Flooney Island 1940

"Major Shazzo Rilke, you are captured!" Colonel Andreas von Hintze, holding a gun, entered the command center of the Flooney Island intelligence building. His indifferent yet handsome face was smeared with blood, and fresh blood was gushing from the bullet hole in his left arm. The young French major slumped in the corner was no better off, with blood seeping from the bandage on his left shoulder, nearly staining half of his body red. Shazzo Rilke stared at the colonel, a mocking smile on his face, slowly raising his gun-wielding right hand. But the dark muzzle swiftly turned away from Andreas, pointing at his own head instead! Bang! A gunshot sounded, the high temperature slicing through his hand like a blade, and the gun in Shazzo's hand flew out, landing next to his secretary Catherine, who had already committed suicide. He looked up to see smoke wafting from Andreas’s gun barrel. "We need to keep one alive!" The German colonel took a few steps forward, picked him up, and then a dull pain came from the back of his neck. Shazzo's vision darkened, and in a daze, he seemed to see the faces of his friend Leon Cohen and his sister Fiona. "I'm sorry..." he murmured, collapsing into Andreas’s arms. Andreas, gasping for breath, sat down in the intelligence department command room with Shazzo in his arms. He silently and coldly observed the dozens of corpses in front of him, feeling his heartache finally begin to subside. His Kastelin-class battle cruiser had sunk into the turbulent Atlantic due to the schemes of such a group, and his 1,300 crew members along with his lifelong friend were engulfed by the sea. But why did he alone survive, shouldn't a captain go down with his ship? Andreas's shoulders trembled, he looked up blankly, tears streaming from his reddened eyes. In his deep blue pupils, it seemed as though the image of his close friend Liston charging towards him before the ship exploded was reflected, that was his last act of love. "Liston, is this for me to seek revenge..." The intense pain spread from his heart outward, Andreas, battered and wounded, carried Shazzo and staggered towards the infirmary of the intelligence building. After strapping Shazzo to a treatment bed, he injected himself with morphine. But ultimately, he couldn't resist the exhaustion from the prolonged intense combat, and like being struck on the head with a blunt instrument, he collapsed onto the cold ground. Colonel Hintze of the Imperial German Kastelin-class light cruiser, after single-handedly taking down twenty guards and fifteen intelligence officers, fainted inside the building of the secret intelligence department of the French Third Army stationed on Flooney Island. The major he had captured, Shazzo Rilke, was also on the verge of death, and the final outcome of this three-day duel depended on who would wake up first. Three days earlier— The calm central French maritime area of the Atlantic was sprinkled with fragmented light. "See, I told you he looks a lot like you." In the narrow cabin corridor, the pale light seemed to sway with the waves. Major Liston of the German Imperial First Armored Division leaned against a cabin door, speaking to the tall and handsome Colonel Andreas von Hintze. Andreas turned to look at the young French prisoner inside the interrogation room. His slightly weathered cheeks showed a pain as if his soul had been whipped and his body torn apart. Yet, the pair of blue eyes identical to his own revealed an unyielding tenderness. This tenderness was so strong that it made his heart tremble. "Leon Cohen, 27 years old, served in the French Third Fleet, ranked as a captain, led the vanguard team on this mission, and the entire vanguard team was annihilated during the battle. He was wounded by gunfire during the retreat and captured by our Fourth Squad. The interrogation has been difficult; he's a tough guy," Liston remarked with a smirk. "Actually, he looks so much like you, I can hardly bear to start." Andreas looked at his young childhood friend, not believing that his responsibility for transporting the prisoner of war coincided with his own ship by mere coincidence. "Liston, don't disgust me, you know I like women." Liston shrugged indifferently, "So you know how thrilled I am when I'm torturing him. Ah, that feeling, it's like torturing you." Andreas snorted lightly, "He won't yield, I can see. Your methods are outdated." "Then you try?" Liston's eyes revealed a playful glint. "Open the door." Andreas promptly entered the temporary