Frenchie: Love & Bullets

Chapter One Perched dirty and exhausted on a pile of building rubble, the remnants of someone’s home, she watched unmoved a post war deal going down on the far side of the street. A soldier of unknown nationality offered bread to a starving German housewife of about forty for the s****l comfort she could offer. She drove a hard bargain with the energetic use of gestures, the price rising to a loaf and a half, all the soldier packed that day. Then deal done and with no effort expended to conceal their desperation he dropped his pants and she raised her skirt. To the witness’s left and partially obscured lay yet another Nazi soldier, except that one was the reason for Frenchie being where she was, in the centre of Berlin. After weeks of shelling a weird silence had settled on the city. There were comings and goings in the devastated residential area, where Hitler’s lunatic fringe of zealots had literally fought to the last man or bullet. Frenchie assumed the civilian across the road showing some signs of pleasure survived in one of the many basements as the upper structures stood like broken stumps ghostly and grey. Dressed in a mix of military and civilian clothing, she wore the French beret defiantly. Her shirt was Russian, combat trousers American, and a coat of worsted brown one size too big indicated the weight she had lost in recent months. On her lap lay a Mauser Karabiner 98k rifle with Zeiss Zielacht x8 telescopic sight, the weapon plucked from the failing arms of a German sniper. Ammunition had been plentiful as she followed the American army from Reims to the German capital, the 7.92mm cartridge standard to most Wehrmacht rifles. An AFN (American Forces Network News) jeep pulled up a few yards away, a young captain jumping out and approaching Frenchie. “Excuse me young man, sprichst du Englisch.” he began. Frenchie took the dust grimed beret from her head and let a mass of filthy blonde curls free. “Non. Mais je parle français. Aber ich kann in der Sprache des faschistischen bastards chatten, wenn Sie woollen.” (But I can chat in the fascist bastard’s language if you like.) The captain looked closer, entrancing bemused pale blue eyes returning his gaze. (He later maintained that that was when he fell for the girl.) “You’re French! And you’re a girl! And perhaps not all Germans are fascist bastards.” “Oui. Very clever of you,” the woman replied in English. “And so far they are.” “What’s an armed French girl doing in Berlin? Don’t you know it’s now Russian controlled?” Frenchie pointed at the Nazi partly obscured by a pile of debris. “The German?” “Oui. My road ends here.” “Why him?” “Long story.” “Would you like some mess grub and tell me about it?” He studied the devastated landscape. “You really can’t stay here.” She shrugged. “I’ve slept in a ditch and on the branch of a tree. I’ve shared a broken down tank with two wounded Englishmen. And I fought with the Red Army when you Yanks stalled short of Berlin. I can survive anything, anywhere.” She continued. “Though I would like a hot bath and some clean clothes.” The captain pulled a face. “Hmm. Yes you’re a bit strong.” “Mess food first. While I sort that bath. Unfortunately tubs are mostly requisitioned by men around here.” Frenchie smiled. “I don’t mind sharing. It’s been a long and lonesome road, Reims to here.” “Reims? France? What’s your name?” “Frenchie.” “Frenchie? Is that it? No surname?” The woman had developed a toughened edge, one that most cared not to press too hard. Her look was enough. “Ah,” he sighed. “That’s it eh? Hello Frenchie. From Reims.” “Bonjour.” “I want your story. All America needs your story. I will find you the best still standing hotel in Germany, where you can bath and eat. For your story. Yes?” “It really is not that interesting,” she told him. “I want it. My Colonel will want it and America will want it.” “If you insist. But there is some I will never tell you. I will never tell anyone. So when I say enough it will be enough. Comprenez vous?” The captain’s aide came back from the Nazi body. “You really didn’t like that one did you?” Frenchie spat in the dirt. He grimaced as he explained to the captain. “I reckon she played with him for quite some time.” “No play!” Frenchie snapped. “It was what the scum deserved.” “You tracked him from Reims?” the captain asked astonished. “Oui.” “You followed the battlefront from northern France? “I was part of the front. From Metz certainement” “How did you keep on his tail?” “Luck and God’s will and the Russian First Ukranian.” “You can tell me about all three. What about him, if we go now?” He pointed at the Nazi officer. “It’s done. Let the crows have him.” “Can we have some photos first? Of you sat there like when we arrived. With the beret and holding that rifle?” “For a pack of American cigs? Oui?” She lit a Lucky Strike as she posed the way she thought fit, but to Mike there was something missing. When they arrived there was a complex aura about her, something he didn’t expect to recapture. Then Frenchie caught sight of Klein and that aspect returned, Mike capturing it in black and white. In that brief moment he spotted something that both intrigued and unsettled him. In the back of the jeep the Captain offered a hand. “I’m Mike Wertz.” Frenchie passed a lit Lucky Strike to the other hand and accepting said nothing. The driver took them out of what had become the Russian zone to Magdeburg which was still held by the Americans. “How did you get into that hell hole without being shot or blown up?” Mike asked her. “I told you I joined the Reds then I followed Klein. Wherever he went I followed.” “So you could have finished