April 3, 1942
It had been almost a week since the colonel had closed the investigation against her. She was grateful for the peace, though it came at a price. The puppy he had bestowed upon her whined throughout the night and constantly needed to go out. It was difficult to think, let alone plot, while she was running up and down the stairs cleaning up accidents and taking it for walks.
She had named him Waltz, after her favorite dance. One she would make a point to dancing in celebration upon her retirement. "How about a walk into town, mon cheri?" The pup wagged his tail eagerly at the promise of a walk. She grabbed the black leather leash she had bought for him and hooked it to his matching collar.
The puppy yapped happily, towing behind her out the door and down the driveway. She had opted for a simple red dress with short sleeves and a thin black belt around her dainty waist. Transparent black pantyhose were slipped over her pale legs and paired with a pair of satin black kitten heels. The sun was shining brightly on the warm spring morning, so she grabbed a large floppy black hat to keep her face out of it. The pup was surprisingly good on a leash and stayed beside her without needing to be scolded once. The colonel had clearly had pick of the litter when he gave him to her. It was oddly kind of him, and she didn't trust it for a second, but it did give her some security at night.
Waltz would bark at every sound outside the window, and she was sure he would do the same for any soldiers lurking about. It was just over a fifteen minute walk to the nearest café. She had brought a copy of La Fin de Cheri in her purse. There was a good six hours until curfew began so she was confident she had all the time in the world to get some fresh air and run the puppy out of energy.
A tiny bell chimed as she entered the café, and she was pleased to see one of the dark haired waiters working behind the counter. He smiled at her and welcomed her to the Shoppe. "What can I get for you today, mademoiselle?"
"I can't decide." She tapped her chin thoughtfully, staring at the menu.
The man waited patiently for her order, but she saw the way his face changed into a look of surprise. "Why don't you try the strudel?"
She didn't need to turn around to know who was standing behind her. "Of course, Standartenfuhrer." The man disappeared into the back to grab her pastry.
"If I didn't know any better I would say you're stalking me, Colonel." She turned to face him. He was dressed in his uniform, as always. The glossy black boots were void of any dirt despite being worn daily. He kept himself clean. She could see a hint of golden stubble along his jaw and over his upper lip. She wondered briefly what it would look like if he decided to grow it out.
"On my honor, fraulein, I was simply having a smoke across the street and saw you enter. And the little one, of course." He bent down to rustle the dog's fur. "Has he got a name now?"
"Waltz."
"Waltz?" The puppy wagged his tail at the sound of his name. "Interesting choice. Any particular reason why?" He rose back to a stand, his tall build hovering over a head taller than her.
"I'm quite fond of the dance, as I am the dog." This seemed to please him. He beamed at her as the man came back with her strudel and a napkin.
"Merci." She thanked him and made to leave. The colonel was left standing as she walked outside to one of the many outdoor tables. She tied the dog to her the leg of her chair and lit up a cigarette, pulling out her book and setting the pastry to the side.
"May I join you?" The colonel piped up from behind. She glanced around to see German troops staring in their direction along with half of the French people that were out and about that afternoon.
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Flaneur ✅💋
Fiction HistoriqueGenevieve Mahlon, or Blondeau to those who know her by her code name, is part of an elite group of special forces tasked with pulling off Operation Achilles Heel, a mission centered around exploiting the underestimation of women and taking down men...