A rescue attempt ever so ridiculous,
Like punching through thick wood with a singular nail,
But with little to no indication of where Chris and Jeanette had been sent to,
It was a high risk plan that is bound to fail should there be a minor mistake.

But a sudden change that is ever so secretive,
From a certain someone who had actually built a formidable warbird,
But for reasons not known, the plane was never made known,
Till now…

12th Chapter
A Bridge Too Far

12th November 1944
Relief Squad Leader Staff Sergeant Helena Frieda of the Wistern 15
th Army Division.

Report Notes – Recapture of the Town of Wistellia and an Unofficial Rescue Attempt.

Several days passed uneventfully ever since the victory over the Town of Wistellia. Amazingly, just the presence and firepower of the new Crusader Mark 2 tank was enough for the Royalist to pull off a retreat, leaving vital documents to our advantage. While radio reports state of a total evacuation of the people living in the town to Burchesdale, my biggest interest came in a form of a map found in an abandoned, broken down jeep. Royalist hard points and defense lines were clearly stated, with Arnhem as the nearest Royalist position, about 20 miles south east from where we are, and 9 miles south from our new ally, the City State of Wallendar.

Based on the Wistern Military News from the radio, ever since Wallendar's declaration of war against the Empire, they have recaptured about two-thirds of their original land, just 1 mile shy from Burchesdale. Hence the possibility of Burchesdale turning against the Empire should the City State be able to get needed supplies to build more of their worthy Panzer tanks.

Back to the situation in Wistellia, 2 divisions, 12th Artillery, and the 2nd Army, along with five Crusader Mark 2 and two Mark 3 tanks have arrived 2 days ago and have begun setting up a temporary HQ at the town hall. This allows the Reims Military Station to be fully utilised for both tank production of the Crusader Mark 2 and 3, and as a make shift hospital. A request for 3 squadrons of 15th CR-42, 25th I-153 Seagull, and 149th Gloster Gladiator fleets has been approved, allowing immediate assistance and defense of the new Wistern hard point. However, the fact our warbirds are very much outdated by today's standards, I urge for a request for a development of a new, faster, monoplane. All the bi-planes we have suffered fuel starvation every time any of them takes a steep dive.

As for the reports confirming Chris' capture by the Royalists, I suggest of a high risk attempt with only the 15th Army Division, and the I-153 fleet to participate. While it cannot be executed until we find a confirmation of both Chris and Jeanette's position in enemy territory, I urge for the Wallendar's side to do a photo reconnaissance over Arnhem, and the Valburga line, also known as the Iron Wall, of which I recommend Sergeant Anna Karlsson and her reliable squad for the assignment. I have full confidence of their abilities with their skills in their Junkers Ju-88.

Once the possible locations of Chris and Jeanette are found, 15th Army Division armed with two Crusader Mark 2 tanks and 25th I-153 fleet will depart for the targeted destination. The 15th CR-42 squadron will tag along on a 15 mile radius from Wistellia, just in case for any air conflicts against the Empire's P-40 Warhawks, MiG-3s, and A-24 Banshees. Should the advantage swing to our side, the 25th I-153 squadron will launch their aerial bombing as a diversion followed by a possible fight against the Royalist warbirds while the 15th Army Division penetrates into the enemy defense line, making full use of the effective Cinder Bombs, locate and extract Chris and Jeanette, and get out as fast as possible.

The only problem lies on the terrain in order to reach either probable locations of the Valburga line, and Arnhem. The Bern River runs across the region, with about ten bridges for us and the tanks to cross. The Arnhem Bridge, located just at the outskirts of Arnhem, might be the bridge for us to utilise should they be kept hidden there, while the Bridge of Erwin, 25 miles south east from here, would be used should they be at the Iron Wall.

Staff Sergeant Helena Frieda

Relief Squad Leader of the Wistern 15th Army Division

Placing the ballpoint pen on the makeshift desk in a temporary office in the Wistellia town hall, the widow let out a heavy sigh. Silver eyes glanced through the window right next to her as she leaned back against the back rest of her chair. The mist had cleared up for the day, and two members of the 15th Army Division were out of this assignment, namely Thomas and Roger. Old fart Sir Cinder had instructed the male blonde to attend to the wounded Royalist back at the Reims Military Station, while Roger, with injuries on both legs, would be out of action for at an indefinite time till he fully recovers. However, should the brash brunette insist on getting back in action, Helena would recommend him joining the Wistern Flight Squadron.