interrogation room located deep within the warship, looking down from a height at the young prisoner of war whose hands and feet were securely bound. Under the gray-white light, his battered body under the torn uniform conveyed an untamed and unyielding spirit. The colonel seemed to see his own captured self, which instantly irked him. So, he grabbed the prisoner's slightly damp brown hair, lifting his bowed face to meet his gaze. He saw Leon Cohen's pupils shrink rapidly, his shocked expression revealing his disbelief about his own survival in this world, questioning why he was wearing a German uniform. Andreas was also taken aback; upon closer inspection, the man bore an uncanny resemblance to himself, almost like a twin. How could such a bizarre thing exist in this world? After a moment of shock, Andreas regained his usual icy demeanor. "Captain Leon Cohen, you must understand that this silence is meaningless," he said fluently in French. "Is that so?" Leon replied with a faint smile, "Then why are you here? Did Major Leyston seek your help, Colonel?" He glanced at the four yellow bars and a star on Andreas's sleeve. Andreas curled his lips slightly, saying, "Yes, he couldn't handle you." "Colonel, seeing you, I realized he couldn't handle you," Leon Cohen spoke sharply: "He loves you." Andreas's expression turned cold, pulling Leon's hair back, he coldly said, "Leon, do you know? You're not the only one who survived." Leon's slightly smug expression froze, "Impossible, Colonel, that tactic is outdated." Andreas thought back to what he had said to Leyston, his lips curving into a smile, "But Leon, you don't know, the team that ambushed you included several medics, an unexpected but real scenario." The Colonel, standing tall, looked down at Leon, "Otherwise, what do you think saved your life?" Leon managed a stiff smile; his blurry memories were filled with the howling wind and bullets whizzing past his ears. He recalled the sound of his comrades groaning and falling one after another, followed by a sudden sharp pain in his chest, then darkness engulfed him, plunging him into chaos. He felt a severe spasm, his throat clogged with blood. When he awoke again, he was faced with Leyston's delicate yet sinister face. At that time, he didn't understand why the damned Nazi would secretly kiss him when alone, or whisper nauseating words to him when he was half-conscious. The naive French captain had thought it was a new German interrogation strategy until today, when he saw the colonel who looked remarkably like him, clearing the doubts in his heart. Yet, another question arose. Perhaps, it wasn't the annihilation of the entire army? Even a 0.1% possibility sent chills down his spine. Who was that person? Would he confess? The German's perversion was infamous among the Allies. Andreas glanced at Leon, noticing the subtle flicker in his eyes, and then left the interrogation room without another word. "How did it go?" Leyston approached. "I've just planted a seed in his mind," Andreas said, looking at Leyston. "I can't believe you haven't even tried this simple method." Leyston raised an eyebrow: "Facing that face, I was completely numb." Andreas sighed, rubbing his forehead, "Do you really want to disgust me to death?" "I wouldn't dare," Leyston shrugged. "Don't even think about him, not only is he a prisoner of war, but he's also not homosexual," Andreas said. "I know, look, this was found on him, he's far more romantic than you. Read this, how beautifully he writes. Ah, I'm almost swayed by it," Leyston handed over a palm-sized leather notebook, filled with elegant French writing that revealed the French captain's longing for his lover back home. Tucked inside was a yellowed photo of a pretty curly-haired girl smiling happily. Her eyes, like those of a doe, shimmered with pure, innocent love. If not for the war, the lovers would have already been united, as his poem read: "That day I rushed to the sea without hesitation only to find every wave carries your name every ray of light mirrors your bright eyes Fiona all my struggles are just to return and marry you." Andreas looked at the girl in the photo, slightly lost in thought, then flipped the photo over, where it was penciled on the back: "To my beloved Leon: I love you, I wait for you, forever. Your dear Fiona" "What a touching love, isn't it? They look so well-matched," Leyston said meaningfully, curious about what his friend was thinking. The major always thought that Andreas was lacking in matters of love.