Let loose, the canine charges after the runner. It leaps at the man’s back, toppling him. Rifles are taking aim but the captain orders not to shoot. This is their last detained operative, and certainly they could use his information. But then the dog yelps and goes limp. A blade glints in the agent’s hand. When he again scuttles into a sprint, defying more orders to halt, two shots meet his back. He arches from their impact before sprawling on the ground.

The captain pulled the trigger. Still, he bellows in frustration. He marches over and uses his pistol to smack the face of the negligent guard, hard enough to crack a jaw. Then he turns to his troops. “Finde den vierten!”

His German words filter in pieces through my brain. Their translation shakes me from my trance.

Find the fourth.

Could they have seen me jump? Mistaken the capsule’s chute to be mine? Terror bolts through me. I need to move. Legs, you need to move now.

“Suche!” he adds, and all five soldiers disperse to search in various directions, weapons ready.

Managing to back away, I begin to reverse my path. My parachute… I’d forgotten it’s still in my arms. Silently in the darkness, my pace gains momentum before a shallow ditch causes me a light stumble. I spare a glance over my shoulder. Glows of flashlights are encroaching on the bushes. The growling of waking engines indicates the vehicles will be facilitating the hunt.

A long dirt road runs parallel to my left, so I cut right and race toward the nearest cluster of trees. The leaf-filled branches might be structured well enough to hide me.

I round the undergrowth to the backside of the cluster. At the first promising tree, I shoulder the parachute, reach up, and grip the lowest solid branch. My foot seeks traction on a knot at the tree’s base. Heaving upward, I slip on a strap of my dangling harness. I try again, slipping once more but on a slick stretch of nylon. Drat! The chute and strings will surely snag on branches all the way up. Yet discarding the gear anywhere close would leave a glaring trail.

Flashlights draw closer, as do headlamps. Wheels slowly crunch gravel.

My heart rises to my throat. Time and options are running thin. I recall the knife in my jumpsuit and, underneath, an item in my coat. Stowed in the tiny pouch I’d sewn in, a pocket within a pocket, are my military-issued pills, including a single L-pill. L for lethal. A grim choice to be made.