"Bullet wounds to the legs take about half a year to fully recover, especially if the bone is affected," she uttered under her breath before sipping a cup of camomile tea. "Then again, he would need a cane to walk for a brief period of time before he can start running his butt off."

"Madam!" a soldier interrupted her train of thoughts. "The 15th Army Division is ready and on standby for further orders. Ammunition and food supplies have been restocked as well."

"Very well," she replied, somewhat not bothered. "Report the progress to Sir Cinder as well when he gets here."

"Yes, Madam," the male soldier replied as he saluted, and ran off, possibly enthusiastic about the change in environment.

A smirk formed on her face while thought ran through her mind, "Heh, Privates, they know little to nothing about the realities of war. First they would say of protecting their loved ones, sooner or later, they would have to face their fear. Not because of surviving, it's the person on the opposing end they have to kill. It's a matter on how they can cope with the guilt of killing someone else who has promised to protect their loved ones as well."

Silver eyes then wandered, noticing the off grey paint with green borders around the top of the walls. Furniture were mostly strewn all over the place, and splintered, except for the ones not made of wood. Lighting came mostly from the sunlight, from the big windows, most of it had its glass shattered or ridden with bullet marks. It was a dreary sight by normal standards, but to Helena, it seemed nothing compared to the bunker office in the Lancheston Front; 'fetid' would perfectly describe that demoralising place.

"I better get going now," she thought, placing the cup on the table. "Why is Chris' division raring to go already when we're still waiting reports from Wallendar's side?"

As soon as she was about to stand up, silver eyes took notice of the placement of her boots, and where she was sitting, "Ah, forgot to strap them on. Would have hit the ground hard if I hadn't."

… … …

"Oy, oy, oy," said Chris in a rather annoyed tone, tossing the cigarette butt on the cold concrete. "Do you really think you can squeeze through the gaps of the bars, just to grab hold of that half eaten chocolate bar that that guard had dropped by accident?"

"It wouldn't hurt to try, but then again," she paused, stretching a bit more before the tips of her fingers got hold of the chocolate. "I'm fucking hungry!"

"I won't be surprised if you ended up grabbing hold of a bottle of wine as well," Chris rolled his eyes, crossing his arms, lying down on the hard, wooden bed. "Bloody hell, just how hard can a bed get?"

A smirk formed on Malise's face as she got hold of the half-eaten chocolate bar. It had crumbled a bit, but most of it remained intact. Maroon eyes glanced over the edge beyond the jail bars; a faint glint was spotted. Curiousity took her attention as she went closer to it, after taking a huge bite off the chocolate.

"Isn't this a-," her muffled words were cut off upon realising what she saw that was within her reach.

Hours passed, and the Brit roused from his uncomfortable nap. His back ached from the hard surface as he rubbed the back of his scalp.

"My God, that's the most uncomfortable nap I've ever had in my entire life," he thought, getting up to a sitting position while glancing at his wristwatch. "Damn, 3 hours of sleep?"

Green eyes wandered before noticing a familiar sight sprawled on the ground with an empty plastic wrapper and a suspicious glass bottle to her left. Chris stood up, and paced his way towards Malise, who seemed to be asleep. He picked up the bottle, and took a brief sniff.

"What the, whiskey?" Chris sputtered before his eyes looked downwards at the redhead, whom let out a faint groan, maroon eyes cracked open, all glazed.

"Where's that bottle?" she asked in a slurred voice, dragging herself to a sitting position on the ground, rubbing her right temple, still oblivious to Chris' presence, though she did notice a figure before her.

What occurred within the next ten minutes would be Chris' most nerve-wrecking situation. Green eyes were wide open when he realised that that drunken woman called Malise ended up toppling him to the ground, with the whiskey bottle landing square on his head. A splash of the strong alcohol hit the rest of the Brit's face, somehow shaken him up. However, Malise was not. With her face flushed red, the Brit could tell it was due to the strong whiskey, and not simply blushing-.

"What the- hey, woman! Get back to your senses!" he responded, realising that the situation was turning a little… provocative.

The redhead had crawled her way up to the Brit's torso, her face rubbing against the tough green cloth of Chris' uniform. Green eyes widened as a sudden movement from Malise's right hand making a straight beeline for his face. Though stained with dirt and dried mud, her right palm felt cool as her fingers ran down to the Brit's chin, then to the top-most button of his shirt.

