Pushing up Daisies

xxxxx“We don’t have much time. Move quickly,” he instructed, in the first English she had heard in a long time.
xxxxx“Copy.” Manu acknowledged his words with a grim smile as she slipped a bracelet from her wrist, ignoring his disapproving glance as the magic concealing her dark skin slid off with it. She was tired of pretending, tired of hiding who she was; sick of the feeling it put in her stomach.
xxxxxPursing his lips, Patrick began to move toward the radio-set in the corner of the shack. Manu dropped her pack with a muffled thump and began to scour the shelves along the wall. Paper rustled loud as gunfire beneath her hands and a sheet sliced her thumb, but she barely felt it.
xxxxxIt was August, 1940. Manurau Reeves and Patrick O’Neill were Allied spies posing as Nazi operatives and leaking every move the Axis planned to the Allied forces. Nothing had been overly urgent so far — if such a thing was possible with the world at war — but recently there had been rumours: rumours of something big. Stories of a tactical move so brilliant it would crush the Allies. And it was up to them to find out what, exactly, was in the works.
xxxxx“Radio in operation,” Patrick informed her after a moment. “Have you found anything?”
xxxxxAnxiety twisted in her throat.
xxxxx“Not yet.”
xxxxx“Have you looked —”
xxxxxFootsteps approached from outside. Manu dove for her bracelet, but it was too late. The door swung open, and Friedrich — someone she knew, someone she tried not to think of as a friend — stood dumbstruck in the doorway.
xxxxx“Sofia?”
xxxxxManu’s heart drummed, drummed, drummed in her chest, and the world hung frozen for a second. She couldn’t reach her gun; it was in the pack at his feet.
xxxxxWith a strangled grunt, Patrick heaved his chair at the young Nazi, spinning the world back into motion.
xxxxxFriedrich dove out the way, pistol gleaming coldly in the artificial light, and Manu ducked behind a desk. The air burned cold and fast in her throat and her mind raced with the speed of a hurricane.
xxxxxShe couldn’t let him pull that trigger.
xxxxxYanking a heavy folder from the desk, she flung it blindly in Friedrich’s direction. His cry of pain tore at her conscience.
xxxxxThat was, until his gun slid across the floor. Could she reach it? She had to try.
xxxxxManu slid low across the concrete floor, hand outstretched, fingers a split-second from the weapon —
xxxxxAnd then it was gone, whisked away by an enemy hand, and a horrific weight crashed down on her head and she must have blacked out for a second, because suddenly she was on her feet, Friedrich’s arm around her throat and the cold muzzle of his gun caressing her temple.
xxxxxThe room was a blur of white and grey, brown and green, white and green and brown and grey before her eyes.
xxxxxWhat had happened? Her ears buzzed like static.
xxxxxWhere was she?
xxxxxFriedrich’s arm tightened around her throat as his body tensed, and he pulled her back a step.
xxxxx“Move and she dies,” he snarled in German. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe. What had happened, how had this happened? The gun trembled against her head.
xxxxx“Frie —”
xxxxx“No talking!” Friedrich snapped, shaking her viciously, terror woven in scarlet threads through his voice. “T —” he sucked in a shuddery breath — “turn the light off, Sofia. Turn it off now.”
xxxxxHer vision twisted as he forced her forward, and patches of focus swam through the dull, blurry ache in her head.
xxxxxWhat were they going to do?
xxxxxShe saw Patrick’s face, once, gun in hand and despair etched in every line of his face, and then he was whirling away again in a tumble of green and gunmetal grey.
xxxxxHad they failed?
xxxxxThe light-switch wavered into focus; it was in arm’s reach, but she knew — she knew Friedrich could see without light. He would cut them down without mercy.
xxxxx“Please,” she tried again, the word catching and slurring between her teeth. She pitched forward dizzily, supported only by her enemy. “Don’t — don’t — I can —”
xxxxx“Do it,” he snarled, finger shaking on the trigger, rattling in her ears. She could hear the desperation in his voice. “Do it or I’ll kill you —”
xxxxx“Alright!” Manu almost choked on her terror. She was cold, so cold. She didn’t want to die. “I’ll do it, I’ll — you, you don’t need to —”
xxxxxThe words stopped coming and she couldn’t think, it was too much she couldn’t think, Patrick knew it had all gone wrong, and Friedrich was just as terrified as they and —
xxxxxHis trigger-finger tightened.

I swear to high heaven if you kill the narrator every chapter this is going to be a hard book.

On a real note: I like how real these characters feel. You only just meet them, but you get hints that they've actually got lives before the story, which is cool and well-done. Just, be careful with the killing each chapter thing? I know it's a war story, but at some point the reader might find it hard to grow attached to the characters? Great idea, though! Keep going~