Yvonne Wojcik, Commanding Officer of the Women's Battalion in Poland, a domestic regime, walked through the barracks of Munich.  She was dressed in fine furs beneath thick, course fabrics of military standard for the field and entered a room with the key in hand, slipping in unseen.  Where she stood was small but clean.  A well-manicured bed next to the standing armoire, table with motel-like kitchenstand, a sink and a shitter.  Certainly, it was a place meant for short stays and rollover personel, but it was enough for Officer Wojcik to call "home".<br/><br/>She removed her jacket and soaked the arm in the sink, immediately turning the water a muddy crimson.  She didn't give it a second thought as she stripped what remained to the desk in a neat pile, prepared for a maids work with laundry, one of the Polish women who had learned quickly not to glare the way the others had.  Officer Wojcik had nothing to regret.  She was serving the Father in the Fatherland under one of his chosen sons, and if she could not see it, then it would be taken up with Him a her death.  There was nothing for her to be ashamed of.<br/><br/>Yet, as she stared at the letter sitting beside her newly made pile, she found that guilt and shame were the exact emotions building in her gut.  Her words repeated back to her "let me save you" like an echoing reminder of her deeds, her failures.  The man she had failed to save had written her the night before his death in an attempt to do for her what she could not do for him, and what would have normally elicited frustration in her instead gave her pause.  This<span style="font-style: italic">Italian</span>had been a distraction, from the night he was rendered unconscious, to the night she rode with him in the ambulance.<br/><br/>Shaking her head, Yvonne was reminded of her purpose.  She had left someone behind that she<span style="font-style: italic">knew</span>to be a Daughter of God, though she did not behave it herself.  That person had been severely injured, but could not yet be found.  Yvonne would find her,<span style="font-style: italic">needed</span>to find her, and she was allowing herself to be distracted by this mission again by this ridiculous man even after his death.  Thrusting open the doors of her armoire, she found her uniforms in pristine shape, pressed to sharp points worthy of weapons themselves, and boots polished to a shine only bested by His halo - cleanliness was next to godliness, and she wanted nothing more than to be next to God.  Which made it all the more difficult when she selected a shimmering red and black thing from the back corner, loose and flowy in stark contrast.<br/><br/>Her lip wrinkled at it, but she slid it over her body and included her black fur jacket over.  Her hair was still in place after her... work, and she simply smoothed the curls along the side of her face into that fashionable wave from a few years back - it was much cleaner than some of the trends she saw whipped about on the women at her mens' arms.  She still maintained a victory curl above it, but it continued into the french roll at the back, every hair tucked into place.  She added a crystaline thing where it parted to match her wrists and neck, then strode about the room until she was certain she could walk in the disastrous pumps without making a fool of herself - she'd just as soon wear the boots with this get-up.<br/><br/>She left the room in much the same fashion as she had entered it, needing no eyes for her ensemble or questions for her destination.  The officer was taking care of personal business, and that was heavily regarded during wartime.  Betraying her fuhrer was out of the question, despite admonishes in a note from beyond the grave to do so - one she remembered to tuck in a hidden compartment of her mothers diary to avoid eyes that were unattached to the processes of the brain which might absolve her of its words - a note from the very person whose grave would still be empty should he have followed his own advice for just a second!<br/><br/>The woman took a breath and washed the red from her cheeks with it.  Entering the taxi which had awaited her, she gave him the directions to a hotel bar, which was expecting a notable guest star to perform.  That wasn't the person Yvonne intended to see, but the brother of her fallen comrade.  One Captain Luciano Isidor Grazzienelli.  He had given her the letter per his brothers funeral requests, and she had to know if there were any others which might lead her to Isolde - his final mission - or Erlind, the demon who lead the man to his fall.