Drive right out the front gate

“What did you do with Krueger?” Clarke asks me. “Is he the way you got in?”

“Krueger bring me in.” I answer. “I stab him and tuck him in bed.”

“Do you have his keys?” He asks.

“I do.”

“With these keys, if we steal a few uniforms, we might be able drive right out the front gate.”

“It couldn’t be that simple.” Hobbs argues.

“Do you know a better way? I haven’t heard any alarms yet. If we act now, it just might work.”

“We’ll do it.”

We steal the last guard’s uniform for Hobbs to take, but Clarke insists on an officer’s uniform, so I take him into Krueger’s quarters quickly when we sneak over to his car.

All seems well, and the five of us pile into Krueger’s open top car, Clarke driving, myself in the passenger seat, and the others in the back. Clarke pulls up to the guard post casually, and I’m relieved to see that the guards have changed. One of them approaches our stopped car.

“Good evening, sir.”

“I am on important business.” Clarke tells him with no hesitation.

“Yes, sir, just let me raise the bar.”

“Hey!” Another voice greets from behind us and to the other side. It seems familiar. “I forgot my canteen here.”

I turn to make eye contact with the guard who was posted when Krueger brought me in. My eyes widen in terror.

“Wait a second!” He tells the other guard. “She came in with Hauptmann Krueger.”

“I’m aware.” Clarke dismisses him. “The Hauptmann is busy, I am driving her home on his behalf.”

“Maybe we should check.” The guard suggests to his comrade.

“That isn’t necessary.” Clarke argues.

I gasp when I hear a deafening alarm roar to life.

“Stop them!” The guard barks and starts to unsling his rifle. I pull my pistol up and dump a half a dozen rounds in his direction as quickly as I can, and enough hit the mark to put him down.

“Duck!” Clarke shouts and stomps on the gas pedal. We lurch forwards. I duck down just a second before the bar smashes through the windshield and showers me with glass. Guns fire from every direction, and I hear a cry from the backseat. I keep my head in my lap and protect myself as best as I can as we tear down the road, bullets whipping over our heads. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that the Germans are going to chase after us.

Once we’re far enough away that we’re a harder target to hit, I bring my head up and look over my shoulder. A few soldiers chase after on foot and wing a few shots at us with their rifles, but they miss their mark.

I gasp when I see Zhukov slumped in the back seat, whimpering, Hobbs leaning over him. Blood is everywhere.

“Tell him he’s going to be okay!” Hobbs shouts at me, the car still flying down the road.

I lean over the seat and look at Zhukov. “Nikita!”

He makes a few weak sputtering noises at me before his head rolls back and his body goes limp.

“Stay with me!” Hobbs yells at him, and shakes him, but it’s no use. “Shit!”

The car turns hard and I look forwards to see Clarke screech to a halt behind somebody’s barn.

“Everybody out!” He shouts, and the four of us who remain scramble to get out of the vehicle and gather what weapons we have. “Split up and get away from here fast!” He orders. “Go back at Lyudmila’s house once you’re sure you’ve lost them! Do not let them catch you!”