AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’ve had the same Marine training he’s had.
I should be the one protecting her—not Kellan.
51
ANGELIQUE
May 1943
France
A Jeepwith a Nazi flag flapping in the breeze pulls up the gravel driveway to the farmhouse. The polished metal glints in the early evening sunlight.
And the muscles in my body turn to petrified wood.
My heart hammers against my ribs, the hollow sound echoing in my chest like a wooden xylophone. The rhythm is fast, the tune frantic.
I haven’t seen the Jeep from the night of the dinner party in almost two weeks. I was hoping to never see it again.
Captain Schmidt steps out of the house.
Fischer isn’t with him. Since they returned from their military operation last week, I’ve grown used to frequently seeing the two men together. It’s clear they are close like brothers. They laugh and tease each other the way Hazel and I did growing up.
I haven’t overheard any more conversations between them. Haven’t overheard anything that will aid London in this war. And I still don’t know why Schmidt’s mother and sister had to escape the Gestapo.
The driver gets out of the Jeep and opens the door for his passenger. The lean body of Major Müller emerges from the back seat, and I will my legs to keep moving. The idea of being in his presence makes me nauseous, makes my skin crawl like it’s covered in ants.
I hurry towards the front door of the house. There are only three yards between the major and me, and I have every intention of being inside the farmhouse before he gets any closer.
The brick building, partially covered in ivy, promises me a safe haven from the man. It’s an offer I hope it can live up to.
“You can stay right there, Madame D’Aboville.” His clipped French sends an alarm through my body. So, the man does know French.
He marches up to Captain Schmidt, who hasn’t moved since he stepped out of the farmhouse. Müller salutes him, clicking his heels together. “Heil, Hitler!”
Schmidt returns the greeting, and the crawling sensation on my body intensifies.
“I came to inform you that First Lieutenant Dieter Fischer is dead,” Müller says in French. A chill spreads through me, bringing with it a sense of foreboding. “He was executed this afternoon for desertion.”
Silence falls like a heavy weight, knocking the air from my lungs. I cannot look at Schmidt, cannot imagine what is going through his mind. I also cannot imagine why Müller would want me to hear that the Germans executed one of their own. To show me just how ruthless the German Army is?
I should feel relief the world is rid of one more German soldier. One more German who is partially responsible for the state of France and Europe and the world right now. One more German who wants to destroy all that is good and free.
But I don’t.
Because Dieter was nothing like the rest of those monsters. In this moment, I cannot think of him as a German soldier, the enemy. I can only think of him as the man who lost his life to the callousness of the Nazis. The man who had shown me simple acts of kindness whenever he visited, much like Schmidt has.
Schmidt nods, all hint of emotion erased from his expression. His reaction is like a match to tinder. Anger flares in me, a bonfire burning out of control. I want to scream at him for being uncaring and emotionless like the rest of them.
But to do so could mean the death of me—and maybe it would be the death of Schmidt. Perhaps that is the real reason behind his blank expression. I look down at the grass beneath my feet so Müller and Schmidt can’t see my face.
“I always knew the man was a coward.” This time Müller’s words are in German, his tone the cold-metal spikes of a mace. “I don’t tolerate cowards. And I would hate to find out your unit is filled with cowards like the first lieutenant.”
Schmidt doesn’t respond. He stares ahead, not looking at the monster in uniform.
“His replacement, who I have personally selected, will be posted soon,” Müller continues, his tone not defrosting even a smidgen. “The next first lieutenant will not be committing acts of desertion.”
“Can I ask what act of desertion First Lieutenant Fischer committed?” Schmidt’s voice remains even, his body still stiff.
