Horst, bleeding from his wounds thrust the gun into my hand, gasping for each breath as if each where to be his last, "You have to write a blog..." he uttered.
"What? Why?" I began to ask, but it was too late, Horst had expired at my feet.
I grabbed the car keys from his pocket, fired off a couple of rounds at our unseen enemies in the swirling fog, and ran to the Lancia.
What did he mean - write a blog? There was only one way to find out. I fired up the engine, and jabbed at the accelerator.