The front door to the small apartment in Ingolstadt’s military headquarters that she and her husband Tom had just finished settling into was blown in by an explosion. A splinter from the door sliced open her left arm just below the shoulder. Another splinter flew into her side and stuck there like a pin, just above the hip.The blast itself sent her stumbling back. She tripped and fell into the fireplace. Where her dress caught fire.A man came through the door on the heels of the explosion. He had a wheel-lock pistol in his hand which he leveled at her and fired.That was pretty much the low point of the evening. Luckily for Rita, the door hadn’t been completely blown off the hinges. Half of it was still hanging in the entrance and a jagged edge caught the man’s sleeve as he brought up the gun. His aim was thrown off and the bullet went into the fireplace instead of Rita’s chest.Squalling with fear and anger, Rita scrambled out of the fireplace. She started slapping at her dress to extinguish the flames licking at the hem.
