by Sewell, Ron
The door opened. “You made it, Abrax,” a bearded man shouted. Come, sit, catch your breath. I bet you ran all the way,” Costas said.
“Impossible. It’s over thirty kilometres,” said a dark-haired woman, “”
Costas grinned. “Not for this one. That’s the reason I chose him, plus he has the brains of a scholar. Tell me, Abrax, are the rumours correct?”
From inside his shirt he removed the book. “The Germans have marshalled three trains. They’ve loaded the closed trucks with prisoners. Armoured wagons are located between these. The engines are fully protected.” Each one studied his notes and sketches.
Costas rubbed his chin. “Time to gather and position our forces.”
“This boy stays here,” the woman said. “Not one of you noticed his wound.”
Costas examined the arm. “No problem. The rest of us will ride and gather our armies.” He pointed to a map. “At this point, we stop these trains.”
The dark-haired woman and Abrax stood at the door and watched the leaders of the resistance ride at a gallop into the night.
The door closed. “Off with your shirt.”
Abrax obliged and waited. He made a face as the material glued by the dried blood ripped the wound open. With a clean cloth, she bathed and cleaned the gash, soaking it with a splash of ouzo before applying a homemade bandage.
With a grin, she embraced him. “You were brave tonight. Captured I doubt if you would have survived to see the sun rise.”
“I did what had to be done.”
“How old are you?”
A nervous smile played on his lips. “Twenty. Why?”
“I am a woman. Costas tells me he will marry me when the war is over but as a man he lies. I am here for him to use when he wants.” There was tenderness in her voice. She held his face in her hands, kissed and pulled him close.
The softness of her body and the warmth of her mouth enveloped his senses.
“We have a day or more before they return.” She grabbed his hand and dragged him into the bedroom.