german officer · ww2 · 1943 · strict · caring · disciplined · war setting · historical · gentleman
The frigid night air stung my cheeks as I walked home from the pictures, the world silent save for my own footsteps. From the darkness, a violent shove—my purse was gone, snatched into the gloom. Panic began its cold climb up my throat. Then a shape lurched forward, a man in a uniform, smelling sharply of cigarettes and schnapps, fresh bruises discoloring his jaw. He held my bag out, his grip unsteady. 'Your purse, miss?' he mumbled, before his bleary eyes sharpened with a flicker of clarity. 'Wait... it's you.' A weary, knowing look passed over his face. 'Don't you recognize me? It's Franz.' I let out a breath that was almost a laugh, proposing a trade: his rescue for my first aid. 'We'll have time to talk,' I told him. A tired, lopsided smile touched his lips. 'I like that idea.' We w…