"It's as if she's turned into a different person," thought the blonde, that is, until he felt a sudden pull as the redhead's right hand grasped his shirt before facing a raging woman. "Okay, I take that back. She's definitely going through her period now, and I'm fucked."

"You think you Wisterns can crush our Royalist pride with your measly determination? You think you can stop us from so-called 'correcting' our mistakes we Royalists had when it came to producing petrol, just so you can attain the name for being the real makers of it? Have you no fucking shame of what you've done when the war kicked in?" Malise countered, obviously not to what Chris had expected in the first place, while a hiccup left her mouth. "You bastards bombed a Kindergarten! A kindergarten, where I used to teach those kids! None of them survived, you God damn murderers. None of them made it out alive!"

Chris remained silent, somewhat noticing a different view of the war. Green eyes stared into maroon ones while the redhead went on, not a single tear rolling down her face.

"Funny isn't it?" she went on, as if she had ceased being drunk. "Of all the things that I want to do at this point of time, I can't."

"That is?" the Brit asked, after gathering up the courage; being at close range with Malise is already grave danger, let alone talking to her.

"That trauma at the Kindergarten blast, made me lost my ability to cry," she replied, followed by a long pause as her right hand released the blonde, and stood up, dusting off her top. "Another is the fact that I have the urge to kill you. This would be the best time, but something is stopping me. And no, it's not because of that white haired witch."

"You mean that squad leader of yours?" Chris sat up, somewhat confused by the redhead's rather… unstable behaviour.

"A brown guy named Brock," the teacher replied with a monotonous tone. "Of course it's Supreme Sergeant Helen Geering, fuckhead. And the fact that you, a fucking foreigner, seemed to be in the shadow of this conflict before 1944, makes me reconsider that you're obviously not part of that blast."

A moment of silence ensued. Echoes of heavy footsteps from the corridor came and went; probably a guard on duty.

"Judging by how Helen treats prisoners like you, you're guaranteed to be released," the woman implied, her back facing the Brit while staring through the thick bars. "Only on several conditions."

"Huh?" he replied, at this point puzzled. "Conditions? Released? I thought you Royalists were hell bent of capturing me?"

"We are," said the redhead. "But if you were captured by other Sergeants or Supreme Sergeants, you'd probably be bayoneted to death hours ago. Let's just say… Helen's got the worst reputation for keeping prisoners behind bars."

"As in?"

"My fucking God you ask too many questions, fucking Wistern-aligned pig!" Malise retorted, but answered anyway. "Everyone that was caught under her made out of the detention chamber alive. That is, within the detention compound. Escaping from our garrison is another story. I do admit, I prefer it that way. It's more thrilling hunting you down in the battlefield anyway."

The last sentence from that insane woman sent a chill running down Chris' spine as a set of footsteps was heard. Helen emerged from the corridor with a set of keys in her hands, while her eyes were set on Chris the whole time.

"Hmph, 20 and still counting, Malise," said the albino blandly. "You're by far the one with the most stays in detention."

"It is my reputation after all," the redhead countered as the gate opened.

"Get the hell out of here," Helen signalled her. "I need to speak with Corporal Chris personally."

Malise responded with a shrug before glancing at Chris, "Next time we meet in the battlefield, Chris, depending on my mood, who knows? I might retell that incident those Wistern pigs had done. Till then, survive, or I'll fucking dig your grave and make sure your soul will not be able to rest in peace."

The Brit raised an eyebrow as the teacher paced her way out of the cell, before disappearing from his sight as she entered the corridor. Green eyes turned towards the albino, who seemed rather amused for some reason.

"What?" he retorted, still having some resentment towards Helen.

"Consider yourself lucky that you survived without getting bashed up by her, unlike other incidents. And let's just say, Malise's a mystery herself; that's the first time I heard from her about a 'blast'." she replied before jumping straight to the point. "Anyway, I guess you've heard about me being a bad reputation as well, hmm?"

"You're the wonder yourself," Chris replied, somewhat a little harsh in tone. "You capture your targets, and then release them?"

The 30 year old woman let out a heavy sigh. It seemed that Malise had not sent the message through the blonde's thick skull. Yellow eyes stared into green ones.

"If I were to put it bluntly, I hate the idea of capturing prisoners. To me, it's either survive, or get killed in the battlefield. Having P.O.W.s is like cheating in a war. Sure, P.O.W.s may get medical attention, but the fact that the stinking government we have wants people like you to be dead within 3 days of capture disgusts me to the bone. So instead of seeing you off to the firing squad, I might as well, get you the hell out of here. That is, if you can make it out of the garrison. Shit's happening here so badly, more troops are deployed here at Arnhem," she explained, while her left hand held a set of keys.

