Jack watched with amazement as Bridget took out the guards and quickly followed after her.  He thought briefly about borrowing a uniform, but the pretty and deadly woman was on the move, and he dare not let himself be left behind.  They entered into a long corridor, with windows all the way down, at waist level.  Peering down, out of the windows, Jack could see the factory floor.  There were a bunch of wooden crates across the floor, where he had expected to see machinery or massive weapons.  What where they doing here anyway?<br/><br/>He followed the woman down the corridor, until they found themselves in a office.  A man was hunched over a typewriter, clacking away.  Jack calmly lifted his pistol and put a bullet in the back of his head.  There was a clack as the man's head fell forward, hitting the keyboard.<br/><br/>It felt good to down a Kraut, though the score between Bridget and himself was in her favor.  They did not waste time in the office though.  There might be valuable papers here, but it was not their mission.  Still, Jack grabbed some loose papers from a table and stuffed them down his shirt on impulse.<br/><br/>"We need to find our way to the basement, we're still to far up."  It was an obvious statement, but Jack said it anyway.  They quickly exited the office and kept moving down the next hallway, guns drawn.  After passing a few more offices, they entered a very large office, with wrap around windows.  Another Nazi was hunched over working at a desk, but Jack slit his throat.<br/><br/>Moving to the door, Jack opened it carefully and slipped out.  There was a narrow catwalk which surrounded the whole of the factory floor with staircases leading down.  From here, Jack could hear some sort of low moaning sounds, though he could not detect the source.  Without looking back he quickly scurried to the first staircase and started moving down, scanning for more guards.<br/><br/>Killing had become second nature since the war started.  Sometimes Jack wondered if he could ever go back to a normal life, after living as a soldier.  Everything was so start forward now.  He followed orders, he killed the enemy and all was well with the world.  In civilian life he had struggled with mixed results to try to live up to his father's expectations, despite not wishing to be a constable.  At university, he had struggled as well, trying to keep up with his classmates and prove himself.  Soldiering was so much simpler.<br/><br/>His sisters had all met their parents expectations and grown up to marry and have kids.  All they had been expected was that they follow in their mother's path.  They last time he had been home, at Christmas, he had been surrounded by little nieces and nephews.   Now, in a foreign country, with blood on his hands, he though of home.  He wished, for a moment, to simply be an uncle, in his smart dress uniform, holding an adoring four year old boy on his knee.  Maybe he could make a career teaching in a military academy, and still have that life.<br/><br/>Jack shoved these thoughts from his head.  They were the kind of distracting which could get him killed.  Moving down onto the factory floor, Jack could see that the crates had been recently packed up and were ready for shipment, though God only knew where too.  He slid between to crates and turned to see if Bridget was still with him.  The low moaning sound was louder now, though he could still not figure out where it came from.<br/><br/>------------------------------------<br/><br/>Herbert Rosenbaum lay in his cell, hating himself and the world.  He had tried so hard to resist, but what was he to do.  They still had his dear Ruth.  Even now, that damned colonel was probably ogling her, and offering her more tea.  They did not treat her as a prisoner, for his sake, to motive him, but they both knew she was.  Every set back or infraction landed her in a cell for the night.  Every mistake was taken out on his daughter.<br/><br/>God forgive him, but she was more important to him than the whole world.  The world be damned if it kept her safe.