there anyone here that truly needs it that I could give it to secretly? If you would rather take it yourself, I won't blame you, or if it is better that I took it with me, that is fine too."
     He glanced down at my bag and breathed, "I have someone. It's a seventeen year-old girl who is quite sick. I believe she'll make it through the sorting line and sent into hard work, so she'll need energy once we get there. Shall I bring it to her?"
     I nodded and carefully handed him the wrapped package of soup, watching as he disappeared to the other side of the train car and reappeared through the hundreds of Jews crowded around me a few minutes later.
     "She wept, Miss. She couldn't stand up, but wishes she could embrace you."
     "I wish I could do so as well."
     A young man approached me from where he was standing by the tiny window, and said, "Das ist Stuttgart. We are in the fields surrounding the city. If you are going to get off, now would be the safest time."
     Trembling, I stood to my feet and grimaced in pain as I made my way through the people to the door.
     "If anyone plans to follow me," I warned as I stood beside the giant wooden door, "although I do not think it would be wise, please wait at least a few miles after I jump so that if one of us is caught, the other may still have a chance. This war will be won for you, and please know that the Allied forces are doing everything we can. Thank you for your kindness, and I beg you not to turn me in, but I understand that you must do what is needed to preserve yourselves. May God be with you all."
     Holding my silenced revolver in my left hand, I stuck my arm out the barred window and carefully shot the padlock on the outside of the door, shaking the door to make it fall off.
     I slid the door open and held on tightly to the sides as the wind whipped through the train car. The fresh air seemed to have energized everyone on the train car, including me.
     "If I'm shot," I called to James Altneu in English, "make sure everyone in this car is safe. I don't want to cause anyone to be punished for my actions. Okay?"
     "Okay, Miss. Adieu."
     Holding my bag to my chest like a shield, I dove from the train and rolled through the field  beside the tracks, stifling sobs of agony when I hit the tightly-packed dirt.
     Now I just had to wait for the gunshots as the soldiers realized someone had jumped from their locomotive.
     Dirt in my teeth and long grass tangled in my hair, I clutched the earth like a friend, as if begging it to conceal me.
My whole body shook as the wheels of the train, a few mere feet from where I was laying, screamed across the tracks. Hitler's prized-possession, his railroads, had just saved an enemy spy and ruined the lives of so many others.
The guards standing on the end of the caboose passed right above me, oblivious to the fugitive agent that had jumped from their very train. I could practically feel their guns trained on me, ready to blow off my head and steal the codebooks I held in my bag.
But they passed. And soon, the train was just a rumble in the distance, carrying its victims far away from me.
Trembling, I rolled onto my back and whimpered in agony. Blood began to drip steadily from the wound again, and I pulled back the coat to reveal blood-caked bandages. The stitches had torn in the fall, and the cut was wide open once again. My ribs felt broken.
     Gritting my teeth, I came to my knees and took a few deep breaths before standing up.
I just jumped out of a train, I thought incredulously, I can't wait to tell Benjamin.

LIST OF GERMAN WORDS:
Fühlst du dich gut- Are you feeling well?
Ja-Yes
Danke (schön) - Thank you (very much)
Schnell- Hurry!
Bitte tu mir nicht weh- Please don't hurt me
Ich entschuldige mich- I'm sorry
Das ist Stuttgart- that is Stuttgart
Adieu- Goodbye

(lol sorry forgot to do this before)