The Colour of War

Chapter 32

The boat's gentle sway did little to soothe Stefan's tormented sleep. His hands, knotted in the linens, were as white knuckled as his grip on reality. "They're advancing, we have no defence," he yelled into the darkness, a soldier haunted by ghosts of war that refused to be left behind. "We need to retreat. The tanks are coming, run, we need to run."

Startled awake, Stefan's breath came in short, sharp gasps as if he could still taste the pungent smoke of battle. He sat up, eyes darting across the cabin until the familiar confines reassured him he was oceans away from the front lines. Wiping the cold sweat from his brow, he exhaled slowly, trying to cage the fears that ran rampant in his dreams.

Days slipped by, and Stefan remained a solitary figure aboard the ship, often found standing at the rail. The sun had kissed his skin, turning it a shade richer. Lost in thought, he traced the path of their journey with his gaze, enthusiasm filling him as he recalled Ruby's promises of new adventures awaiting his arrival.

Upon disembarking, Stefan searched the bustling crowd for Evelyn's face. But she was not there. The woman he'd rebuffed with a polite smile nights before brushed past him, her smirk as knowing as it was brief. "You missed a good time, handsome," she taunted.

"Perhaps," Stefan conceded, offering her nothing more than a fleeting glance. He was a man of restraint, after all.

Then, a different encounter: a woman with an easy grin beckoned him over. "Mr Schäfer?" Her voice was light. "How unfortunate," she chuckled, "the initials SS." The joke fell flat, lost in the awkwardness between them. "Oh, how I've missed uptight German men," she smirked.

"Brigs," she introduced herself, extending a hand that spoke of equality rather than subservience.

"Thank you, but I'll manage," Stefan replied when she offered to help with his luggage. His eyes lingered unintentionally on the scar trailing down her arm.

"Stronger than I look," Brigs quipped as she caught his gaze. She challenged his old-world manners without malice, a playful reminder of the times they now lived in.

"Times are changing, Mr Schäfer," she declared, slipping on sunglasses that seemed too opaque for any practical use. Stefan couldn't help but doubt the wisdom of such a fashion choice.

He followed her to the car, bags in tow, his heart heavy with the absence of Evelyn but uplifted by the prospect of reuniting with his daughter.

"Brigs, I appreciate the ride," Stefan said as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, his hands firmly gripping his bags. She gave him a sharp nod, her eyes hidden behind those dark lenses, and sped off with a wave.

"Let me give you a hand," called Mateo from above, leaning over the iron balcony of the aging apartment. He descended the stairs with quick steps, reaching for the largest suitcase. His grip was firm, his smile easy.

"Thanks," Stefan replied, the weight lifted from his arms. They entered the pallid foyer together, the air rich with the scent of aged wood and jasmine.

"Quite the collection," Stefan remarked, eyeing a Purple Heart on display. A familiar ache pulsed at his side where his own wound lay.

"Ah, Evelyn did mention," Mateo said with a wry grin, "but you're not planning any midnight attacks, are we? Allies now, right?" he joked.

"Right," Stefan chuckled, despite the tightness in his chest. The camaraderie of soldiers—even former foes—was a language unto itself.

"Vater!" Ruby's voice pierced the quiet as she bounded into the room. Her arms wrapped around him. "You came!"

"Of course, Liebling," he murmured, holding his daughter close.

Evelyn appeared then, her beauty undiminished by time, but it was the man beside her who drew Stefan's gaze. Clarence, with hands possessively on her waist.