The Commandant's Secratary
Andree is an ambitious young woman and a proud supporter of the Nazi party. An assistant to the Nazi Commandant, she is often involved in the receiving and sending of official communication, typing her superior's outgoing orders and messages, and routinely reading aloud to him similar inbound documents. She has her own ideas about how the war and the Belgian occupation should be run, and secretly grinds her teeth at being a secretary instead of a commander of troops.
Haunted by pride, bitterness, and hate, and lusting for power, she conceals her feelings beneath a polished and compliant exterior, but often makes small, profound changes to the communications she handles. When she is tasked with compiling the reports from and about local civilians she starts playing favorites, weaving even more unfairness into an already harsh situation. If left unchecked, she will become an insidious force for evil who steers the Commandant to greater atrocities and sends innocent people to their deaths with glee.
However, if turned to a better disposition, she can become a powerful force for good, insulating the local civilians from wrath and gently influencing the Commandant to take a softer line with them.
Great. What now? Andree regards the woman coolly, chin lifted, piercing gray eyes and tightly-arranged hair demanding the civilian be quick about whatever her problem is.
"Thank goodness," The woman repeats herself, quite inefficiently.
From her appearance, Andree decides she is a farmer. She wrinkles her nose. A pig farmer, it would seem.
Mildly worried the flustered, odoriferous woman will never get past her exclamatory introduction, or perhaps may not even possess the capacity for rational though, Andree speaks, emphasizing each word to try to break through the woman's hysteria.
"What. Do. You. WANT?"
Pig-farmer-woman recoils as Andree's harsh words lash her, and the Nazi Lieutenant experiences a thrill of sick joy at the easy power her position grants. She would rather be on the front lines, gunning down filthy swine, than talking to the mother of them. Always make the best of a bad thing, Andree.
She internally gloats over the woman's fear, in no hurry to address her concerns until they are stated clearly, at the very least.
The farmeress gathers herself, her backbone visibly straightening as a dark, accusatory look spreads across her softly-lined features. "You are a woman. Please, you must help. They are chasing a young girl." She points unhelpfully in the direction of a nearby field.
"I am an Oberleutnant," Andree counters, "and I know they are."
"You do? Well, can't you stop them?" She shakes her head in disbelief. "She's just a lass. It's not right!" The woman's fear is abating, her concern for another diminishing Andree's power over her.
Time to fix that.
Andree withdraws a small, black leather-bound book from one pocket of her uniform, and a red ink pen from the other. "We decide what is right..." She looks expectantly at the woman, pen poised to write in the book, "your name?"
"M-me?" Her eyes fixate on the small red pen, and a pleasurable measure of fear stiffens her features. Righteous indignation still strengthens her tone, however, "What about her name? Think what they might do to her!"
"Unteroffizier!" Andree's gray eyes bore into the woman as her voice summons one of the nearby soldiers. The man promptly attends, and she hears his heels click to attention just behind the woman. She moves quite close, her notebook nearly touch the shorter woman's rough-spun dress. The stress her proximity clearly causes is more than worth the horrific smell that assaults her nostrils, and this time her question is a command, "Your name."
Trapped between the two Nazi's, the outspoken citizen's courage fails her. Her eyes drown in the notebook, and her voice cracks. "M-Martha. Martha Steeples."
"Martha. Steeples." Andree pronounces each word clearly as she writes them down. "Excellent. The girl will, of course, be washing dishes and cooking at our headquarters. Think no more of her, but only of yourself, Martha."
Her victim's eyes are lowered, as if a child waiting out a scolding, and Andree wants to slap her to recapture her attention. She edges forward further, her notebook poking into the woman's chest as she bends down slightly, turning her head to reclaim eye contact. "I will be taking all complaints from civilians while we are here. All reports of troublemakers, understand?"
"Yes, Ma'am." The response is deferential, but a hint of stubbornness in it makes Andree's blood boil.
