The Last Stand
746 Words
Evelyne sprinted into the darkened streets, her heartbeat matching the frantic rhythm of her footsteps. The village was small, but the Germans were everywhere now—searchlights scanned the alleys, and the sound of barking dogs sent a chill down her spine.
She couldn’t let them catch her.
The letters, still tucked beneath her bandages, were more than just words—they were Belgium’s last chance.
But she had no horse, no allies, and nowhere to hide.
All she had was herself.
A Desperate Escape
She darted between buildings, pressing herself into the shadows as a patrol passed by. Their voices were sharp, barking orders in German.
“Find the girl! She cannot leave the village alive!”
Evelyne’s breath hitched. She was trapped.
Unless…
Her eyes flickered toward the church at the center of the village. Its bell tower loomed above everything else. If she could reach it, she might spot a way out—or at least buy herself time.
Keeping low, she made her way toward the church.
The heavy wooden doors groaned as she pushed them open. Inside, candles flickered near the altar, casting long shadows over the stone walls. The scent of old wood and melted wax filled her lungs as she hurried forward.
But as she reached the steps to the bell tower, a voice stopped her.
“Going somewhere, mademoiselle?”
She whipped around, pistol raised—
And found herself face-to-face with Colonel Weiss.
The Face of the Enemy
The German officer stood in the candlelight, his uniform crisp, his gloved hands folded behind his back.
He was calm. Too calm.
Evelyne’s finger twitched over the trigger. “How did you—”
Weiss smirked. “Did you really think Rousseau was our only informant?”
Her stomach twisted. That meant—they had been tracking her all along.
“You were impressive,” Weiss admitted, stepping closer. “The way you fooled our soldiers at the checkpoint, your escape in the woods, even your little stunt at Rousseau’s house. But this… this is where your journey ends.”
Evelyne refused to believe that.
She glanced toward the stairs. Could she make it to the tower before he shot her?
Weiss noticed. His smile widened. He already knew her answer.
"Give me the letters, and I promise you a swift execution," he offered.
Evelyne's grip on the pistol tightened. "You'll have to kill me first."
Weiss sighed. "I was hoping you'd say that."
Then—he lunged.
A Battle in the Bell Tower
Evelyne fired.
The bullet grazed Weiss's shoulder, but he kept coming. He grabbed her wrist, twisting the g*n from her grip. Pain shot up her arm as the pistol clattered to the floor.
She reacted instinctively—slamming her knee into his stomach.
Weiss staggered, but he recovered quickly, swinging a punch.
She barely dodged.
Then—she ran.
Up the stone steps, two at a time, her breath ragged. The sound of boots thundered behind her as Weiss gave chase.
She reached the top.
The bell loomed above her, massive and rusted, the cold night wind rushing through the open arches of the tower. Below, the village stretched out like a maze of dark rooftops.
No escape.
Weiss reached the top of the stairs, blocking her path.
Evelyne’s chest rose and fell.
"You should’ve taken my offer," Weiss sneered.
Evelyne looked past him—at the heavy bell.
Then, she made her choice.
With a sudden movement, she grabbed the thick rope and pulled.
The massive bell swung free, its weight shifting just enough to knock Weiss off balance. He stumbled—then slipped.
His scream echoed as he plunged through the open archway.
Silence.
Evelyne stood there, gasping for breath, as the distant thud marked the end of Colonel Weiss.
But she had no time to celebrate.
The Germans had heard the bell.
The Final Flight
A shout rang from below.
She had to leave. Now.
Evelyne grabbed the rope and descended the tower’s outer wall, her hands burning against the rough fibers. A long fall would kill her—but stopping meant death for Belgium.
Her boots hit the cobblestone.
And then—she ran.
She ran until the village disappeared behind her. Until the gunshots faded into the wind. Until she reached the thick forest once more.
Only then did she stop, falling to her knees.
The letters were still with her.
And as long as she lived, Belgium still had hope.
- Writer