him sooner?” “I haunted the piece of s**t. He knew I was there. He knew I wanted him dead. But he never knew why until the very end. I must have missed a couple of dozen times. Very unlike me to miss.” “And him now? One bullet would have never been enough.” “What did he do?” Mike asked. “Bath and eat first,” she told him. Magdeburg had been hit hard too, many buildings blasted to piles of rubble. But the Americans had found and requisitioned a hotel untouched by the violence. Climbing from the jeep Frenchie took her knapsack and bedroll but left the rifle. The driver called after her. “What about your weapon?” She half turned on the steps of the hotel and told him. “Its work is done.” With that she went into the building the driver retaining the piece of history. “Hey Captain,” he said as the man was about to jump clear. “Look at this.” Wertz remained while his private showed him the butt of the Mauser. “How many?” the captain asked. “Thirty seven notches sir. Whether she carved that last one or not?” “Don’t jump to conclusions private. Might have been the previous owner.” “Not one of their snipers sir. He’d be reprimanded.” “Okay. I’ll see what she has to say. In the meantime make sure that weapon doesn’t disappear. You guard it with your life Dee.” He joined Frenchie, the girl waiting at the main doors. The manager Wertz assumed, met them just inside. “Would sir like to place his laundry in this basket?” Wertz glared. “You mean my lady friend?” “If that is the case sir.” “Oh you meant w***e, didn’t you?” “Nein! It’s just that the lady.” He wrinkled his nose. “Yes she does. And she realises more than you. I can assure you.” Seeing how discomfited the manager was, Frenchie decided to extend that. A hand inside her shirt she made a meal out of scratching before grabbing something and holding it up to examine it. Then she pinched the two fingers together and wiped her hands.” “Please sir!” the manager begged Frenchie’s reply was to find another and hold it up for Wertz scrutiny? “My,” he exclaimed. “That’s a biggy. What to do Frenchie?” “Only one thing to do,” Frenchie replied removing the beret and dumping it in the basket, the coat following. Face screwed in horror the manager tried to stand clear of the dreaded fleas. She undid a belt buckle and loaded two holstered forty five automatics into the basket which Mike grabbed saying. “We will keep those safe. Frenchie then dropped her trousers at which point the manager cried. “Nein Fräulein. Not here!” Battle hardened Wertz merely chuckled and stood back to watch and see how far Frenchie would go. She stopped at a pair of French knickers and bra saying. “You want to see any more, you pay.” “You have uniform for a girl with the bumps?” she asked Mike. “I am sure we can find something.” He assured her. “Bumps and all.” “Now burn them,” she told the manager before walking in her underwear and boots to the reception desk. “Sorry about that,” Wertz said proud of her reaction. “It is fine Captain Wertz. I have stripped to the skin to stay alive.” “You have the figure I must say.” The receptionist waited on his request. “A double room please Fräulein, for me and the lady.” “Name?” “Mike Wertz.” “Double bed, Herr Wertz?” “Can do, but I won’t be staying.” The woman looked through the rooms vacant saying finally. “I’m sorry there doesn’t seem to be any vacancies.” “Single?” “Nein Herr Wertz. “Your soldiers take all.” “General Gerow has a suite on the fourth floor. We’ll take that.” “I am sorry sir that would be impossible.” “You see this lady here. Stood courageously in her underwear and desperate for a bath, will in a few days be a known national heroine. She is a French freedom fighter that has fought her way from Reims to Berlin along with the American army. She has killed more Nazis that you have had lovers. The General is unlikely to require his accommodation as he is currently in Paris. Under the layer of grime this beautiful face will adorn every daily and periodical in the western world. I am a reporter for AFN. Do you want me to tell the world what a bunch of uncooperative f***s you are here at this hotel?” “If the General does turn up then you talk with him?” “I will indeed.” She turned the book and said curtly. “Sign there. And I only had six lovers, so not so hard to beat.” With a smile of acknowledgement Wertz took off his tunic and placed it about Frenchie’s shoulders. “I think we have their attention now.” She smiled at him through a dirt stained face. “I like you Mike Wertz.” “And I like you too Frenchie.” He refrained from slapping her nicely rounded bottom. “Lifts are out,” the receptionist said as they headed toward them. He proved to be a gentleman climbing the stairs too, remaining beside her and not dropping back to ogle her walk and the swing of knicker clad lascivious hips. He just hoped he could remain the gent. It had been a while. Leonard T Gerow’s suite proved voluptuous with several rooms available. Conveniently there were two bedrooms where possibly if Gerow did turn up, Frenchie might be permitted to remain. The girl needed no guidance and found the en-suite immediately. “I can smell water at a hundred yards,” she told him. “Can you get me something to wear or should I remain naked after I am bathed?” She said it with no hint of sarcasm, but some intent. Mike pointed at the bathroom door. “There will be gowns. If I am not back, put one of them on.” “I will probably be a month or two. Want to join me?” He took a deep breath and politely declined. “As I thought. A gentleman. Anything else and.” She held a flick knife up and opened the blade, a seven inch polished stiletto glinting under the lights. Mike