Stranger At the Gates
“He had served with him in Belgium when the Colonel was with the occupation forces, and spent a year in Brussels. When they moved to Paris, Franz was delighted. He sent his wife French scent and silk stockings, and set himself up with a girl he had picked up one Sunday morning at a café on the Champs-Elysées. She was seventeen, a plump little tart who cuddled up to him and made him feel at home. His Colonel’s posting to the Château Diane had disturbed this happy relationship; he didn’t see her s...o often, and he had an unhappy feeling that she had found another friend.
He had been asleep for an hour, or so he thought, until he woke up feeling cramp in his left leg, and discovered it was after four o’clock. He had been dozing on a chair in the Colonel’s bedroom, waiting for him to come upstairs and be undressed. It was a nightly ritual, getting his officer out of his clothes and into bed. He was always drunk and irritable, and sometimes he punched out at Franz, who had learned how to dodge him.MoreLess
He had been asleep for an hour, or so he thought, until he woke up feeling cramp in his left leg, and discovered it was after four o’clock. He had been dozing on a chair in the Colonel’s bedroom, waiting for him to come upstairs and be undressed. It was a nightly ritual, getting his officer out of his clothes and into bed. He was always drunk and irritable, and sometimes he punched out at Franz, who had learned how to dodge him.MoreLess
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