The year is 1942 and Europe is at the height of World War Two. Mila Goldstein, a Dutch Jew living in occupied Holland, has signed on as an informant for the British Secret Intelligence Service (SIS). However, days before her assignment, a wounded Ge...
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SECOND CHAPTER IN A DAY ... SAY WHAT?! This was originally supposed to be included in Chapter 20, but when I sat down to write it, I realized it was much longer than I had originally planned for. So, I decided to break it up into two separate chapters. ***(TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains some adult scenes - really PG-13, but whatever. If you feel like it will make you uncomfortable, just read to the '~' and then stop.)*** If you don't think you'll mind it, then by all means, read on to the end! :)
"Would you like a drink?" Josef asked, taking off his uniform coat as they walked through the front door of his house. Laying it over the sofa, he disappeared into the kitchen. They had left the party, slipping out one of the back doors of the banquet hall without anyone noticing, and had walked the few blocks from the War Office, to Josef's flat.
"I'll take a whiskey," Mila called, eyeing the Knight's Cross pinned to the front of his uniform. Picking the jacket up off the sofa, she examined it, memories of the first time she had laid eyes on the medal flooding her mind. "I haven't seen you wear this since the night we met," She said, rounding the corner into the kitchen, Josef's jacket still in her hands.
"Hmm?" Josef asked, turning around, a glass of whiskey in each hand. "Oh," He said, his eyes falling on the Knight's Cross. "I only wear it for special occasions. Ceremonies ... Banquets ... Things like that."
"Why?" Mila asked, genuinely wondering why he wouldn't wear it all the time - Any other German officer would, that she was certain of.
"Because I don't deserve it," He replied simply, though his tone was tenser than before.
"What do you mean you don't deserve it?" Mila asked, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. Was he feigning humility? ... Trying not to brag?
"I don't," He said flatly, sliding her glass across the table to her.
"I'm sure that's not tru-" She began.
"Just drop it Mila," He cut in harshly, taking the jacket from her and tossing it through the doorway, back into the living room.
"Josef..." She trailed off, placing a hand gently against his arm.
"I'm sorry," He began, running a frustrated hand over his face. "I didn't mean to-,"
"It's okay," She cut him off, squeezing his arm lightly.
"Come on," He said, taking her hand and leading her back into the living room. Sitting down on the sofa, he took a long pull from his whiskey. "Do you want to know how I got that Knight's Cross?" He asked, sitting his glass down on the side table.
"You don't have to-," She began.
"I want to," He assured her. "The ambush my unit encountered in France ... When Michael..." He trailed off. She nodded, signaling that he didn't have to explain further. "We only suffered two casualties during the whole fight," He continued. "Every other man made it off that field, whether he walked away, or was carried off by a fellow soldier. Everyone called me a hero ... They said it was only because of my leadership during such a crisis, that more men hadn't been killed," He scoffed, shaking his head. "The only person who knew the truth was my Lieutenant that had to pull me off the field," He continued, taking another sip from his glass. "He knew the truth, but said nothing ... Just let everyone believe that it was me who had taken charge during the ambush."