Going to be a problem, are we? Her mother's voice rings in her memory, and she can feel the hated cane lashing her back. Anger fuels her words, but she tempers it to ice as she whispers in Martha's ear, "I tell the Oberstfeldmeister who the troublemakers are, so he can promptly have them stripped, beaten, and hanged."
Smiling, Andree steps back and straightens to her full height. She speaks loudly, her voice carrying to all of the nearby Nazi soldiers setting up the new headquarters, "Now then, are you going to be a troublemaker, Martha Steeples?"Joel Cutter
Introduction
"Oh, thank goodness!" An elderly woman darts between two distracted soldiers, making a beeline straight toward Andree.Great. What now? Andree regards the woman coolly, chin lifted, piercing gray eyes and tightly-arranged hair demanding the civilian be quick about whatever her problem is.
"Thank goodness," The woman repeats herself, quite inefficiently.
From her appearance, Andree decides she is a farmer. She wrinkles her nose. A pig farmer, it would seem.
Mildly worried the flustered, odoriferous woman will never get past her exclamatory introduction, or perhaps may not even possess the capacity for rational though, Andree speaks, emphasizing each word to try to break through the woman's hysteria.
"What. Do. You. WANT?"
Pig-farmer-woman recoils as Andree's harsh words lash her, and the Nazi Lieutenant experiences a thrill of sick joy at the easy power her position grants. She would rather be on the front lines, gunning down filthy swine, than talking to the mother of them. Always make the best of a bad thing, Andree.
She internally gloats over the woman's fear, in no hurry to address her concerns until they are stated clearly, at the very least.
The farmeress gathers herself, her backbone visibly straightening as a dark, accusatory look spreads across her softly-lined features. "You are a woman. Please, you must help. They are chasing a young girl." She points unhelpfully in the direction of a nearby field.
"I am an Oberleutnant," Andree counters, "and I know they are."
"You do? Well, can't you stop them?" She shakes her head in disbelief. "She's just a lass. It's not right!" The woman's fear is abating, her concern for another diminishing Andree's power over her.
Time to fix that.
Andree withdraws a small, black leather-bound book from one pocket of her uniform, and a red ink pen from the other. "We decide what is right..." She looks expectantly at the woman, pen poised to write in the book, "your name?"
"M-me?" Her eyes fixate on the small red pen, and a pleasurable measure of fear stiffens her features. Righteous indignation still strengthens her tone, however, "What about her name? Think what they might do to her!"
"Unteroffizier!" Andree's gray eyes bore into the woman as her voice summons one of the nearby soldiers. The man promptly attends, and she hears his heels click to attention just behind the woman. She moves quite close, her notebook nearly touch the shorter woman's rough-spun dress. The stress her proximity clearly causes is more than worth the horrific smell that assaults her nostrils, and this time her question is a command, "Your name."
Trapped between the two Nazi's, the outspoken citizen's courage fails her. Her eyes drown in the notebook, and her voice cracks. "M-Martha. Martha Steeples."
"Martha. Steeples." Andree pronounces each word clearly as she writes them down. "Excellent. The girl will, of course, be washing dishes and cooking at our headquarters. Think no more of her, but only of yourself, Martha."
Her victim's eyes are lowered, as if a child waiting out a scolding, and Andree wants to slap her to recapture her attention. She edges forward further, her notebook poking into the woman's chest as she bends down slightly, turning her head to reclaim eye contact. "I will be taking all complaints from civilians while we are here. All reports of troublemakers, understand?"
"Yes, Ma'am." The response is deferential, but a hint of stubbornness in it makes Andree's blood boil.
Going to be a problem, are we? Her mother's voice rings in her memory, and she can feel the hated cane lashing her back. Anger fuels her words, but she tempers it to ice as she whispers in Martha's ear, "I tell the Oberstfeldmeister who the troublemakers are, so he can promptly have them stripped, beaten, and hanged."
Smiling, Andree steps back and straightens to her full height. She speaks loudly, her voice carrying to all of the nearby Nazi soldiers setting up the new headquarters, "Now then, are you going to be a troublemaker, Martha Steeples?"
Children
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