"Arnhem? That sounds familiar," thought the Brit. "Wasn't that the place I was initially sent to capture before I got 'transported' into this world?"

A long silence ensued, leaving Helen rather irritated by the Brit not responding at all. Her attention turned to the tiny window in the cell. Night had fallen for the day, which meant a possible escape, but not without more danger. Patrol rounds have been increased, even personnel checks. She turned to Chris once again.

"Well then, this is up to you, but I'll propose the plan of your escape," the albino interrupted Chris' train of thoughts, though he was quick enough to respond.

"What about Jeanette? I do know your militia has captured her."

"Fortunately for you, she's within this garrison. Unfortunately, if you have plans to get her out of here, chances of you successfully escaping is little more than none. Unless you have the skills to fly an airplane, which I doubt you have," the tall woman crossed her arms, somehow predicting what the Brit would say.

"Who says I can't pilot an airplane?" he countered, while a grin formed on his face. "Even more convenient that I'm a civilian plane developer and test pilot before shit hit the fan, a.k.a. war."

"Sure, a civilian plane, but what about an A-24 Banshee?" she raised an eyebrow, while a faint smirk formed on her face.

"Being behind the yoke of a Hawker Hurricane Mk.I and the Supermarine Spitfire Mk.I for evaluation years before the war started, I must say that I am capable of flying that dive bomber," he said in an 'as a matter of fact' manner.

Not wanting to dig deeper into other abilities he has, Helen set about handing him 3, duplicate keys, "Two of the keys are used for your escape. However, if you still insist of rescuing that comatose woman of yours, the 3rd key is needed. I will not say which keys are to be used, but I will tell you that Jeanette is in the Infirmary, 2nd floor, 5th ward."

"It is awkward, an enemy helping me to escape," the Brit answered, before grabbing the keys. "But this is what you wish for me to do, then I'll gladly accept it."

"Begin your move at 11pm. Two guards would be directing you to the Interrogation room. The second you see me within your sight, bash them in the face, grab their firearms, and dash up the stairs and turn to the left. You will end up at an unguarded back alley. From there, you're on your own."

… … …

Town of Wistellia

It had been a rough ride from Reims Military Station to the new HQ in Wistellia, but being the fact that their nation had been extremely lacking behind in aviation technology had Sir Cinder concerned. Anna, who had been behind the wheel of the jeep, glanced over at the middle-aged man, each moment worried for some reason.

"Even though the liberation of Wistellia from the Royalists is successful, you're still being a worrywart. Is it because of Corporal Chris' capture?" the red eyed woman asked.

"That, and the uncertainty of our bi-planes being nothing more than fodder. I've been meaning to say this, but I held it back," Sir Cinder leaned back on the passenger seat, as the jeep entered the town. "Should I go forth with the production of the Morko-Morane, which I developed ever since our only warplane developer's death?"

Red eyes widened, somewhat stunned, literally braking the jeep into a halt just five metres into the garrison, "You have been developing a warbird? Why am I not told of this?"

The 54 year old turned away from Anna's view, feeling a little regretful, "It was a modification of what that war developer had in mind for the new monoplane. But his had an underpowered V8, single speed supercharged engine, while mine utilised a more powerful, 2-speed supercharged V12 where I had called it the M-105. The reason why I didn't tell anyone was because of an internal conflict I had with him. He wanted the warbirds to be fuel efficient, while I wanted them to be fast, and powerful armament."

"Why the hell did you not show it to me at least? I would probably begin a program for a prototype to be done," her words were cut off when the 2nd Lieutenant answered.

"I have 3 prototypes of it. They're back at the RMS, in a storage area next to the tank production centre."

That left Anna stunned before she took notice of the surroundings of the town. Desolate would have been the word she would use, but considering that soldiers are repairing what they can on the remains of the buildings stopped her. Structures that seemed to be collapsing at any minute were reinforced with thick concrete slabs on the outside, while metal support beams on the inside. Lighting came in a form of huge spotlights and several lanterns to replace broken lampposts. Pavements and roads were repaired with simple mixture of gravel and sand while large debris was transported outside of the garrison. From a distance, she took notice of a familiar figure emerging out of the town hall, and was pacing towards a group that seemed rather agitated. Those wavy hair, and that menacing posture, she knew who it was, none other than her close friend, Helena Frieda. The last time they had met was in December 1942, where a certain incident took place on the Lancheston Front.