swallowed. “Point taken, literally.” The question that arose as to where she kept the blade was answered when she bent and replaced it in a sock. “I would hope you won’t need that now.” “We see.” With Frenchie settled in a bath full of suds and Wertz wondering what the transformation would be like, he left to find her something to wear. Fatigues seemed the best option and indeed what she had asked for. Of course the inevitable did happen. Lieutenant General Leonard T Gerow did return. The receptionist did ring in an attempt to save all from any embarrassment, but Mike was still out and Frenchie remained in the tub. Alone Gerow went directly to the suite all attempts by the receptionist to dissuade him fruitless. He had already eaten and did not want a drink. Cap and tunic hung in the cupboard Leonard settled with some papers on one of the couches. He did note the odd gurgle coming from the bathroom but thought it post war plumbing. Not until Frenchie opened the door and stepped into the sitting room did the general realise all was not as it should be.” Hair hung wet her face scrubbed and flushed, she had covered herself with one of the hotel’s bath robes. She stopped dead and asked. “Who are you?” Leonard glanced up, his mouth agape. “Have I died and gone to heaven?” “I hope not because that would mean I have too.” “Then am I in the wrong suite?” Frenchie shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. Mike booked it.” “Ah Mike. Well that is probably right. Where is Mike right now?” “Getting me some clothes. I am completely naked under here.” “I trust you are warm enough?” he asked trying not to dwell on her nudity. “Yes thank you.” “Do you have a name?” “Frenchie.” “What’s that? A nickname because you’re French?” “Now it is my name. I fought from the liberation of Reims to the fall of Berlin and I have earned the right to call myself what I like.” “Of course you have. Take a seat. Let’s chat. It’s been a long time since I have just chatted with a woman. And even longer since it was a beautiful woman.” “You are too generous ah?” “Leonard Gerow.” “The General?” “That’s me.” “Would you like something to eat?” he added. “Un cheval.” “A horse. I’m not sure that is on the menu. How about steak and fries?” “And buttered bread!” “Of course. Coffee?” “White, two sugars and tell the German f***s to hurry it up.” “German f***s eh? That about describes them I suppose.” He made the call. “I’ve ordered for two and if Mike were here I would have made it three.” “We have established you are Frenchie and that you are from that country. Can you explain why Mike would commandeer a general’s quarters to house a woman, a very attractive woman I will accept?” “He thinks I am the heroine.” “Right. And you obviously don’t. Why the difference in opinion.” “He a fool. A nice fool. But still a fool.” “Why does he see you as a heroine Frenchie?” the General persisted. “I shoot many Germans. I take a sniper rifle from a dying German outside of Reims and I follow your army. I want one man but he is illusive. I finally catch him in Berlin.” “I see. I think.” Downstairs the receptionist spotted Wertz returning and called him over as he came back into the foyer a bundle of clothes in his arms. “The General is here.” “Where?” he asked looking around. “In his rooms.” “s**t! Double s**t!” He took off up the stairs two at a time, the receptionist smirking. “Amerikanischer dummkopf!” she insulted when he was out of ear shot. Breathless, Wertz barged into the room to find Gerow and Frenchie eating dinner off their laps. “Ah! General.” “You sound out of breath Mike. Perhaps you should spend a bit of time in the gym. The glasshouse has a very good gym so I hear.” “Yes sir?” “And shouldn’t you be at attention?” Wertz snapped to it. “I am putting you on a charge Mike. Taking the piss.” Wertz didn’t know how to answer. “So who are you? And are you hungry?” “AFN sir Captain Mike Wertz, and yes sir, starving.” “Order yourself some dinner and we will get to the bottom of this heroine. And I mean that metaphorically.” His complexion coloured slightly. “You English have such quaint sayings. “Aller au fond des choses?” She chuckled. “How old are you Frenchie?” the general asked. “That has no bearing on anything. Whether I am twelve or eighty, I would still have sought revenge on the Boche.” “Okay. We’ll skip that.” “You said revenge. Was that a general revenge defending France or personal revenge?” “Hauptmann Kleinn murdered my family. My mother, father, sister and brother. And when he ran out of bullets he had me over a table. I only lived because he had no more ammunition and the Americans were coming. Cowardly scum.” “Now what?” the General asked. “I would like to go to England.” “What about your home here? What was your parent’s house?” Frenchie shrugged. “So you virtually have only what is in your knapsack?” “Yes.” “Do you have any other relatives?” “I don’t think so.” “For the time being I think Frenchie should remain here. She can have the other bedroom. Captain Wertz, you find yourself a billet close by and come back tomorrow to do your interview. I am back to Paris and the Russian immoveable object tomorrow.” “The Captain can share with me,” Frenchie suggested. Though Wertz would have jumped at the offer, the General found the prospect out of the question. “No my dear, that would be completely out of order.” A little disappointed Frenchie accepted the decision gracefully. “Before I go I will have the stiletto Frenchie. I can’t leave that with you beneath the General’s roof.” Gerow watched as the girl retrieved it from the bathroom and handed it to Mike. “That’s sloppy Captain. We’ll discuss it another time.”