Chapter 18 - INGA
Getting Hilde to the hospital was the right thing—of course it was—but the closer we got to the American sector, the more my heart hammered against my ribs. Berlin didn't like it when people crossed invisible lines. And for a German to get near the barracks was a thick red one.
Gideon carried Hilde against his chest, wrapped in his jacket, her tiny face tucked under his chin.
Klaus walked close by my side. Axel stayed on my other flank, stiff and alert like a guard dog half his size.
We moved through the darkened street, still lit in places by lanterns and makeshift fires smoldering in oil drums.
Halfway there, Gideon's hand slid to my back, gentle but firm. "Stay close," he said quietly.
"I am," I whispered, scanning the ruins out of habit.
"No—closer." His voice dropped even lower. "Someone's behind us."
A bolt of panic shot through me. I followed his line of sight. A figure stood half hidden between the shattered columns of an old post building. Not moving. Just… watching.
My stomach tightened. "Probably Bastian. He was angry that we interfered. He doesn't forget."
"That's not a kid," Gideon murmured. "Too big. Too still."
Cold settled at the base of my spine. A grown man watching children from the shadows… nothing good ever followed that.
I grabbed Klaus's hand. "Don't look back. Just walk."
We'd just passed by the edge of a ruined square when raised voices cracked the air, sharp, panicked, French. Three French soldiers were pressed against a wall, weapons drawn but hands shaking, while six Russians loomed over them, drunk or eager for trouble or both.
Gideon stopped dead. "Keep going," he told me.
I stared at him. "Gideon—"
"Go," he said again, placing Hilde carefully into my arms. "I'll catch up."
I didn't move. And neither did the boys.
Axel shook his head. "No."
Klaus planted his feet. "We stay with you."
Gideon cursed softly. "I don't have time to argue."
"We're not leaving," I said, breath tight. "Not while you—"
He gritted his teeth so hard I heard it.
His eyes flared, and I could have sworn I saw gold glinting in them.
This was the third time I'd noticed it, and a shiver ran through me.
Not in a bad way, though. He turned toward the Russians.
He didn't walk. He stalked—filled with a power I'd never seen contained in a single body.
The French soldiers looked up, desperate hope flickering. The Russians spun, one laughed, one spat, one raised a fist. And Gideon moved.
Fast.
Too fast to follow.
One Russian went down immediately; he hit the ground so hard the sound cracked like a broken tree limb. Another lunged, and Gideon blocked him with an arm that didn't budge an inch. He twisted, fluid as water, and the man flew backward into rubble.
A third tried to draw a knife. Gideon's boot kicked it out of his hand and sent him sprawling. Another Russian tried to swing his rifle, Gideon stepped in, yanked it from him like plucking a twig, and threw the weapon so far over his shoulder, I never saw where it landed.
The last two hesitated, trading uncertain looks. Gideon cracked his neck, like he was just getting started, and they ran.
Just like that.
The boys didn't breathe.
Neither did I.
The French looked obviously uncomfortable; they mumbled some Mercis and took off too.
When he came back to us, some wild lightning still flickering behind his eyes, he looked almost… embarrassed. Klaus was the first to speak.
"Wow, how did you do that?" he blurted—in English.
Gideon stopped short. "You speak English now?"
Axel puffed his chest. "I taught him."
Klaus nodded proudly. "How did you do it?"
Gideon glanced at me, then crouched so he was eye-level with them. "Training," he said. "And being really stubborn."
"Can you teach us?" Klaus asked.
Gideon's smile softened. "Yeah, kid. I can teach you."
My chest ached.
He hailed a cab—an actual cab—and the boys' eyes went huge.
Even Hilde perked up, staring at the fading black paint like it was a magic carriage.
The driver gave us a look, unimpressed at the sight of three ragged German kids, one of whom was half-awake, wearing a makeshift sling, and being carried by an equally ragged woman.
But the moment he saw Gideon's uniform, he straightened.
"McNair?" the driver asked.
"Yeah," Gideon said. "And step on it."
Klaus pressed his nose to the window, watching the city shift from ruins to the more intact American zone. Axel whispered under his breath, counting the moving cars like each one was a miracle. Hilde curled deeper into my arms, safe for the first time in who knew how long.
I leaned toward Gideon. "You didn't have to do that back there."
"Yes," he said simply, "I did."
We drove through Checkpoint Bravo; GIs waved us on, barely glancing at the kids.
The cab rolled into McNair Barracks, and the boys' jaws dropped.
To them, it must have looked like a fortress of shining glass.
Bright lights. Tall buildings. Soldiers in crisp uniforms. A jeep roared by.
Men laughed. Order. Structure. Normalcy.
Everything our side of the city didn't have.
"Wow," Klaus breathed.
Axel stared at the big stone entrance as if it were a castle gate. "This is where you live?"
Gideon shrugged. "Sort of. It's just barracks."
"Just?" I whispered, stunned. "This… this is beautiful."
He looked at me, and for a moment, his expression turned soft and vulnerable. As if he were seeing the barracks through my eyes and realizing how bleak Berlin looked in comparison.
Inside, he smuggled us through a staff door, nodding at a sleepy soldier at the desk who barely noticed. The hospital wing was warmer, cleaner, and brighter than anything the kids had ever seen.
Hilde was treated quickly. A real doctor set her arm properly, wrapped it carefully, and even gave her a lollipop from a bowl on the counter. Hilde stared at it like it was a ruby. Then her whole face lit up with the most beatific smile I had ever seen. My throat tightened.
When the doctor stepped away, Gideon leaned against the wall beside me. Close. Too close. Close enough that I felt the heat from his body, causing the inside of my stomach to flutter with unknown sensations. My skin turned hypersensitive in anticipation of a touch, a brush, any kind of contact.
"You need to be careful," he warned me quietly.
"I am always careful," I murmured.
"Not careful enough." His voice hardened. "The Russians are pushing harder every day. They want a spark. One spark. Any spark. And today…"
He shook his head. "Today could've been it."
I nodded. I knew. You had to be blind and deaf not to know what was going on in the city.
We were locked in like animals in a cage.
Any way out was through the Russian sector, and I doubted they would let us leave on the other side.
Even I knew that Berlin had been a race.
A prize. The highest trophy, and Russia was pissed off that they had to share it.
There is only gold for Russia, no silver, no bronze.
I had heard stories about the Russian sector, how the people there were nothing more than prisoners.
They weren't allowed out at all. The entire city was in a chokehold.
"Do you have family in West Germany?" Gideon asked me suddenly. "Anyone who could take you? Anyone safe?"
"No," I whispered. "I told you. This is my home."
"A dangerous home."
I lifted my chin. "I'm not leaving. I won't abandon Klaus. Or Axel. Or Hilde. Or the others like them."
His jaw ticked. Stubborn challenging stubborn.
"You're impossible," he said.
"You're not my boss," I shot back.
We stared at each other. Something softened first in him. Then in me. From across the clinic, Hilde held out her candy and whispered, "Inga."
The way she said my name… it made all the fear worth it.
Gideon let out a slow breath. "Come on," he murmured. "Let's get you all home."
Home.
Not rubble.
Home.