"We'll talk about the Morko-Morane later, Sir," the brunette finally broke the ice. "We need to meet up with Supreme Sergeant Helena first on her plans from this point onwards."

"Will do," replied Sir Cinder, still feeling down.

… … …

"What do you mean we have to wait for the air force to arrive from the Wistern-Vallion border? It'll take at least 2 days, then probably an overhaul of the unreliable M-62 engine of the I-153 all because of the 2-speed supercharger if it reaches here!" Tessa retorted at Helena, agitated that they have to delay their rescue attempt. "Heck, even the Gloster Gladiator and the CR.42 bi-planes are starting to show their age, maybe rotting in some of them. They can't hold a candle against the Royalists' P-40s, MiG-3s, Yak-1s, and LaGG-3s. The only planes those bi-planes could take down are the A-24 Banshees and the Grumman TBF-1, and they're not even fighter planes for goodness sake!"

Lean was feeling the same way as the redhead, but the fact seeing a cool and calm individual to actually flare up was a shocking sight. Gardenia and Pavel remained silent, understanding the situation their relief squad leader had explained. Helena, however, held her ground. Though she understood Tessa's frustration, simply rushing to Arnhem to retrieve Chris was not an option at all. The Supreme Sergeant had assumed that ever since the re-capture of the town, Arnhem would have its place heavily fortified than usual. Silver eyes stared into blue ones. It had her commenting.

"You really are pretty intimidating with that stare, Tessa. But I have to hold my ground. Even as of now, no one within Wisternberg is capable of developing a formidable monoplane to match with the Royalists' counterpart. The only news of a lend-lease of planes to us is from Wallendar, with the D3A1s and captured MiGs. Problem is that Wallendar is currently surrounded by Royalist occupied territory. They would have to break through with their Panzer IIIs, and Airacobras, recapture their territories, and liberate Burchesdale first before any delivery could be done."

The redhead remained silent. There was no way she could counter Helena's explanation. She turned away, somewhat agitated, but accepted the fact. That was when she took notice of two individuals pacing towards them; Sir Cinder and Anna, whom had overheard the conversation.

"I think this would be the best time for me to say about the bi-plane part, though Sir Cinder is feeling a bit down at this moment," the secretary pointed out, glancing at the 2nd Lieutenant, who was lighting up a cigarette. "He had actually made 3 prototypes of a certain monoplane, but it was never set to production for reasons I've yet to know."

That had Helena, and Tessa, taken by surprise, in a frustrating manner. The middle aged man took a deep puff of the cigarette, calming him down before he explained.

"I had a conflict with that Tuberculosis-stricken warplane developer while we were planning on the technical parts of the plane, which we called it 'Morko Morane'. He wanted the new plane to be fuel efficient, which meant lower maximum speed, and weaker armament. My idea was based on the technological advancement the Royalists had at that point of time when they used the P-40s against us for the very first time. I wanted the plane to be as agile as the P-40, while having the firepower to overwhelm the enemy. That sent the Morko Morane into development hell, till he died."

He paused at that point of time, while taking another puff, probably to consolidate his thoughts before resuming, "But I continued with my work with my ideals. I even developed a new, reliable engine to match with it; a V12 liquid-cooled engine matched to a 2-speed supercharger. I called it the M-105. I built 3 of those, and each of them were modified, and tweaked with my own hands. I test flew all of them, fully loaded with 7.7mm wing guns, and a 20mm cannon in the engine mounting."

Tessa folded her arms while Helena paced herself towards Anna. Lean and Gardenia listened on while Pavel could not be bothered by the explanation. He took off, looking for the nearest runner within the vicinity.

"It was unbelievable. That machine, it topped out at 510kmh. That's 70kmh more than the CR.42, 90kmh more than the I-153, and 115kmh more than the Gloster Gladiator. It was the fastest machine I've ever built. The engine did not even cause troubles at all. The 2-speed supercharger worked wonders with it, like a match made in heaven. Yet, there was something stopping me from putting it into production. All of our pilots that get shot up in mid-flight with broken wings, they never had a chance to survive the fall. The fact that we had yet to produce something for them to jump out of their planes, and land safely without injury… It's that that had been stopping me. I don't want any more pilots to die just because their planes got broken up by enemy fire. All three of those bi-planes were designed to withstand enemy fire at a cost for speed and firepower, which was why I did not go forth with the production. But… judging from the current situation, I feel that there's no choice but to go forth. The fear of being branded as a murderer of the pilots is ever growing at this point of time," Sir Cinder let out a heavy sigh, then glancing at Anna. "That's all I can say about this. If you wish to continue and use the current 3 prototypes, head back to the RMS. They're still in perfect condition, and fully loaded in ammunition and fuel."

