Black City Skyline

[Dirk Riedel]

Country: Paris, France
Current Time: 21:15 pm, June 1940
Weather Conditions: Relatively cold, with the wind having strengthened as the night progressed and drew its veil in the occupied city.


The wide open firmament had turned a darker, velvety shade of blue at the time the young woman had stepped out of the pub and into the Parisian night, as the streets were beginning to empty early in that evening. The rules and measures the Germans had enforced at the city upon occupation since May were strict and inflexible, consequently anyone caught, namely, being out of the boundaries of their homes out of curfew were to be severely punished as a perfect exemplar for the rest of them. The woman knew this very well, chiefly on the grounds how she had been part of the enforcement herself – though, naturally, bearing a different form than she was at the moment; a rather pious fraud, indeed.

She would have not thought of presenting herself in this form, cautious and attentive as she always was to avoid any suspicion to be risen from her actions, had it not been this victory spreading a drunken mirth within her heart; she had attempted to swallow down that enjoyment and rush of adrenaline over conquering one of Europe’s most significant countries – and one they had had a few issues with, at any rate – and forbid herself to simply be Friederike instead of Leutnant Dirk for all the risks this could spell, and yet she had promised herself that for once – and only one time – would she remove the military clothes and allow her mind some leisure in being able to relax without the weight of ‘always being a man’, an insignificant amount of time when compared to the length she had otherwise spent in her male form, and nevertheless rather of consequence to her. Her sense of order and discipline, however, was too strong to allow for any divergence, and the woman clearly knew how to best exploit the only time she had available to slightly unclench the knot in her stomach, faintly shift the burden permanently residing in her chest.

She allowed her figure to slowly lean against the rail and eyes of deepest green and gray gazed all along the river Seine whose dark waters rippled softly in the surface, the trees lined across the Avenue de Champs Elysees in the distance, her uninterrupted reverie falling into the Arc de Triomphe along which the German army had proudly marched upon their most glorious victory. This reminiscence brought her only inner calmness and lucidity, channeled outwardly through her posture of perfect tranquility, her hands crossed upon the railing and with the streetlamps which stood close to her casting some of their yellow and orange light upon parts of her outline, illuminating the golden strands of hair with a faint glow as they fell down on the shoulders and the black surface of her dress, as she slowly breathed in the chilly evening air.

It had been strange but at the same time welcoming to escape the pub’s boisterous interior, whence intoxication, bursts of laughter and inappropriate conversations were enough to bring one a severe headache even if they were short of any drink. The breeze strengthened as she remained in her position, staring at the emptiness, from behind her the streets emptied of any movement belonging to the civilians, though the coordinated and brisk rhythm of jackboots rang through the air from the short distance – to the woman a mere lullaby that gave her neither concern nor distress – and further served to prolong her reverie as her mind meandered across variously themed thoughts, thoughts of her brother back in Germany, of the offensives forwarded already and those planned in the near future, of her comrades fighting alongside her and through the crescendo dance of war receiving wounds as did she, as though they were warriors dancing their way through the foreign country’s heartland – for, indeed, one might say the offensive was not a most grueling battle plan but a dance of few twists and turns into a country they had subdued more than once in the past. This sentiment – contemptuous as it was haughty – made a smile slowly form in the corner of her lips as she allowed her gaze to travel along the Seine.

[William Luther]

It’s not too, bad, mused Luther, I could certainly live with a view like this. Paris was famous as being a beautiful city, and Luther did not have too much against the country so he had no problem in spending some leave in it. Out of uniform, he was dressed in some tan-coloured trousers and a white polo. A black jersey sat over the shirt, matching the dull black leather of his shoes.

A dark brown leash in his right hand led down to the collar of Lucy, the German Shepherd who he looked after and sometimes fought with. She was a good dog, and now Luther was out of uniform more affectionate, expecting to be fussed over by her Master, and he was only too happy to oblige. He relied on this dog to save his life one day, and even though she had the potential to be a killer there was no need not to treat her as a pet when they were away from the battlefield.

The pair of them walked along the footpath next to the Seine, stretching their legs after enjoying some of the city’s famous food and drink. Luther knew not to spoil either him or Lucy; after all, they were soldiers and could not afford to have their fitness drop, even if the French had been happily defeated. Training would soon begin for the attack on Britain, the Luftwaffe would be preparing to destroy the Royal Air Force any day now, and once the channel was clear of British planes then the large scale assault on the island would be possible. Nazi Germany would stretch from the Atlantic all the way to the Soviet Border. And even then, soon enough it would spread past there and touch the Pacific.

Running a hand through his blonde hair, cut short in to a brutal regulation hair-do, Luther looked out over the water. Street lights reflected off of the water, colouring waves orange. There was very little traffic on the river at this time of night, most boatswains having secured there boats and returned home for the curfew long ago. Instead, a small flock of swans swam along, talking amongst themselves, oblivious to the fact that they now swam in German water. Europe had changed a lot since last September, and it had changed for the better. A single powerful government occupied the countries which until only a few decades ago had been squabbling like school children. A solution was being found to the “Jewish Question”, and now the French people had received what they deserved after there attempts to destroy Germany at the Treaty of Versailles twenty one years ago.

Luther smiled, leaning on a railing as Lucy sat next to him. They were here to stay now, after Dunkirk there was no chance the British Army could stand up and remove them from the country, even with help from the Empire. America was still very isolationist, and would not come and join in, perhaps soon they would even wish to ally themselves with the Third Reich. It would certainly be the smart move, with Hitler’s advisement they could pull themselves out of the depression quickly.

Shivering slightly with the wind, he pushed back to his feet, and Lucy got the message, clambering on to her paws and resuming her slow, reassuring pad next to Luther, her tongue hanging limply and hot breath coming over it, the closest she could manage to the triumphant smile that sat on Luther’s lips.