"In times of war, you do what you must, become what you must. Some embrace it, some try to resist it, and others abuse it. I am guilty of all three."
Virginia Carroll has been fighting her whole life, against herself and against what she is drawn to...
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April 15th, 1944.
Germans were everywhere but that was nothing new. Their uniforms were an ever-present sight in the streets of Sainte Marie-Du-Mont and its surrounding fields. I had never had much trouble from any of them, nor had they tried to start anything in my presence. Their role in this occupation seemed to be that of silent sentries, waiting for a larger prize. I wasn't particularly worried about their business here or my few interactions with them. As far as they knew, as far as anyone could tell, I was just another French girl.
The coastline was full of Nazis; tanks and trucks were always rumbling across the roads, parting the few people who wandered the streets. The soldiers would flirt and play their power as the occupier and I play the occupied, resigned, and worn but keeping a wary eye. Their poor attempts at French were degrading more than threatening and they didn't think I understood their German. In the end, they would walk away, laughing and I would slip my knife back into my pocket. They weren't here just for a seaside jaunt and neither was I.
This Nazi who approached me, his uniform's medals gleaming in the sunshine, was different. Two years of the same behavior and you could notice the outliers. He didn't wait for a villager to cross his path. He was marching right towards me, a destination made very clear by the look in his dark eyes. He looked serious, unlike the usual teasing and humiliating. I looked around the street, the cafe's outdoor tables were mostly empty. I was the only diner in the square. The villagers knew that when the Nazis were out, you stayed in. I had learned this in my first week in France; Simone had grilled it into me. I couldn't risk any suspicion but today I had to be out and it seemed my break in schedule hadn't gone unnoticed.
Alright, I thought. Take a deep breath. As far as anyone knew in this town I was just Irene Leblanc, some indistinct French girl who knew to follow the rules and had just lost track of the time. They didn't need to know that my watch had grown warm in my hand and my eyes were searching for a very specific face.
"Good morning," He said in heavily accented French, stopping just beside my table. My coffee cup was half-empty and cooling rapidly but I hadn't been here for breakfast. I dipped my head in reply.
"Why are you out here all alone?" He knew of the French's schedule. Here I was, breaking it. I had been here for nearly two years and it was obvious what a breach in routine would cause here. I looked around at the empty streets as if just noticing their barren state. As if just noticing that I was alone, though the thought had been plaguing my existence since I had crossed the French border.
"My morning coffee, sir," I said, looking up at him, smiling. "I do enjoy some time to myself."
He didn't seem satisfied with that answer. The best lies come from partial truth. I did like to spend some time on my own and I did have coffee.