As the 2nd Lieutenant made his way for the town hall, the remainder in the group were very much left to their own devices. Both Anna and Helena have the urge to make a dash back to RMS and retrieve the Morko Moranes, but on the other hand, Sir Cinder was right about re-assuring the pilot's safety. The redhead, Tessa, was in a deep train of thought. She knew she had seen such a device somewhere, but it was the only one in existence. Blue eyes widened, she then turned around, and made a dash towards the middle aged man. There was such a device which could save the pilots. The only thing is hoping that it would still be there, back at the town of Cassern.

"Sir! I suggest you follow me to Cassern right away," said Tessa in a rather rushed manner. "I feel we may have the solution for the pilots after all. If I remember, back during the defense of Cassern, the first time I met Chris, he was gliding down from the air with a device. If I'm not wrong, judging by the conversation I overheard between Sergeant Jeanette and Chris back then, he called it the parachute."

The 2nd Lieutenant turned around after dropping his cigarette, his eyes turned to the nearest driver in a jeep before he raised his voice, "You, private in that jeep. Know the route to Cassern from here?"

The young soldier, who was taken by surprise, responded in a stuttering manner, "Y-yes, sir! It-it'll take at least one and a half hour's drive from here."

"Good, take me there. Tessa, follow me. Lead me to the item Chris was using back then. It's been months ever since his arrival, so I don't expect much more than remnants of it," he pointed out as he got onto the jeep while his eyes turned to the rest of the group. "Helena, I suggest we extend our territorial gain and shorten our distance to Arnhem down to 10 miles. Radio Kein HQ to supply us at least 3 infantry divisions, and 1 artillery division. Anna, radio Wallendar HQ and see if they can link up with us 5 miles south west from their city state. That way we would at least have a co-joined firepower to infiltrate the enemy Arnhem stronghold. Those are my orders. Do it, now!"

"Yes sir!" both Anna and Helena responded, dashing off towards the town hall, while Sir Cinder and Tessa were redirected to Cassern, literally leaving Lean and Gardenia rather…

"Well then, seems we have free time," said the country girl with her usual slang. "What-cha wanna do for now?"

The spectacled woman crossed her arms, and pondered for a good minute, "I'm not entirely sure myself, but at least we should try doing something worthwhile at this point of time. This town looks like a shithole when we first came here. Might as well start helping out clear up the mess and build up the garrison. We need all the help we can get."

"Well, might as well start reinforcing them buildings. That flower shop looks shot to hell."

Lean only made a single footstep ahead when a reinforced concrete slab came crushing to the ground with a loud boom behind her. Orange eyes widened as Gardenia winced at the sight. A faint gag left the albino's mouth before asking the blonde.

"Can I have a small favour?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"Can I have a change of underwear? I think I just pooped a bit."

"Sure thing, and quickly. The cleaners are coming in 10 minutes' time."

… … …

Nightfall, Arnhem

A faint groan was heard from the infirmary as purple eyes cracked open. Getting to a sitting position, she took a moment to glace around at her surroundings. It took her a full minute before it dawned on her, judging by the Royalist emblem in contrast to the cream white wall opposite from where she was.

"I was… captured?" she thought, looking around the ward she was in, then taking notice of 2 guard on duty outside her room. "Blast-ugh."

Her head started to hurt before her torso began to ache as well, "Just how badly wounded I was back then?"

Knowing that with her current condition, where was no way she could struggle her way out and escape. She would only be fodder to enemy fire.

"God damn it," she uttered under her breath.

… … …

Detention centre

Like clockwork, the 2 guards armed with what seemed to be a Karabiner 98k look-alike with a longer magazine well, arrived to retrieve the Brit, and directing him to the Interrogation room. A faint smirk formed on his face and he obediently paced his way towards the initial destination. Green eyes peered carefully for any sight of Helen. The route was simply bland; brick walls after brick walls while navigating through the turns were beginning to diminish his sense of concentration. That is, until they came into what seemed to be a large area, possibly a reception-cum-waiting area.

As expected, there stood Helen, her arms crossed as she signalled with a wink. Chris paused in his tracks as he replied.

"Let's rock."