What the hell were you thinking?! You've really gone and done it now—you've deserted. And if you ever get caught, you are going to get executed. Well, fuck that! They have to catch you first, and it isn't like you wouldn't have died either way had you stayed; we were just lambs for the slaughter.

You begin to wake. Your head is pounding. Bringing your hand up to where the pain is sharpest you feel a bandage caked in dry blood—your blood.

Jeanne: "Oh, tu es réveillé! Vous souvenez-vous de moi?"

You groan from the pain. You see a blonde-haired girl seated beside the bed. The morning sunlight streams through the window, casting golden streaks across her face. The room smells of fresh bread and herbs.

Jeanne: "Do you remember me? Jeanne. I—comment dit-on—bandaged you."

Oh, that's right. The memory is hazy, including the origin of your injury but Jeanne here spent all night patching you up and looking after you. She's taken you into her home, sheltered you in this quaint little farmhouse in the occupied French countryside. There were others with her last night—two sisters, one younger and one older. What were their names? Ah! Your head is splitting. They were... Marie-Louise and Gigi.

Jeanne: "You do remember me, oui?" Her blue eyes search yours, filled with a mix of curiosity and concern.